Of a verity the situation was embarrassing, and in his muttered comments
upon it might be read how thoroughly his mind took in every phase of its
difficulty. “How they 'll laugh at me up at the Villa! It will last Sir
William for the winter; he 'll soon hear how I won the trap from his
son, and he 'll be ready with the old saw, 'Ah! ill got, ill gone!' How
young Heathcote will enjoy it; and the widow,--if she be a widow,--won't
she caricature me, as I stand halloaing out after the runaway rascal?
Very hard to get out of all this ridicule without something serious to
cover it. That's the only way to get out of a laughable adventure; so,
Master Layton, it's all the worse for _you_ this morning.” In this train
of thought was he deeply immersed as a peasant drove past in his light
“calesina.” O'Shea quickly hailed the man, and bargained with him for a
seat to Lucca.
Six weary miles of a jolting vehicle did not contribute much to restore
his calm of mind, and it was in a perfect frenzy of anger he walked into
the inn-yard, where he saw his carriage now standing. In the stables his
horses stood, sheeted up, but still dirty and travel-stained. Joe was
absent. “He had been there five minutes ago; he was not an instant gone;
he had never left his horses till now; taken such care of them,--
watered, fed, groomed, and clothed them; he was a treasure,--there was
not his like to be found.” These, and suchlike, were the eulogies
universally bestowed by the stable constituency upon one whom O'Shea was
at the same time consigning in every form to the infernal gods! The
grooms and helpers wore a half grin on their faces as he passed out, and
again he muttered, “All the worse for _you_, Layton; you'll have to pay
the reckoning.”
He was not long in finding the Barsotti Palace, where Layton lodged; an
old tumble-down place it was, with a grass-grown, mildewed court, and
some fractured statues, green with damp, around it. The porter,
indicating with a gesture of his thumb where the stranger lived, left
O'Shea to plod up the stairs alone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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