Their leather trunks, all now old and worn looked extremely incongruous, Ajanta thought, when they were put into the smart brake which, being drawn by only four horses, left an hour-and-a-half before the chariot.
The servants with the two vehicles had stopped the night at a Posting inn, which was only about half-an-hour’s drive away from the village.
“His Lordship wishes us to get to Stowe Hall as quickly as possible, miss,” the coachman explained, “and the horses are raring to go, so you’ll not find the journey too tedious.”
They stopped for what they all decided was a delicious luncheon, the meal having already been ordered by the servants on the brake that had stopped there earlier.
The manner in which they were received by the landlord, the comfort of the private parlour into which
