The Talisman Ring by Georgette Heyer

intention had been to stop only for a change of horses, but by the time they had arrived at Hand Cross it had begun to snow, and Sir Hugh had sneezed twice. While the horses were being taken out of the shafts, Sir Hugh, regarding the weather with a jaundiced eye, had let down the chaise-window to call for some brandy. It had been brought to him; he had taken one sip, and announced his intention of putting up at the Red Lion for the night.
    ‘Just as you wish,’ had said Miss Thane, most admirable of sisters. ‘But I don’t fancy the snow will amount to much.’
    ‘Snow?’ said Sir Hugh. ‘Oh, the snow ! I believe I’m going to have a demmed bad cold, Sally.’
    ‘Then we had better push on to London,’ said Miss Thane.
    ‘This brandy,’ said Sir Hugh earnestly, ‘is some of the best I’ve tasted.’
    ‘Oh!’ said Miss Thane, instantly comprehending the situation. ‘I see!’
    That the excellence of the brandy was not a matter of interest to her was an objection she did not dream of putting forward. She was far too well used to Sir Hugh’s vagaries not to accept them with equanimity, and she had followed him into the inn, resigning herself to a spell of inaction.
    From this she seemed to have been miraculously saved. Sir Hugh might not know it, but there was now small chance of his journey being resumed upon the morrow. His sister had stumbled upon an adventure which appealed forcibly to her ever-lively sense of humour, and she had no intention of abandoning it.
    In the morning she awoke before Eustacie, and got up out of bed without disturbing her. As soon as she was dressed she went along the passage to her brother’s room, and found him sitting up in bed, with his night-cap on, being waited on by the tapster, who seemed to combine his calling with the duties of a general factotum. A tray piled high with dishes was placed on a table by the bed: Sir Hugh was breakfasting.
    He gave his sister a sleepy smile as she entered the room, and, of habit rather than of necessity, picked up his quizzing-glass, and through it inspected a plate of grilled ham and eggs from which Clem had lifted the cover. He nodded, and Clem heaved a sigh of relief.
    Miss Thane, taking in a glance the proportions of this breakfast, shook her head, and said: ‘My dear, you must be very unwell indeed! Only one plate of ham, and those few wretched slices of beef to follow! How paltry!’
    Sir Hugh, accustomed like so many large men to being a butt, received this sally with unruffled placidity, and waved Clem away. The tapster went out, and Miss Thane thoughtfully handed her brother the mustard. ‘What are your engagements in town, Hugo?’
    Sir Hugh reflected while masticating a mouthful of ham. ‘Have I any?’ he asked after a pause.
    ‘I don’t know. Should you mind remaining here for a time?’
    ‘Not while the Chambertin lasts,’ replied Sir Hugh simply. He consumed another mouthful, and added: ‘It’s my belief the liquor in this place never paid duty at any port.’
    ‘No, I think it was probably all smuggled,’ agreed Miss Thane. ‘I met a smuggler last night, when you had gone to bed.’
    ‘Oh, did you?’ Sir Hugh washed down the ham with a draught of ale, and emerged from the tankard to say, as a thought occurred to him: ‘You ought to be more careful. Where did you meet him?’
    ‘He arrived at the inn, very late, and wounded. He’s here now.’
    A faint interest gleamed in Sir Hugh’s eye. He lowered his fork. ‘Did he bring anything with him?’
    ‘Yes, a lady,’ said Miss Thane.
    ‘No sense in that,’ said Sir Hugh, his interest fading. He went on eating, but added in a moment: ‘Couldn’t have been a smuggler.’
    ‘He is a smuggler, a nobleman, and one of the most handsome young men I have ever clapped eyes on,’ said Miss Thane. ‘Tell me now, did you ever hear of one Ludovic Lavenham?’
    ‘No,’ said Sir Hugh, exchanging his empty plate for one covered with slices of cold beef.
    ‘Are you