Kitabı oku: «Cursed by a Fortune», sayfa 10
“Well, it’s all right, then, and perhaps it’s for the best I am going off to-night to hunt out Harry Dasent. I should have gone before, but I had to be about with the guv’nor, making inquiries.”
“Then loose my arm at once, and go before it is too late.”
“It is too late,” thundered a voice out of the gloom. “Jenny – sister – is this you?”
Chapter Twenty Three
Jenny uttered a faint cry, and staggered against the iron hurdle, bringing down a shower of drops upon her head.
Leigh, after his words, uttered first in menace, then in a bitterly reproachful tone, paid no more heed to her, but turned fiercely upon Claud.
“Now, sir,” he cried; “have the goodness to – You scoundrel! You dog!”
He began after the fashion taught by education, but nature was too strong. He broke off and tried to seize Claud by the throat; but, active as the animal mentioned, the young fellow avoided the onslaught, placed one hand upon the hurdle, and sprang over among the shrubs.
Leigh followed him in time to receive blow after blow, as the branches through which Claud dashed sprang back, cutting him in the face and drenching him with water. Guided, though, by the sounds, he followed as quickly as he could, till all at once the rustling and crackling of branches ceased, and he drew up short on the soft turf of a lawn, listening for the next movement of his quarry, but listening in vain.
A minute later the dogs began barking violently, and Leigh’s thoughts turned to his sister. Then to Claud again, and he hesitated as to whether he should go to the house and insist upon seeing him. But his reason told him that he could not leave Jenny there in the wet and darkness, and with his teeth set hard in his anger and despair, he tried to find his way back to the place where he had come over into the garden, missing it, and coming to the conclusion that his sister had fled, for though he peered in all directions on crossing the hurdles, he could see no sign of her in the misty darkness.
As it happened he was not above a dozen yards from where she stood clinging to the dripping iron rail; and when with an angry exclamation he turned to make for the pathway, her plaintive voice arose:
“Please take me with you, Claud,” she said. “I am so faint and cold!”
He turned upon her with a suppressed roar, caught her by the arm, dragged it under his, and set off through the dripping grass with great strides, but without uttering a word.
She kept up with him as long as she could, weeping bitterly the while, and blinding herself with her tears so that she could not see which way they went. Twice over she stumbled and would have fallen, had not his hold been so tight upon her arm, and at last, totally unable to keep up with him, she was about to utter a piteous appeal, when he stopped short, for they had reached the wet and muddy stile.
Here he loosed her arm, and sprang over into the road.
“Give me your hands,” he cried, and she obeyed, and then as he reached over, she climbed the stile, stepping on to the top rail at last.
“Jump,” he said, sharply; and she obeyed, but slipped as she alighted, one foot gliding over the muddy surface, and in spite of his strong grasp upon her hands, she fell sideways, and uttered a sharp cry.
“No hysterical nonsense, now, girl,” he cried. “Get up!”
“I – I can’t, Pierce. Oh, pray, don’t be so cruel to me, please.”
“Get up!” he cried, more sternly.
“My ankle’s twisted under me,” she said, faintly. “I – I – !”
A piteous sigh ended her speech, and she sank nerveless nearly to the level, but a sudden snatch on his part saved her from falling prone.
Then bending down, he raised her, quite insensible, in his arms, drew her arm over his shoulders, and strode on again, the passionate rage and indignation in his breast nerving him so that she seemed to possess no weight at all.
For another agony had come upon him, just when life seemed to have suddenly become unbearable, and there were moments when it appeared to be impossible that the bright girl who had for years past been to him as his own child could have behaved in so treacherous, so weak and disgraceful a way as to have listened to the addresses of the young scoundrel who seemed to have blasted his life.
“And she always professed to hold him in such contempt,” he said to himself. “Great heavens! Are all women alike in their weakness and folly?”
He reached the cottage at last, where all was now dark; but the door yielded to his touch, and he bore her in, and laid her, still insensible, upon the sofa.
Upon striking a light, and holding a candle toward her face, he uttered a deep sigh, for she was ghastly pale, her hair was wet and clinging to her temples, and he could see that she was covered with the sticky, yellowish clay of the field and lane. But he steeled his breast against her. It was her punishment, he felt; and treating her as if she were some patient and a stranger, he took off her wet cloak and hood, threw them aside, and proceeded to examine for the injury.
But little examination was necessary, and his brow grew more deeply lined as he quickly took out a knife, slit her wet boot from ankle to toe, and set her foot at liberty.
Then lighting another candle, he walked sharply into his surgery, and returned with splints and bandages, to find her eyes open, and that she was gazing at him wildly.
“Where am I? What is the matter?” she cried, hysterically. “This dreadful pain and sickness!”
“At home. Lie still,” he said, coldly. “Your ankle is badly hart.”
“Oh!” she sighed, and the tears began to flow, accompanied by a piteous sobbing, for the meaning of it all came back.
He went out again, and returned with a glass containing some fluid, then passing his hand beneath her head, he raised her a little.
“Drink this,” he said.
“No, no, I can not bear it. You hurt me horribly.”
“I can not help it. Drink!”
He pressed the glass to her lips, and she drank the vile ammoniacal mixture.
“Now, lie still. I will not hurt you more than I can help, but I must see if the bone is broken, and set it.”
“No, no, not yet Pierce,” she sobbed; “I could not bear it while I am in this state. Let me tell you – let me explain to you first.”
“Be silent!” he cried, angrily. “I do not want to hear a word I must see to your ankle before it swells up and the work is impossible.”
“Never mind that, dear. I must tell you,” she cried, piteously.
“I know all I want to know,” he said, bitterly; “that the sister I have trusted and believed in has been cruelly deceiving me – that one I trusted to be sweet and true and innocent has been acting a part that would disgrace one of the village wenches, for to be seen even talking to that young scoundrel under such circumstances would rob her of her character. And this is my sister! Now, lie still. I must bandage this hurt.”
“Oh, Pierce, dear Pierce! You are hurting me more than I can bear,” she sobbed; for he had gone down on one knee as he spoke, and began manipulating the injured joint.
“I can not help it; you must bear it. I shall not be long.”
“I – I don’t mean that, dear; I can bear that,” she moaned. “It is your cruel words that hurt me so. How can you say such things to me?”
“Be silent, I tell you. I can only attend to this. If it is neglected, you may be lame for life.”
“Very well,” she said, with a passionate cry; “let me be lame for life – let me die of it if you like, but you must, you shall listen to me, dear.”
“I will not listen to you now – I will not at any time. You have killed my faith in you, and I can never believe or trust in you again.”
“But you shall listen to me,” she cried; and with an effort that gave her the most acute pain, she drew herself up and embraced her knees. “You shall not touch me again until you listen to me. There!”
“Don’t behave like a madwoman,” he said, sternly. “Lie back in your place; you are injuring yourself more by your folly.”
“It is not folly,” she cried; “I will not be misjudged like this by my own brother. Pierce, Pierce, I am not the wicked girl you think.”
“I am glad of it,” he said, coldly; “even if you are lost to shame.”
“Shame upon you, to say such words to me.”
“Perhaps I was deceived in thinking I found you there to-night with your lover.”
“My lover!” she cried, hysterically.
“Now, will you lie down quietly, and let me bandage your ankle, or must I stupefy you with chloroform?”
“You shall do nothing until you have listened to me,” she cried, wildly. “He is not my lover. I never had a lover, Pierce. I went there to-night to tell him to go away, for I was afraid for you to meet him. I shivered with dread, you were so wild and strange.”
“Were you afraid I should kill him,” he said, with an angry glare in his eyes.
“Yes, or that he might kill you. Pierce, dear, if I have deceived you, it was because I loved you, and I was fighting your fight.”
Indeed! he said, bitterly.
“He has been watching for me, and coming here constantly ever since we came to the house. I couldn’t go down the village, or for a walk without his meeting me. He has made my life hateful to me.”
“And you could not appeal to your brother for help and protection?”
“I was going to, dear, but matters happened so that I determined to be silent. No, no, don’t touch me till you have heard all. I found how you loved poor Kate.”
“Will you be silent!” he raged out.
“No, not if I die for it. I found out how you loved Kate, and I soon knew that they meant her for that – that dreadful boy, while all the time he was trying to pay his addresses to me. Then I made up my mind to give him just a little encouragement – to draw him on, so as to be able to let Kate see how utterly contemptible and unworthy he was, for I could lead him on until she surprised us together some day, when all would have been over at once, for she would never have listened to him. Do you hear me, Pierce? I tried to fool him, but he has fooled me instead, and robbed me of my own brother’s love.”
“What do you mean by fooling you?” he cried, with his attention arrested at last.
“We have been all wrong, dear; I found it out to-night. He did not take Kate away.”
“What! Why, they were seen together by that poaching vagabond, Barker, the fellow the keeper shot at and I attended. He watched them.”
“No, dear; it was not Kate with him then: it was I. Kate is gone, and he is in a rage about it.”
“Gone? With whom?”
“With – with – oh! Pierce, Pierce! say some kind word to me; tell me you love and believe me, dear. I am hot the wicked creature you think, and – and – am I dying? Is this death?”
He laid her back quickly, and hurriedly began to bathe her temples, but ceased directly.
“Better so,” he muttered; and then with trembling hands, which rapidly grew firmer, he examined the injury, acting with such skill that when a low sigh announced that the poor girl was recovering her senses, he was just laying the injured limb in an easy position, before rising to take her hand in his.
Chapter Twenty Four
Kate Wilton needed all her strength of mind to bear up against the depression consequent upon her self-inflicted position. As she sat back in a corner of the carriage, dimly lit by a lamp in which a quantity of thick oil was floating to and fro, she could see that Garstang in the corner diagonal to hers was either asleep or assuming to be so, and for the moment this relieved her, for she felt that it was from kindness and consideration on his part.
But the next minute she was in agony, reproaching herself bitterly for what now presented the aspect of a rashly foolish action on her part.
Then, with her mental suffering increasing, she tried to combat this idea, telling herself that she had acted wisely, for it would have been madness to have stayed at Northwood and exposed herself to the risk of further insult from her cousin, now that she knew for certain what were her uncle’s designs. For she knew that appeal to her aunt would be useless, that lady being a slave to the caprices of her son and the stern wishes of her husband, and quite ready to believe that everything they said or did was right.
And so on during the slow night journey toward London, her brain growing more and more confused by the strangeness of her position, and the absence of her natural rest, till the swaying to and fro of her thoughts seemed to be somewhat bound up with that of the thick oil in the great glass bubble of a lamp and with the stopping of the train and the roll and clang of the great milk tins taken up at various stations.
At last her fevered waking dream, as it seemed to her, was brought to an end by Garstang suddenly starting up as if from sleep to rub his condensed breath off the window-pane and look out.
“London lights,” he said. – “Asleep, my dear?”
“No, Mr Garstang. I have been awake thinking all the while.”
“Of course you would be. What an absurd, malapropos question. There, you see what it is to be a middle-aged, unfeeling man. I’m afraid we do get very selfish. Instead of trying to comfort you, and chatting pleasantly, I curl up like a great black cat and go to sleep.”
She made no reply. The words would not come.
“Cold, my dear?”
“No. I feel hot and feverish.”
“Nervous anxiety, of course. But try and master it. We shall soon be home, and you can have a good cup of tea and go to bed. A good long sleep will set you right, and you will not be thinking of what a terrible deed you have committed in coming away in this nocturnal clandestine manner. That sounds grand, doesn’t it, for a very calm, sensible move on life’s chess-board – one which effectually checks James Wilton and that pleasant young pawn his son. There, there, don’t fidget about it, pray. I have been thinking, too, and asking myself whether I have done my duty by Robert Wilton’s child in bringing you away, and I can find but one answer – yes; while conscience says that I should have been an utter brute to you if I had left you to be exposed to such a scandalous persecution.”
“Thank you, Mr Garstang,” said Kate, frankly, as she held out her hand to him. “I could not help feeling terribly agitated and ready to reproach myself for taking such a step. You do assure me that I have done right?”
“What, in coming with me, my dear?” he said, after just pressing her hand and dropping it again. “Of course I do. I was a little in doubt about it at first, but my head feels clearer after my nap, and I tell you, as an experienced man, that you have done the only thing you could do under the circumstances. This night journey excites and upsets you a bit, but I’m very much afraid that some of them at Northwood will be far worse, and serve them right.”
“Poor ’Liza will be horror-stricken,” said Kate. “I wish I had begged harder for you to bring her too.”
“Ah, poor woman! I am sorry for her,” said Garstang, thoughtfully; “servants of that devoted nature are very rare. It is an insult to call them servants; they are very dear and valuable friends. But just think a moment, my dear. To have roused her from sleep and told her to dress and come with you – to join you in your flight would have seemed to her then so mad a proceeding that it would have resulted in her alarming the house, or at least in upsetting our project. She would never have let you come.”
“I am afraid you are right,” said Kate, with a sigh.
“I am sure of it, my child; but you must communicate with her at once. She must not be kept in suspense an hour longer than we can help. Let me see, I must contrive some way of getting a letter to her. – Ah, here we are.”
For the train had slowed while they were talking, and was now gliding gently along by the platform of the great dimly lighted station.
A porter sprang on to the footboard as he let down the window.
“Luggage, sir?”
“No. Is the refreshment room open?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That will do, then,” said Garstang, and he slipped a coin into the man’s hand. “Now, then, my dear, we’ll go and have a hot cup of tea at once.”
“I really could not touch any now, Mr Garstang,” said Kate.
“That’s what I daresay you said about your medicine when you were a little girl; but I must be doctor, and tell you that it is necessary to take away that nervous shivering and agitation; and besides, have a little pity on me.”
She smiled faintly as he handed her out of the carriage, and suffered herself to be led to where the cheerless refreshment room was in charge of a couple of girls, who looked particularly sleepy and irritable, but who had been comforting themselves with that very rare railway beverage, a cup of freshly made tea.
“There, I am sure you feel better for that,” said Garstang, as he drew his companion’s arm through his and led her out of the station, ignoring the offers of cabman after cabman. “A nice, little, quick walk will circulate your blood, and then we’ll take a cab and go home.”
She acquiesced, and he took her along at a brisk pace through the gas-lit streets, passing few people but an occasional policeman who looked at them keenly, and the men busy in gangs sweeping the city streets; but at the end of a quarter of an hour he raised his hand to the sleepy looking driver of a four-wheeler, handed his companion in, gave the man his instructions, and then followed, to sit opposite to her, and drew up the window, when the wretched vehicle went off with the glass jangling and jarring so that conversation became difficult.
“There!” said Garstang, merrily; “now, my dear, I am going to confess to a great deal of artfulness and cunning.”
She looked at him nervously.
“This is a miserable cab, and I could have obtained a far better one in the station, but now you have come away it’s to find peace, quiet, and happiness, eh?”
“I hope so, Mr Garstang.”
“Yes, and you shall have those three necessities to a young girl’s life, or John Garstang will know the reason why. So to begin with I was not going to have James Wilton and his unlicked cub coming up to town some time this morning, enlisting the services of a clever officer, who would question the porters at the terminus till he found the man who asked me about luggage, and then gather from that man that he called cab number nine millions and something to drive us away. Then, as they keep a record of the cabs which take up and where they are going, for the benefit of that stupid class of passengers who are always leaving their umbrellas and bags on seats, that record would be examined, number nine millions and something found, questioned, and ready to endorse the entry as to where we were going; and the next thing would have been Uncle James and Cousin Claud calling at my house, insisting upon seeing you, and consequently a desperate row, which would upset you and make me say things again which would cause me to repent. Now do you see?”
“Yes,” she said, gravely; “they will not follow us now.”
“I hope not, but it is of no use to be sure. I am taking every precaution I can; and I shall finish by getting out where I told the man – Russell Square; and we will walk the rest of the way.”
Kate did not speak, for a vague terror was beginning to oppress her, which her companion’s bright cheery way had hard work to disperse.
“It is of no use to be sure about anything, but if they do find out that you have come with me, these proceedings will throw them off the scent. Your uncle does not know that I have a house in Great Ormond Street. Of course he knows of my offices in Bedford Row, and of my place at Chislehurst, where Harry Dasent lives with me – when he condescends to be at home. Come, you seem brighter and more cheerful now, but you will not be right till you have had a good long sleep.”
Very little was said for the rest of the journey, the cab drawing up at the end of the narrow passage close to Southampton Row, where there was no thoroughfare for horses; and after the man was paid, Garstang led his companion along the pavement as if about to enter one of the houses, going slowly till the cab was driven off. Then, increasing his pace, he led the way into the great square, along one side, making for the east, and finally stopped suddenly in front of a grim-looking red-brick mansion in Great Ormond Street – a house which in the gloomy morning, just before dawn, had a prison-like aspect which made the girl shiver.
“Strange how cold it is just before day,” said Garstang, leading the way up the steps, glancing sharply to right and left the while. The next moment a latch-key had opened the ponderous door, and they stood in a great hall dimly seen to be full of shadow, till Garstang struck a match, applied it beneath a glass globe, and revealed the proportions of the place, which were ample and set off by rich rugs, and old oak presses full of blue china, while here and there were pictures which looked old and good.
“Welcome home, my child,” said Garstang, with tender respect. “It looks gloomy now, but you are tired, faint, and oppressed with trouble. This way.”
He led the girl to a door at the foot of a broad staircase, opened it, entered the room, and once more struck a match, to apply it to a couple of great globes held up by bronze figures on the great carved oak mantelpiece, and as the handsome, old-fashioned room lit up, he stopped and applied a match to the paper of a well-laid fire, which began to burn briskly, and added the warmth and glow of its flames and the cheery crackle of the wood to the light shed by the globes.
“There,” he continued, drawing forward a great leather-covered easy chair to the front of the fire, “take off your hat, but keep your cloak on till the room gets warmer. It will soon be right.”
She obeyed, trying to be firm, but her hands trembled a little as she glanced at her strange surroundings the while, to see that the room was heavily but richly furnished, much of the panelled oak wall being taken up by great carved cabinets, full of curious china, while plates and vases were ranged abundantly on brackets, or suspended by hooks wherever space allowed. These relieved the heaviness of the thick hangings about a stained-glass window and over the doors, lying in folds upon the thick Persian carpet, while as the fire burned up a thousand little reflections came from the glaze of china, and wood polished as bright as hands could make it.
“You did not know I was quite a collector of these things, my dear. I hope you will take an interest in them by-and-by. But to begin with, let me say this – that I hope you will consider this calm old house your sanctuary as well as home, that you are its mistress as long as you please, and give your orders to the servants for anything that seems to be wanting.”
“You are very good to me, Mr Garstang,” faltered Kate, who felt that the vague terror from which she had suffered was dying away.
“Good? Absurd! Now, then, you will not mind being left alone for a few minutes? I am going to awaken my housekeeper and her daughter. Rather an early call.”
As he spoke a great clock over the mantelpiece began to chime musically, and was followed by the hour in deep, rich, vibrating tones.
“It’s a long time since I was up at five in the morning,” said Garstang, cheerily. “Hah! a capital fire soon. Becky is very clever at laying fires. You will find her and her mother rather quaint, but they are devoted to me. Excellent servants. I never see anyone else’s house so clean. There, I shall not be long.”
He smiled at her pleasantly, and left the room, while, as the door closed, and the heavy folds of the portiere dropped down, Kate sank back in her chair, and the tears which had been gathering for hours fell fast. Then she drew herself up with a sigh, and hastily wiped her eyes, as if relieved and prepared to meet this new change of fate.
Garstang’s few minutes proved to be nearly a quarter of an hour, during which, after a glance or two round the room, Kate sat thinking, with her ideas setting first in one direction, then ebbing in the other, the feeling that she had done wrong predominating; but her new guardian’s reappearance changed their course again, and she could feel nothing but gratitude to one whose every thought seemed to be to make her position bearable.
“I could not be cross with them,” he said, as he entered; “but it is an astonishing thing how people who have neither worry nor trouble in the world can sleep. Now those two have nothing on their minds but the care of this house, which came to me through an old client, and in which I very seldom live! and I believe they pass half their time drowsing through existence. If the truth were known, they were in bed by nine o’clock last night, and they were so soundly asleep that the place might have been burned down without their waking.”
“It seems a shame to disturb them,” said Kate, with a faint smile.
“What? Not at all, my child. Do them good; they want rousing out of their lethargy. I have told them to prepare a bedroom for you, and I should advise you to retire as soon as they say it is ready. There is no fear of damp, for the rooms are constantly having fires in them, and Sarah Plant is most trustworthy. Go and have a good long sleep, and some time in the afternoon we will have a discussion on ways and means. You will have to go shopping, and I shall have to play guardian and carry the parcels. By the way, you will want some money. Have you any?”
“I have a few pounds, Mr Garstang.”
“Perhaps that will do for the present; if not, please bear in mind that you have unlimited credit with your banker. I am that banker till you can declare yourself independent, so have no compunction whatever about asking for what you need Is there anything more that I can do for you?”
“No, Mr Garstang; only to contrive a way of getting Eliza here.”
“Oh, yes, of course, I will not forget that; but we must be careful. We don’t want any more quarrelling. It is bad for you, and it upsets me. Ah, they’re ready.”
For at that moment there was a soft tapping at the door.
“Your bedroom is the one over this, and I hope you will find it comfortable. No trees to look out upon; no flowers; no bright full moon; plenty of bricks, mortar, and chimney-pots; but there are rest and peace for you, my child; so go, and believe that I am ready to fight your battles and to make you happy here. I can if you will only help.”
“I shall try, Mr Garstang,” she said, with a faint smile.
“Then c’est un fait accompli,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Good-night – I mean, good morning. Sarah is waiting to show you to your room.”
She placed her hand in his for a few moments, and then with heart too full for words she hurried to the door and passed through into the hall, to find a strange-looking, dry, elderly woman standing on the skin mat at the foot of the stairs, holding a massive silver bedroom candlestick in her hand, and peering at her curiously, but ready to lower her eyes directly.
“This way, please, miss,” she said, in a lachrymose tone of voice; and she began to ascend the low, wide, thickly-carpeted stairs, holding the candle before her, and showing her gaunt, angular body against a faint halo of light.
Kate followed, wondering, and feeling as if she were in a dream, while Garstang was slowly walking up and down among his cabinets, rubbing his hands softly, and smiling in a peculiar way.
“Promises well,” he said softly; “promises well, but I have my work cut out, and I have not reckoned with Harry Dasent yet.”
He stopped short, thinking, and then involuntarily raised his eyes, to find that he was exactly opposite a curious old Venetian mirror, which reflected clearly the upper portion of his form.
He started slightly, and then stood watching the clearly seen image of his face, ending by smiling at it in a peculiar way.
“Not so very old yet,” he said softly; “a woman is a woman, and it only depends upon how you play your cards.”
“But there is Harry. Ah, I must not reckon without him.”
