Kitabı oku: «The Master of the Ceremonies», sayfa 21
Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Five.
Mellersh is Convinced
“Well, Dick,” said Mellersh, as he sought Linnell out, after a stroll round the rooms in search of Cora Dean, “how long are you going to keep yourself on the gridiron?”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Then I shall not try to explain.”
“Have you seen anything?”
“N-no.”
“Don’t hesitate, man; you have?”
“No, Dick, no. Of course, I’ve seen a certain young lady, and I’ve seen Rockley hanging about.”
“Well, that proves nothing, does it?”
“My dear Dick, why should I waste my breath on a man in your condition?”
“My condition, you wretched old cynic? You never knew what it was to love.”
“Wrong. I have loved, and I am in love now.”
“You? You?”
“Yes, my boy, and with a woman who cares for somebody else; but I don’t go stalking about like a tragedy hero, and rolling my eyes and cursing the whole world. If I cannot have the moon, I shall not cry for it.”
“Hist! There goes Rockley.”
“Well, let him go.”
Richard Linnell made no reply, but quietly followed the Major.
“I mustn’t let them meet without me there,” thought Mellersh. “The scoundrel might hit him badly next time.”
He strode off after Richard Linnell, but missed him, and it was quite half an hour before they met again.
“I have been about the gate,” said Richard hoarsely. “There is no post-chaise there.”
“Then it is a hoax.”
“No; I cannot think that it is. Rockley is yonder, and he is watching about in a curious, restless way that means something.”
“Where is he?”
“Over there by the saloon window.”
“Oh, my dear Dick, I am hungry for a good hand at whist, and to win a little Philistine gold, and here you keep me hanging about after you, looking for a mare’s nest.”
“I can’t stop,” said Linnell. “Where shall I find you if I want you?”
“Here, on this seat, under this bush, smoking a cigar. No; I’ll stick by you, my lad.”
They went off together, and, going straight up to the window pointed out by Linnell, found that Rockley was not there.
“I left him there, I’ll swear,” said Linnell savagely. “No, don’t let us separate; I may want you.”
“Quite right; and I may want you,” replied Mellersh.
They walked hastily round, looking in at window after window, but there was no sign of Rockley. The throng of guests were dancing, playing, or conversing, and the scene was very brilliant; but the tall, dark officer of the dragoons was the only one of his party that they could not see.
“Mellersh,” exclaimed Linnell suddenly, “with all my watchfulness, I seem to have failed.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Claire!”
“Claire? Why, I saw her seated on that rout-chair five minutes ago.”
“Yes; but she has gone.”
“Quick, then – down to the gate! We must see them there.”
“Unless they have passed through,” said Linnell, with a groan. “I ought not to have left the entrance.”
“Don’t talk,” said Mellersh, almost savagely now, he seemed so moved from his ordinary calm. “I don’t want to think you are right, Dick, but I begin to be suspicious at last.”
They hurried down to the gate, where a knot of servants were chatting, the lights from the carriage-lamps glistening in polished panels and windows, and throwing up the gay liveries of the belaced footmen waiting.
“Has any one passed through here lately?” said Mellersh sharply.
“No, sir,” was chorused.
“Not a lady and gentleman?”
“No, sir – yes, about half an hour ago Colonel Lascelles and the doctor at the barracks went out together.”
“But no lady and gentleman separately or together?”
“No, sir.”
“No carriage?”
“No, sir,” said the footman who had acted as spokesman.
“Only wish they would,” grumbled a coachman from his box close by the gate.
“We are in time,” said Mellersh, and Linnell breathed more freely as he took up a position in the shade of a great clump of evergreens just inside the gate.
“Have you any plan?” said Mellersh, after a few minutes’ waiting, during which time the servants, gathered in a knot, were at first quiet, as if resenting the presence of the two gentlemen. Then their conversation began again, and the watchers were forgotten.
“Plan? Yes,” said Linnell. “I shall take her from him, and not leave her until she is in her father’s care.”
“Humph! That means mischief, Dick.”
“Yes; for him, Mellersh. I shall end by killing that man.”
Mellersh was silent, and the minutes glided by.
“I can’t bear this,” said Linnell at last. “I feel as if there is something wrong – that he has succeeded in getting her away. Mellersh! man! why don’t you speak? Here, come this way.”
Mellersh followed as his companion walked to the gate.
“Is there a servant of Mrs Pontardent’s here?”
“Yes, sir,” said a man holding a lantern, “I am.”
“Is there any other entrance to these grounds?”
“No, sir,” said the man sharply, and Linnell’s heart beat with joy. “Leastwise, sir, only the garden gate.”
“Garden gate?”
“Yes, sir; at the bottom of the broad walk.”
“Here – which way?”
“Right up through the grounds, sir; or along outside here, till you come to the lane that goes round by the back. But it’s always kept locked.”
“Stop here, Mellersh, while I go round and see,” whispered Linnell. “If I shout, come to me.”
“Yes; go on. It is not likely.”
They went outside together, past the wondering group of servants, and then separating, Linnell was starting off when Mellersh ran to him.
“No blows, Dick,” he whispered, “Be content with separating them.”
Linnell nodded, and was starting again when a man ran up out of the darkness, and caught Mellersh hastily by the arm.
“Seen a post-chaise about here, sir?”
“Post-chaise, my man?”
“Yes, sir – four horses – was to have been waiting hereabouts. Lower down. Haven’t heard one pass?”
“No,” said Linnell quickly; “but what post-chaise? Whose? Speak man!”
“Who are you?” said the man roughly.
“Never mind who I am,” cried Linnell. “Tell me who was that post-chaise waiting for?”
The man shook him off with an oath, and was starting again on his search, when about fifty yards away there was the tramp of horses, the rattle and bump of wheels; and then, as by one consent, the three men ran towards the spot, they caught a faint glimpse of a yellow chaise turning into the main road; then there was the cracking of the postboys’ whips, and away it went over the hard road at a canter.
“Too late!” groaned the man, as he ran on, closely followed by Linnell and Mellersh.
“Too late!” groaned Linnell; but he ran on, passing the man, who raced after him, though, and for about a quarter of a mile they kept almost together, till, panting with breathlessness and despair, and feeling the utter hopelessness of overtaking the chaise on foot, Linnell turned fiercely on the runner and grasped him by the throat.
“You scoundrel!” he panted. “You knew of this. Who’s in that chaise?”
“Curse you! don’t stop me. Can’t you see I’m too late?” cried the man savagely.
“Linnell! Are you mad?” cried Mellersh, coming up.
“Linnell! – are you Linnell? – Richard Linnell?” panted the man, ceasing his struggles.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“Don’t waste time, man,” groaned the other. “We must stop them at any cost. Did you see them go? Who is it Major Rockley has got there?”
“A lady we know,” said Mellersh quickly. “Who are you?”
“The drunken fool and idiot who wanted to stop it,” groaned Bell. “Here, Linnell,” he said, “what are you going to do?”
“The man’s drunk, and fooling us, Mellersh,” cried Linnell excitedly. “Quick! Into the town and let’s get a post-chaise. They are certain to take the London Road.”
“No,” cried Bell excitedly; “he would make for Weymouth. Tell me this, though, gentlemen,” he cried, clinging to Linnell’s arm. “I am drunk, but I know what I am saying. For God’s sake, speak: is it Claire Denville?”
“Who are you?” cried Mellersh sharply. “Stand off, or I’ll knock you down. It is the Major’s man, Dick, and he’s keeping us back to gain time. I didn’t know him at first.”
“No: I swear I’m not,” cried the dragoon, in a voice so full of anguish, that they felt his words were true. “Tell me, is it Miss Denville?”
“Yes.”
“Curse him! I’ll have his life,” cried the man savagely. “This way, quick!”
“What are you going to do?” cried Linnell, as Bell set off at a sharp run towards the main street of the town.
“Come with me and see.”
“No: I shall get a post-chaise and four.”
“And give them an hour’s start,” cried the dragoon. “Horses, man, horses.”
“Where can we get them quickly?”
“In Major Rockley’s stable, curse him!” was the reply.
In five minutes they were at the stable, and the dragoon threw open the door.
“Can you saddle a horse?” he panted, as they entered the place, dimly lit by a tallow candle in a swinging horn lantern.
“Yes – yes,” was the reply.
“Quick then. Everything’s ready.”
Each ran to a horse, the head-stalls were cast loose, and the order of the well-appointed stable stood them in such good stead that, everything being at hand, in five minutes the three horses were saddled and bridled, and being led out, champing their bits.
“We’ve no spurs. Where are the whips?”
“They want no whips,” cried the dragoon excitedly; “a shake of the rein and a touch of the heel. They’re chargers, gentlemen. Can you ride, Mr Linnell?”
“Yes,” was the answer; and as it was given Linnell’s foot was painfully raised to the stirrup.
He stopped though, and laid his hand upon the dragoon’s shoulder.
“The London Road?” he said, looking him full in the eyes.
“The Weymouth Road, I tell you.”
Another half minute and they were mounted and clattering down the lane to turn into the main street, up which the three sleek creatures pressed, hanging close together, and snorting, and rattling their bits as they increased their stride.
“Steady – steady – a carriage,” cried Mellersh; and they opened out to ride on either side of a chariot with flashing lamps, and as they passed they had a glimpse of Lady Drelincourt being escorted home from the party by Sir Matthew Bray.
“Steady!” cried Mellersh again, as they came in sight of the cluster of lamps and carriages by Mrs Pontardent’s gates; and but for his insistance there would have been a collision, for another carriage came out and passed them, the wheel just brushing Linnell’s leg in the road narrowed by a string of carriages drawn up to the path.
“Now we’re clear,” said Mellersh; and they cantered by the wall, past the lane in which the chaise had been waiting, past a few more houses and the ragged outskirts, always mounting, and then bearing off to the left as the way curved, till there it lay, the broad chalk western road, open, hard, and ready to ring to their horses’ beating hoofs.
“Now then, forward!” cried the dragoon hoarsely.
“At a trot!” shouted Mellersh.
“No, no; gallop!” roared the dragoon, and his horse darted ahead.
“Halt!” shouted Mellersh in a ringing voice, for he had not forgotten old field-practice; and the three horses stopped short.
“Listen!” he continued, in a voice of authority; “they’ve half an hour’s start nearly, and we shall not overtake them this stage. We must not blow our horses at the beginning. A steady trot for the first few miles, and then forward at a canter. It will be a long race.”
“Right, sir,” cried the dragoon. “He’s right, Mr Linnell. Take the lead, sir; my head’s on fire.”
“Forward!” cried the Colonel; and away they went through the dark night, but with the chalky road making their way clear.
After a mile or two the rapid swinging trot of the chargers grew into a regular military canter, and that, by an imperceptible change, into a rapid gallop that was now kept up, for the excitement of the chase told upon Mellersh, and his ideas of prudence as to husbanding the horses’ powers were swept away as if by the keen wind that dashed by their ears.
“I ought to check him,” said Mellersh, as he toned down his excitement for the minute; and then – “No, I cannot, for I must take that scoundrel by the throat.”
Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Six.
The End of the Race
Colonel Mellersh was the only one who was likely to ride with a cool head: the others were for racing at the top of the horses’ speed. And so it was that before long, as Richard Linnell sat well down and gave his horse its head, James Bell, whom the ride was gradually sobering in one sense, but also making far more excited as he realised clearly the position of his sister, shook his reins, pressed his horse’s flanks with his heels, and the brave beast began to almost fly. Naturally enough, the Colonel’s steed pressed more heavily upon its bit, refusing, after the fashion of a cavalry horse, to be left behind, and forcing itself between the other two, till the riders were knee to knee, and tearing along as if in a desperate charge.
“We’re distressing the horses, Dick,” said Mellersh, turning his head to his right; but Bell heard him.
“I’m sorry for the horses, sir; but they are his. Let them be distressed.”
“We must overtake them,” said Linnell between his teeth.
“Right, sir, right,” cried Bell. “Forward, Colonel. Please don’t draw rein.”
Fortunately for them, the night grew a little lighter, and along the treeless Down road they thundered. Every now and then one of the horses snorted as the dust flew, but mile after mile was spurned beneath their heels and they showed no sign of distress, but seemed to rejoice in the long night gallop and the music of their clattering hoofs.
The road was singularly silent and deserted; not so much as a foot-passenger was on the way, not a vehicle was seen.
A gate at last came in view as they were breathing the horses up a hill, after riding for some distance without a word, the very silence telling the intensity of the men’s feelings.
Here was a check, for the gate was closed, and no light visible, but Bell rode close up and kicked hard at the panel, till the door in the gatekeeper’s hut was opened.
“Now, then, quick!” cried Bell. “How long is it since a chaise and four passed?”
“Chaise and four?” said the man surlily.
“Yes, chaise and four. Has a chaise and four passed?”
“What, to-night?”
“Yes, to-night. Answer; quick, or – ”
He caught the man by the collar, and the evasion he was about to utter did not pass his lips.
“Yes,” he growled; “one went by.”
“How long ago?” said the Colonel.
“How long?”
“Yes, yes. Quick, man, quick! and here’s a crown for the toll. Keep the change.”
This seemed to enliven the surly fellow’s faculties, and he took the money and rubbed his head as he began to unfasten the gate.
“Well, how long?” cried the Colonel.
“Long? Well a good bit ago, sir.”
“Yes, yes, but what do you mean by a good bit?”
“Mebbe two hours – mebbe hour and a half. I’ve been asleep since.”
“Come along,” cried the Colonel, who was as excited now as his companions. “There’s nothing more to be got from this lout.”
They left the man leaning on the gate, having gained nothing whatever by the colloquy but a short breathing space for their horses, and these continued their gallop the moment they were through.
They passed a side road now and then, and at the first Linnell turned in his saddle.
“Is it likely that they will leave the main road?” he said.
“No,” was the prompt answer given by Bell, without waiting for the Colonel to speak. “They’re going west – far enough, I dare say – and they must change their horses now and then. We shall hear of them at Cheldon.”
Bell was right, for, when, at the end of another quarter of an hour, they cantered into the little post town, there was a light still burning in a lantern in the inn yard, and an ostler proved to be a little more communicative.
Yes, a post-chaise – a yellow one – came in half an hour ago, and changed horses and went on. Their horses were all in a muck sweat, and here was one of the boys.
A postboy came out of the tap, and stood staring.
He knew nothing, he said, only that he and his mate had brought a party from Saltinville.
“A lady and gentleman?” said Linnell sharply.
“I d’know,” said the postboy. “I didn’t ride the wheeler; I was on one of the leaders.”
“But you must have seen?” cried Linnell angrily.
“No; I didn’t see nothing. I’d enough to do to look after my horses. Bad road and precious hilly ’bout here, sir.”
“Come along,” cried Linnell angrily.
“Walk your horses for a few minutes,” said Mellersh quietly; and as Linnell and Bell went on he dismounted and thrust his hand into his pocket. “Just tighten these girths for me a little, will you, my man?” he said, turning to the postboy, and slipping a guinea into his hand.
“Cert’ny, sir. Get a bit slack they do after a few miles canter. Steady, my lad. Nice horse, sir, that he is,” continued the postboy, who was smooth civility itself. “Must be a pleasure to ride him.”
“Yes,” said Mellersh, as the man went on talking and buckling with his head supporting the saddle-flap. “You don’t get such a nag as that for a leader, eh?”
“No, sir, not likely. Fifteen pounders is about our cut. That one’s worth a hundred. All of a sweat he is, and yet not a bit blown. You’ve come fast, sir.”
“Yes; at a good rattling gallop nearly all the ten miles.”
“’Leven, sir, a good ’leven, and a bad road.”
“Is it, though?” said Mellersh quietly, as he prepared to mount again.
“All that, sir.”
“Postboys’ miles, eh?”
“No, sir; honest miles. We’d charge twelve. Wouldn’t you like them stirrups shortened two or three holes?” said the man eagerly.
“No, thanks; no. I’m an old soldier, and we always ride with a long stirrup. Matter of use. Shall we catch them, do you think?”
“What, with them horses, sir? Yes, easy. They’ve got a shocking bad team. They never have a decent change here. Lookye here, sir. You put on a decent canter, and you’ll be up to them before they get to Drumley. The road’s awful for wheels for about six miles; but when you get about a mile on from here, you can turn off the road on the off-side, and there’s five miles of good, close turf for you where a chaise couldn’t go, but there’s plenty of room for a horse. Good-night, sir; thankye, sir. Good luck to you.”
Mellersh said “good-night” and cantered off after his companions, his steed needing no urging to join its fellows.
“Anyone would think that a guinea dissolved into golden oil and made a man’s temper and his tongue run easily. I can’t prove it, but I should not be surprised if that was one of Rockley’s own guineas. Odd. Running him down with his own horses, and his own coin. Well, he deserves it all.”
“We’re on the track right enough, Dick,” he cried, as he overtook Linnell; Bell, in his impatience, being a couple of hundred yards ahead.
“Are you sure? I don’t understand this fellow. Why should he be so eager to overtake that scoundrel?”
“Can’t say. Puzzled me,” replied Mellersh drily.
“Is he leading us wrong?”
“No. We are well on our way, and shall overtake them by the time they reach the next posting house. Forward.”
Mellersh did not feel quite sure, but his confidence increased as he found the postboy’s words correct about the badness of the road, and the smooth turf at the side, on to which they turned, and cantered along easily for mile after mile.
Every now and then Bell burst forth with some fierce expletive, as if he could not contain his rage; and they gathered that at times it was against himself, at others against Rockley. As fierce a rage, too, burned in Linnell’s breast, compounded of bitter hatred, jealousy, and misery.
He could not talk to Mellersh, many of whose remarks fell upon unheeding ears, while Linnell asked himself why he was doing all this to save from misery and shame a woman who did not deserve his sympathy.
But, when he reasoned thus, it seemed as if Claire’s pure, sad face looked up into his reproachfully, and the thoughts her gentle loving eyes engendered made him press his horse’s flanks, and send him along faster as he said to himself:
“It is a mystery. I cannot understand it; and were she everything that is bad, I should be compelled to fight for her and try to save her to the end.”
Mile after mile was passed, and though the dull thudding of their horses’ hoofs upon the soft turf gave them opportunities for hearing the rattle of wheels and the trampling on the rough road, no sound greeted their ears.
“We shall never catch them, gentlemen, like this,” cried Bell at last. “Curse the horses! Push on. If we kill the poor brutes we must overtake that chaise.”
“Forward then,” said Mellersh eagerly, for there was that in the young man’s voice that cleared away the last shadow of doubt and suspicion.
They had been on the grass waste beside the road for quite five miles when, all at once, the way seemed to narrow; and they were about to turn on to the road, but Linnell drew rein suddenly.
“Stop!” he cried. “Listen!”
There was no doubt about it. As soon as they drew up, with their mounts breathing hard, and snorting or champing their bits, there came on the night air the beat, beat of trotting horses, and the rattle of wheels.
“There,” cried Mellersh, “that settles it. Forward, again!”
The horses seemed almost to divine that they had only to put on a final spurt and finish their task, for they went off at a free gallop, and before long there was the rattle of the wheels plainly heard, though for the most part it was drowned by the sound of the trampling hoofs, for the pursuers were now upon the hard, chalky road.
A quarter of an hour’s hard riding and they were well in view, in spite of the darkness of the night and the cloud of dust churned up by the team in the chaise. It was evident that the postboys were being urged to do their best; and as they had put their wretched horses to a gallop, the pursuers could see the chaise sway from side to side when the wheels jolted in and out of the ruts worn in the neglected road.
Had any doubt remained as to the occupants of the chaise, they would soon have been at an end; for, as Linnell pushed on taking one side, and Mellersh the other, Rockley’s voice could be heard shouting from the front of the chaise, and bidding the postboys whip and spur.
It was the work of minutes, then of moments, when Linnell, who was now leading in a break-neck gallop, yelled to the postboys to stop.
“Go on, you scoundrels! Gallop!” roared Rockley from the front window. “Go on, or I fire.”
The man on the wheeler half turned in his saddle and made as if to pull up, but there was the flash of a pistol, the quick report, and as a bullet whistled over his head, the postboy uttered a cry of fear, and bent down till his face almost touched the horse’s mane, while his companion on the leader did the same, and they whipped and spurred their jaded horses frantically.
“Stop!” shouted Linnell again. “Stop!”
“Go on! Gallop!” roared Rockley, “or I’ll blow out your brains.”
The men crouched lower. Their horses tore on; the chaise leaped and rocked and seemed about to go over, and all was rush and excitement, noise and dust.
Linnell was well abreast of the chaise door now, and pushing on to get to the postboy who rode the leader, when the glass on his side was dashed down, and, pistol-in-hand, Rockley leaned out.
“Back!” he said hoarsely, “or I fire.”
“You scoundrel!” roared Linnell. “Cowardly dog! but you are caught.”
“Stop, or I fire,” shouted Rockley again, fuming with rage and vexation at being overtaken in the hour of his triumph.
“Fire if you dare!” cried Linnell excitedly, as he pressed on.
Crack!
There was a second flash and report, and the horse Linnell rode made a spring forward as if it had been hit.
The thought flashed across Linnell’s brain that in another few moments the brave beast he bestrode would stagger and fall beneath him, and that then the cowardly scoundrel who had fired would escape with the woman he was ready to give his life to save. A curious mist seemed to float before his eyes, the hot blood of rage to surge into his brain, lights danced before him, and for the moment he felt hardly accountable for his actions.
All he knew was that he was abreast of the wheeler, with the man whipping and spurring with all his might; that the horses were snorting and tearing along in a wild race, and that Rockley was leaning out of the window yelling to the men to gallop or he would fire again.
Linnell had a misty notion Mellersh was somewhere on the other side, and that Bell was galloping behind, but he did not call to them for help. He did not even see that Mellersh was pushing forward and had reached out to catch the off-leader’s rein. All he did realise was that Claire Denville, the woman he loved, was in peril; that her whole future depended upon him; and that he must save her at any cost.
He was galloping now a little in advance of the postboy. Their knees had touched for an instant; then his leg was in front, and he was leaning forward.
“Touch that rein, and I fire,” roared Rockley.
Then there was once more a flash cutting the darkness; and as the bullet from Rockley’s pistol sped on its errand, the horse made one plunge forward, and then pitched upon its head. There was a tremendous crash of breaking glass and woodwork, and beside the road the wreck of a chaise with two horses down, and the leaders tangled in their harness and kicking furiously till they had broken free.
