"There are difficulties, and I ought to have written to you about
them. I am going with the Fitzwilliam." Now Mistletoe was in
Lincolnshire, not very far from Peterborough, not very far from
Stamford, not very far from Oakham. A regular hunting man like Lord
Rufford knew how to compass the difficulties of distance in all
hunting countries. Horses could go by one train or overnight, and
he could follow by another. And a post chaise could meet him here
or there. But when a lady is added, the difficulty is often
increased fivefold.
"Is it very far?" asked Arabella.
"It is a little far. I wonder who are going from here?"
"Heaven only knows. I have passed my time in playing cat's cradle
with Sir Jeffrey Bunker for the amusement of the company, and in
confidential communications with my aunt and Lady Drummond. I
haven't heard hunting mentioned."
"Have you anything on wheels going across to Holcombe Cross
to-morrow, Duke?" asked Lord Rufford. The Duke said that he did not
know of anything on wheels going to Holcombe Cross. Then a hunting
man who had heard the question said that he and another intended to
travel by train to Oundle. Upon this Lord Rufford turned round and
looked at Arabella mournfully.
"Cannot I go by train to Oundle?" she asked.
"Nothing on earth so jolly if your pastors and masters and all that
will let you.
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