‘She’s my cousin. Can’t we win through to Hand Cross?’
Mr Bundy accepted Eustacie’s identity without comment and apparently without interest. ‘We’m not likely to win to Cowfold,’ he replied. ‘They’re on to us.’
At this gloomy pronouncement his brother Ned, pulling him a little apart, broke into urgent, low-voiced speech. Ludovic strode over to join in the discussion, and returned in a few minutes to Eustacie’s side, saying briskly: ‘Well, I’m sorry for it, but I can’t let you go to London to-night. You’ll have to come with us.’
‘Oh, I would much rather come with you,’ Eustacie assured him. ‘Where are we going?’
‘South,’ he replied briefly. ‘Those damned riding officers must have got wind of this convoy. There may be some rough work done before the night’s out, I warn you. Come along!’
He seized her by the wrist again and strode off with her to where her horse had been tethered, and without ceremony tossed her up into the saddle. Eustacie, seeing the two Bundys busy with the laden ponies, said emulatively: ‘Can I help to lead them, please?’
‘No. Keep quiet.’
‘But what can I do?’
‘Nothing.’
Ned Bundy said something under his breath.
‘I dare say, but I’m not going to have a cousin of mine hit over the head,’ said Ludovic. ‘Ready, Abel?’
A grunt answered him; the train began to move southward, Abel at its head. Ludovic mounted a rough pony and brought up the rear, still holding Eustacie’s bridle. She took instant exception to this, and after a short but pungent argument he let her go free, much against the advice of Ned Bundy, who was ranging alongside the convoy, whipping up the stragglers.
Eustacie interrupted Mr Bundy’s muttered suggestions for the disposal of her person by announcing calmly that she was quite tired of him, a remark which surprised that ferocious gentleman so much that he could think of nothing to say, and retired towards the head of the train. ‘Why does he want to hit me on the head?’ asked Eustacie, looking critically after him. ‘He seems to me entirely stupid.’
‘Well, he don’t hold with women being mixed up in these affairs,’ explained Ludovic. ‘You’re devilish in the way, you know.’
‘But you do not mind having me with you, do you?’ asked Eustacie anxiously.
‘Lord, no, I like it!’ replied Ludovic lightheartedly. ‘Only you won’t care for it if there’s any shooting done.’
‘Yes, I shall,’ said Eustacie. ‘In fact, I wish very much that you will load my pistol for me and give it back to me, because if there is to be shooting I should like to shoot, too.’
‘It’s not your pistol,’ retorted Ludovic. ‘It’s mine, and let me tell you that I don’t lend my duelling-pistols to anyone. Where is the other?’
‘I left it in the case. I think you should be glad to lend it to me.’
‘Well, I’m not. Where did you get this notion I was romantic?’
‘But you have had a very romantic life; of course, I knew you were romantic!’
‘I’ve had a damned uncomfortable life. Tell me more about this marriage of yours. Why must you marry Tristram if you don’t want to? Is it Sylvester’s doing?’
‘Yes, he made for me a mariage de convenance, but he is dead now, and I am going to arrange my own affairs.’
‘What! is Sylvester dead?’ exclaimed Ludovic.
‘Yes, since three days. So now it is you who are Lord Lavenham.’
‘Much good will that do me!’ said Ludovic. ‘Where’s Basil?’
‘He is at the Dower House, of course, and Tristram is at the Court.’
‘I must try to see Basil. Something will have to be done about the succession. I can’t wear Sylvester’s shoes.’
‘Well, I do not want him to wear them, and I think it would be better if you did not see him,’ said Eustacie.
‘Oh, there’s no harm in the Beau!’ He broke off suddenly as the convoy halted, and grasped Rufus’s bridle above the bit, pulling him to a standstill. ‘Quiet, now!’ He sat still, intently listening. Eustacie, straining her ears, caught faintly the sound of horses’ hooves in the distance. ‘Stay where you are!’ ordered Ludovic, and went forward to the head of the train.