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Updated: July 24, 2025
Then a small brougham came very deliberately up the drive. It was the vehicle in which Miss Ingate went her ways; in accordance with Miss Ingate's immemorial command, it travelled at a walking pace up all the hills to save the horse, and at a walking pace down all hills lest the horse should stumble and Miss Ingate be destroyed. It was now followed by a luggage-cart on which was a large trunk.
"Dat's right. It ain't up to me to come buttin' in. Sorry, boss. Sorry, gents. Sorry loidy. Me for de tall grass." "There's a luggage-cart of sorts," said Lord Dreever, pointing. "Sure," said Spike, affably. He trotted away. "Jump in, Pitt," said Lord Dreever. "I'm going to walk." "No, I'll walk," said Jimmy. "I'd rather. I want a bit of exercise. Which way do I go?"
Bruce has the car, and will probably not return till late. And Bruce is using the dog-cart. That only leaves the luggage-cart for me." "I'll fly round to Redlands for the motor. Nick won't mind. You get your things packed while I'm gone." Olga deposited an armful of her friend's belongings upon the bed, and turned to go.
A luggage-cart, piled high with dress-baskets and portmanteaux, passed down the drive towards the station gates, and a motor-car returned from a neighbouring house for something that had been forgotten. After that there was silence both within and without the house; even the maids had gone downstairs to sit together and whisper.
No sooner had the thought come into her mind than somebody mentioned his name, telling how Beatrice, after sending him away in the luggage-cart, had yielded and taken him back again.
However, they got over that without damage, and the river was crossed by all three in safety. The next hill they came to was a still worse one. When they were half-way down the leader came to a sudden halt; Grant's cariole almost ran over it; Sam and the luggage-cart pulled up just in time, and so, from front to rear, they were jammed up into the smallest space they could occupy.
The year was 1891, the month October, the day Monday. In the dark outside the railway-station at Worsted Skeynes Mr. Horace Pendyce's omnibus, his brougham, his luggage-cart, monopolised space. The face of Mr. Horace Pendyce's coachman monopolised the light of the solitary station lantern.
"And what good is it to us? How are we to get to the station?" said Germaine. They looked at one another blankly. Firmin, who had followed the Duke into the hall, came to the rescue. "There's the luggage-cart," he said. "The luggage-cart!" cried Germaine contemptuously. "The very thing!" said the millionaire. "I'll drive it myself. Off you go, Firmin; harness a horse to it."
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