Part 16

"If I am to die," she said, "I would rather die in my bed, much rather. I want peace, and my dear lady gives me none. This young wretch is no better than a murderer. He laughs. I can't laugh. I can't even speak. The wind stops my screaming. I want to get out and die quietly."

They pulled up close to a village to let a wagon loaded with long timbers get into a side road. Miss Mackarness seized her chance, and, opening the door, jumped to the ground.

"If you please, my lady, I'm going no farther. I will come on later in a cart."

Penelope remonstrated with her. Bob was urgent and impatient.

"We may be caught any minute," he said. "Pen, let her come on in a cart."

"If you prefer it," said Penelope.

"My lady, I much prefer it," said the housekeeper.

Bob let the car go, and Geordie, coming on behind, pulled up to interview Miss Mackarness.

"Sooner than go in one a mile farther," she said, firmly, "I would lie down and die."

"That's silly, ma'am," said Geordie.

"I would rather live silly than die wise," replied Miss Mackarness. "I may be used to much and past surprises, but I can't stomach these cars."

They left her in the road. And now they drove fast, for Bob set the pace, and made it a rapid one.

"I say, Geordie," said Timothy, about twenty miles farther on, "don't you think you could go slower?"

"How can I, with the other car ahead, man?" demanded Geordie.

"Well, I feels queer inside," said poor Timothy. "I'd rather ride a bucking man-eater than go another yard. Set me down!"

"Not me," said Geordie. "Be a man, Tim!"

"I won't," said Tim. "Set me down. I'll walk."

"Or come on in a cart," sneered Geordie. "Why, Mary here don't mind, do you, Mary?"

Mary did mind, but she adored Geordie, and said she didn't. She preferred to die with Geordie than to ride with Miss Mackarness in a cart.

"I don't care," said Tim; "if Mary wants to die in a blazin' fiery mass of petrol under a wreck, I don't. Let me down."

And Geordie let him down.

"A mad bull sooner," said Tim. "And, though I 'ates walkin', bein' a groom, I'd rather walk to hell than motor into paradise."

But peace was established in the cars by now. Geordie and Mary sat side by side, and whenever the pace was hot, she grabbed him so tightly that he remonstrated.

"My dear, I'd rather you hugged me when we go slow," he said at last.

"Lor', Mr. Smith, I wasn't huggin' you," remonstrated the blushing Mary.

"To an outsider it would appear so," said Geordie. "When a young lady puts her arms around a man's neck, it looks like huggin'. Mind I don't say I object, but I _might_ run into the hedge."

"What a very amusin' gentleman you are," said Mary. "I've a very small opinion of Mr. Bunting except upon an 'orse. I'm surprised he preferred to walk."

"I'm not," said Geordie. "I expected it, and if we went really fast, you'd want to walk."

"Never," said Mary. "I love goin' fast. There's great po'try in a motor-car, Mr. Smith."

"Poetry, well, maybe," said Geordie. "To my mind, there's more machinery and oil. I wonder what the next thing will be with my lady, Mary."

"Ah," said Mary, "that's more than I can say. She's very sweet and kind, but I've give up tryin' to understand 'er. And such an 'usband, too. If I 'ad an 'usband, I'd like to show 'im off, if I was proud of 'im, and I would."

"Would you be?" asked Geordie.

"I 'ope so," said Mary.

"I guess you'd expect him to do what you wanted, like my lady," said Geordie.

"Oh, no, never," said Mary. "I'd do hexactly as I was told by 'im I loved. I don't believe in a woman 'angin' on a man and tellin' 'im to do this or that!"

And just then a mighty fine stretch of road opened before them, and Bob, half a mile in front, turned his car loose at the top speed. Geordie put his on the third, and Mary squealed.

"Hush your row, my dear," said Geordie. "Why, bless me, what's the matter with the girl!"

She had him tight by the neck.

"Oh, I'm frightened, Mr. Smith. Don't go so fast," she screamed.

"Lemme go," gasped Geordie, whom she was nearly strangling. "Lemme go, girl!"

"Never, never!" said Mary, settling on him tighter still. "Stop, stop!"

"I won't," said Geordie. "D'ye think I'll let that young un get away from me?"

"You must," screamed Mary, "or I'll get out."

"Then get out," said Geordie, rudely.

"Oh, you cruel, cruel Mr. Smith!" wailed Mary. "Let me down before I'm killed."

Geordie wrenched himself free.

"D'ye mean it?" he asked.

"Yes, you brute!" said Mary, "I does mean it."

He put her down there and then.

"You're no gentleman," said Mary.

"I never said I was," retorted Geordie, with his eyes on the vanishing Bob.

"And I hate you, you coward," sobbed Mary.

"There's a village a mile up the road," said Geordie. And he left her, disappearing in a whirlwind.

"Oh, I'm a sad, des'late, disappinted, jilted woman, with thin shoes and three and tuppence in my pocket," said Mary. "And I don't know where I am!"

She sat on a pile of road metal and cried bitterly. She took it much harder than the bishop did in a similar situation.

"Well, it can't be helped," said Geordie, "and I don't know that I'm sorry. She'd have proposed if I'd kept her at the second speed, I know that; so perhaps I'm well out of it."

He whirled after Bob and his lady, and soon caught them up.

There was peace on that car, too, for Bob hadn't been able to keep his discovery to himself.

"Yes, you're right, Bob," sighed Penelope. "But what could I do after what I'd said? And what can I do now?"

"Cheer up!" said Bob. "I'll fix it for you somehow. Do you know, Pen, I begin to think that after all women aren't as difficult to understand as Baker says."

They came to Upwell in the early afternoon, and were ignorant that the world was on their track. Bob sent a telegram to "Mr. Bramwell" as soon as they got there.

*CHAPTER XXVII.*

The bishop was excited. There is no doubt about it. Nor is it any wonder, for the sporting element exists even on the episcopal bench, and the hunting of Penelope was peculiar and choice sport. The clergy of his diocese were moderately tame, and when he pointed his episcopal gun at them, they said they would come down, just as the celebrated squirrel did when Colonel Crockett raised his weapon. Not for a long time had he felt so pleased with himself. He was quite certain that Penelope was to be run to earth in the neighbourhood of Spilsby, and, when he had found her, he proposed to speak to her like a father.

"I shall certainly suggest a religious ceremony in the cathedral," he said, blandly. "Oh, yes, I shall insist on it."

"You'll do what?" asked Bradstock, who was with him and the duchess in the early train to Spilsby. "You'll do what?"

The bishop rubbed his hands.

"As the one who christened her, I shall insist on a religious ceremony," he replied.

"Will you?" asked Bradstock.

"To be sure I shall," said the bishop.

"Did you ever hear of Mrs. Partington?" asked Bradstock, "or of King Canute, or of any other celebrated character in history or fiction whose insistence did not come off?"

"I scarcely understand you, Bradstock," said the bishop, with dignity. "I can hardly imagine that you mean to hint, not altogether obscurely, that Lady Penelope will treat any suggestion of mine with disrespect."

Bradstock intimated that that was what he did mean, and Titania, who had got up too early and felt like it, said that she expected nothing from Penelope now but the worst.

"I don't know why I am here, or why I am going there," she said. "I cannot imagine why any of us are doing anything but hiding our disgraced heads in the remoter parts of the country, while Penelope flaunts a black, adopted, illegitimate child in some peculiar part of Lincolnshire, while she is being chased on motor-cars by remorseful scoundrels, of whom I saw about a dozen as we left Spilsborough. Little did I think that I should be running after her with Augustin and you, bishop, while the duke stays at Goring saying she is sport, and Robert is with her when he ought to be at home with Mr. Guthrie learning to spell. And as a result of Penelope's being away like this, that disgraceful Chloe Cadwallader, of whom I shall always have the lowest opinion, is living in her house in Piccadilly, and I dare say spending her money right and left. The marchioness said she knew, on the highest authority, that this was so. The marchioness always goes on the principle of believing the worst, though, of course, she hopes the best. I hope the best for Penelope, but I'm sure the worst is before us. I'm sure of it."

The bishop asked her to cheer up, and Augustin stroked her hand to calm her. But nothing calmed or cheered her.

"I am calm," she said. "I am even peaceful. What can be worse than the worst? I am cheerful, for I believe there is a better world than this, in which even a duchess may find some kind of rest on the highest authority. I shall be glad to go there, and leave you all."

"Don't say so," said Augustin.

"I do say so," said the duchess. "I say it firmly and with faith. You don't dare to deny there is a better world than this, Augustin?"

"Certainly not, in the presence of the bishop," replied Augustin. "Though, in looking out of the windows, I should not be surprised to learn that there is a more exciting spot than Spilsby."

For they had arrived.

"_I_ will make inquiries," said the bishop, "while you look after the duchess in the waiting-room. I see that my wishes have been attended to. I telegraphed for a carriage to be in attendance, and it is in attendance. I will speak with the driver."

He spoke to the driver, who was much intimidated by the apron and the gaiters of the clerical dignitary.

"This is the carriage I ordered, I think," said the bishop. "I want to drive to--to Lady Penelope Brading's house. Do you know it?"

"No, sir," said the driver. "I never heard owt of it, sir."

"Dear me, dear me!" said the bishop. "Well, well! But that is easily explicable, my good man, for my young friend is in the peculiar position of having several names. This is rare; yes, rare I admit, but not altogether so very rare. Can you tell me if there is any one lately come to this neighbourhood known, let us say, as Mrs.--Mrs. Plant, for instance?"

"No, sir, there be not as I knows," said the driver.

"Or Mrs. Gordon, shall I say?"

The driver scratched his head.

"I never heard of her," he replied.

"How remarkable," said the bishop, smiling. "But I am not surprised. Indeed, in this last case I am almost gratified, though I withhold my reasons for saying so. Are you then acquainted with any one called De Vere? No; or with a Mrs. Carteret Williams?"

Light dawned in the driver's face at last. "Mrs. Williams! Ay, sure enif. She do sell sweets and tobacco."

"Indeed," said the bishop, "indeed, how remarkable! But I don't think she will do. Have you heard of a Mrs. Rivaulx or a Mrs. Goby? Perhaps I surprise you in this part of Lincolnshire, but in London it is not at all uncommon for married ladies to have several names, not at all uncommon."

"No, sir, I never heard o' none of 'em," returned the driver, thinking that this gentleman talked most remarkable "cat-blash."

"Good heavens!" said the bishop, "this new custom is trying. Do you then know a Mrs. Carew or Mrs. Bramber?"

Again the man scratched his head and shook it. What did this strange person in gaiters mean?

"Oh! ah!" he said at last. "There be a Mrs. Bramwell at the Moat House."

"Indeed," said the bishop. "Perhaps that may be the lady. At the Moat House! Do you know Mr. Bramwell?"

"I've seen un," said the driver.

"What is he like?" asked the bishop. "Is he fair or dark, or tall or short?"

"He's fairish to dark and betwixt and between," said the driver, wishing to be accurate, "and mostly goes in big spectacles in his engine."

"Ha!" said the bishop, "we are on the scent! And what is Mrs. Bramwell like?"

"She do mostly go in the engine with specs on, too, sir. But my wife do say she be a very fine woman."

The bishop nodded.

"I think you may drive us to the Moat House," he said. "I will bring my friends out."

He rubbed his hands and congratulated himself on the skill with which he had discovered the object of his search.

"I really believe I have found her," he said, when he entered the waiting-room. "I really believe it."

"No!" said the duchess.

"Yes," said the bishop. "By a series of skilful questions and the exercise of a little pardonable deceit, I have learnt that there is a Mrs. Bramwell here, who is said to be a very fine woman, and goes out in goggles in a motor-car with her husband, who is fairish to dark and tall and short and also wears goggles."

Augustin nodded.

"This looks like--something," he said, hopefully. "Bramwell! Perhaps really Bramber, Titania."

"No, no," said Titania. "I expect disaster. I anticipate the Jew or Williams."

"But Bramwell--the first syllable being Bram," suggested the bishop.

"I cannot build on Bram," said the duchess. "We are an unfortunate family. Lord Bramber may be an earl at any minute, and she has married a coal-heaver, of course! Let us go at once."

When they got into the carriage, the bishop told the man to drive to the Moat House.

"Did you say Moat House?" asked the duchess.

"I did," replied the bishop.

"Augustin, do you remember that Penelope's mother loved houses with moats? I think the bishop may be right. I tremble with nervousness."

She had more reason to tremble in a moment, for a big motor-car shaved them and scared the horse.

"Perhaps--" she cried.

"No," said Augustin, "it's Plant and Williams and Carew!"

The duchess gasped. And before she could say another word, another car swept by them.

"Perhaps--" she cried.

"No," said the bishop; "in spite of goggles, I recognize the marquis and Mr. Gordon and Mr. Austin de Vere. This is very remarkable, and not a little annoying. We shall all descend upon Penelope at once, and I fear it will somewhat disturb her. I should have much preferred to see her quietly in order to bring her to a just sense of her peculiar, and our painful, position."

When they got to the house, they found all the lovers but Bramber assembled at the gates. If it hadn't been for the illness of the Earl of Pulborough, he would have been there, they knew.

"Oh, which is it?" moaned Titania. "They all said they were married to her, and I know it's none of 'em."

The bishop greeted the crowd in the most courteous manner. He shook hands with those he knew, and bowed to those he hoped to know.

"I think, gentleman, that, with your permission, I will go in first and see Lady Penelope before any one else does."

And while he went up the carriage drive, Titania glared at the lovers.

"Don't look at 'em like that, Titania," said Augustin.

"Like what, Augustin?"

"Like a Gorgon, Titania," said Augustin.

"I look as I feel," said Titania. "I hate them all. I shall not be able to restrain myself when I see Penelope. I shall shake her. I shall say what I think. No, I won't be wise, Augustin! I decline to be wise. I am full of bitterness. From her earliest youth, she has been a thorn. And it is your fault; you encouraged her in reform, in anarchism. Don't speak to me! I shall explode!"

And Augustin got out just as the bishop rang the door-bell across the moat. Instead of the kind of servant he expected to see, he was greeted by a bent old woman, whose chief glory was her rheumatism, though her claim on Bob had been her stupidity.

"Is Mrs. Bramwell at home?" asked the bishop, with a beaming smile.

"Naw," said the old lady, not beaming in the least.

"No? Then when will she be back?"

"I don't know," replied the caretaker.

"You don't know! Will it be soon?"

"She never said," snarled the old lady.

"Did she go early?"

"Maybe an hour ago, maybe two."

"Will she be back late?"

"Eh? I'm 'ard of 'earin'."

"Will she be back late?" roared the bishop.

"She didn't say."

"What did she say, then?"

"Nothin' as I knows of."

"Where did she go, my good woman?"

"She didn't say."

"Dear me, how vexing!" said the bishop.

"I'm 'ard of 'earin', I tell ye," said the old dame.

"Who went with her?"

"All of 'em, so I 'eard."

"Who were they?" asked the desperate bishop.

"All as was 'ere. There ain't one left."

"Was a boy with her?"

"To be sure, a young gentleman as fetched me 'ere, and give me a shillin'."

"What was his name?"

"'E didn't say," said the old woman, and the bishop wiped his fevered brow and tried again.

"Was Mr. Bramwell with her?"

"I never seed un."

"How did they go?"

"In two engines."

"Ha!" sighed the bishop, "in two motor-cars."

"Likely."

"Will they be back to-night?"

"I 'ope not," said the woman.

"Why do you hope not?" asked the wretched bishop.

"Because of fifteen bob a week, to be sure."

"Then Mrs. Bramwell has gone, has left?"

"Ain't I been sayin' so this last hour?" asked the exasperated old person. "Me, with rheumatics, standin' on cold stones for hours arglin' that she and all have gone in engines!"

"Good heavens!" said the bishop, "she has escaped! She has eluded us! She has kept her word and has fled! This is remarkable; it is annoying. I feel nearer losing my temper than I have done with any one but the dean for the last ten years. I must go back and tell them."

He went back to the gate.

"Is it--" they cried.

"This is her house," said the bishop, who looked rather flushed, "but I have discovered by a series of skilfully devised questions that she is no longer here. Duchess, Lord Bradstock, marquis, and gentlemen, she went away this morning in two motorcars with all her household, leaving behind her no one but a caretaker who, in my humble opinion, ought to be taken care of in an idiot asylum!"

The duchess sighed.

"Then she has kept her word! Finding out that we are still pursuing her, she has fled from us. Oh, I think it wicked of her, wicked to all of us. When I get hold of Robert, I shall take steps to show him what I think of him. Do you give it up, bishop?"

The bishop's eyes flashed with indignation.

"Never!" he said. "I propose that we pursue her at once. She cannot have thought we should be here so soon. If we find out which road she took, we may yet overtake her."

"In what?" asked Bradstock, with his hand on the ramshackle landau the duchess sat in. "In this conveyance, for instance?"

The bishop looked at the two big motor-cars, and at their wretched owners, Plant and Rivaulx.

"Taking my courage in both hands," he said, bravely, "I propose that we lose no time. _I_ will go in this car with the marquis, if he will take me."

The marquis said through his clenched teeth that he would.

"Bradstock, you will escort the duchess back to Spilsborough."

"Certainly not," said the duchess. "I am coming, too. I must and I will. Whatever the condition of Penelope may now be, it is my duty. I come with you!"

"And so do I," said Bradstock.

They packed themselves in the cars, and moved away from the deserted house of the moat. In the village they soon discovered that "Mrs. Bramwell" had gone northwest by the road to Horncastle, and a moment later the bishop said, "Oh!" as Rivaulx fairly launched his car into space. Even Bradstock in Plant's car said something, and the duchess, losing the repose which stamps all duchesses the moment they become duchesses, uttered a scream. Gordon consoled the bishop, being very much pleased to find himself with one, by saying that he had been in a balloon with Rivaulx, and found him careful and very trustworthy.

"I do not think any one who goes in a balloon," gasped his lordship, "can properly be described by any such terms."

Williams said he didn't care if he was killed, as soon as Penelope had acknowledged she was married to him. Gordon, who was desperately scared of Williams, said nothing, but gave the bishop to understand by signs that the war correspondent was mad. Carew, who was still suffering from influenza, sat in his corner and wept at intervals.

In Plant's car the duchess and Goby and De Vere got on admirably. Bradstock sat by Plant and prepared to die. The duchess held Captain Goby's hand. De Vere said some poetry before the speed was very great. Afterward he said his prayers, and wished he was at home with his bulldogs.

"What does anything matter?" he asked, as he clutched Goby's offside.

And all of a sudden Rivaulx's motor pulled up so quickly that the bishop was nearly precipitated upon the road. A scared, oldish woman in respectable and sub-freak garments had done her best to get run over. Rivaulx swore terrible French oaths, and the bishop, who knew French far better than he dared acknowledge except in a literary conversation on Rabelais or _argot_, sympathized with him in awestruck silence.

"You accursed old lady! Why?" demanded Rivaulx.

"Hush, hush!" said the bishop, and, leaning from the car, he said: "It is all right, my good woman. I hope we have not alarmed you."

Miss Mackarness said they had. It was very hard to have got out of one car and then to be almost killed by another. Then the car behind came up, and the duchess looked at the lady who had given her a little respite. The duchess absolutely screamed again.

"Augustin, it is Miss Mackarness! I remember her well!"

"Who the deuce is Miss Mackarness?" grumbled Bradstock.

But Titania paid no attention to him. Her eyes brightened. She became clever all at once.

"I remember," she said, "I remember!"

She called to the stranger in the road.

"I am so pleased to see you again after such a long time, Miss Mackarness," she said, kindly. "Are you still at Upwell Castle?"

"I'm going there now, ma'am," said the housekeeper, who didn't recognize her Grace.

"Are you walking?" asked Titania, kindly. "It is a long way to walk. You don't remember me, I see."

"No, ma'am," said Miss Mackarness.

"I am the Duchess of Goring," said Titania.

"Oh, your Grace! I beg your Grace's pardon, but, of course, you are," gasped Miss Mackarness.

"And I am going to Upwell now to see my niece."

Miss Mackarness gasped again and could not speak.

"To see Mrs. Bramwell, you know," said Titania, sweetly. "Of course, _I_ know all about it, Miss Mackarness."

"To be sure, your Grace," replied her victim, not knowing what to do or say.

"Then _good_-bye," said the duchess. "I hope you will enjoy your walk, Miss Mackarness. It's such pleasant weather for a walk."

They left the poor woman in the middle of the road, an easy victim to the slowest vehicle in the county.

"Oh, I've done wrong, I know!" said Pen's housekeeper. "What shall I do now?"

"I said that on purpose," said Titania, viciously. "She has known all along, and ought to have told me. But now we know all about it, Augustin!"

"What about 'Mr. Bramwell'?" asked Augustin. Goby and De Vere turned pale, and the duchess threw up her hands.

"I might have asked her!" she cried.

"Captain Goby looked at her severely," said Augustin, "and so did De Vere."

Goby and De Vere denied it.

"Never mind," said the duchess, "this time she can't escape. We are on the track."

They passed a man a few miles farther on, and only Augustin noticed him.

"You are right, Titania; we are certainly on the track. That man was Timothy Bunting," he said. "Pen has been shedding her retainers all along the road. I suspect Bob of furious driving."

A few miles farther, at the foot of a steep rise, they saw a young and pretty woman weeping on a heap of stones.

"I wonder if that is another of 'em," said Augustin.

It was Mary, whom Geordie had deposited on the road half-way between two villages.

"Have two motor-cars gone this way?" asked Bradstock.

"Yes, sir," sobbed Mary.

"Why are you crying?" asked the sympathetic peer.

"Because Geordie Smith is no gentleman," said Mary.

"That's Mrs. Bramwell's driver, isn't it? I know her well," said Bradstock.