Kitabı oku: «The Master of the Ceremonies», sayfa 22
Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Seven.
Richard Linnell thinks he has been a Fool
For a few moments, in the suddenness of the catastrophe, every one was too much astounded to take any steps. Linnell was the first to recover himself, and, leaping from his horse, he threw the rein to Bell.
Mellersh followed his example, joining Linnell as he tried to drag open the door of the chaise, which was over upon its side with the off-wheeler kicking in the front, as it lay there upon its companion in a tangle of harness.
The framework was so wrenched that for a minute or two the door would not yield, and the utter silence within sent a chill of horror through Linnell.
“Let me come, Dick,” whispered Mellersh, the catastrophe that had so suddenly befallen them forcing him to speak in subdued tones; “let me come, Dick. I’m stronger, perhaps.”
“Pish!” was the angry reply, as Linnell strained at the door, which suddenly yielded and flew open, the glass falling out with a tinkling noise.
Just at the same time the man with the leaders trotted back with his frightened horses, the broken traces dragging behind.
“Hurt, Jack?” he cried to his fellow.
“No, not much,” was the answer, as the postboy who rode the wheeler dragged his leg from beneath his horse, and immediately stepped round and held down the head of the animal, which was kicking and struggling to rise. “Woa! will yer. Hold still, Captain!”
With the customary feeling of helplessness that comes over a horse as soon as its head is pressed down, the poor animal ceased its frantic efforts, uttered a piteous sigh that was like that of a human being, and lay perfectly still.
“Old Spavin’s a dead ’un, mate,” said the man.
“Dead?” said the second postboy.
“Dead as a nit, mate. There’ll be something to pay for to-night’s job.”
“Anyone killed?” said the second man in a whisper.
“I d’know, and I don’t care,” grumbled the man; “my leg’s bruzz horrid. Shutin’ like that! It’s as bad as highwaymen. Here, come and help cut some of this harness. They’ll stand now. Take out your knife, mate, and use it. They’ll have to pay. I can’t sit on this ’oss’s head all night.”
“There’s some of ’em got it,” whispered the second man in a low voice, as he dismounted and stood beside his comrade watching while Linnell lifted out the insensible figure of one of the occupants of the chaise, and bore her, tangled in a thick cloak, to the roadside, where he laid her reverently upon the turf.
“With you directly, Dick,” said Mellersh, still in the subdued voice, as he climbed into the chaise, and, exerting all his strength, raised Rockley and half thrust, half lifted him out, to drag him to the other side of the road.
“Is she much hurt, sir?” said Bell hoarsely. “I can’t leave the horses.”
“I can’t say. I don’t know yet,” panted Linnell, who was trying to lay open the folds of the cloak, which he at last succeeded in doing, so that the air blew freely on the insensible woman’s face.
Linnell’s pulse beat madly, as he half closed his eyes, and kept his head averted while he knelt there in the semi-darkness, and placed his hand upon the woman’s breast.
Then he snatched his hand away and felt giddy. But a throb of joy ran through him. Her heart was beating, and he felt sure she was only fainting from the fright.
“Why don’t you speak, sir?” cried Bell angrily. “Is she much hurt?”
“I think not, my man, only fainting,” said Linnell.
“Well?”
This to Mellersh, who came to him from where he had laid Rockley.
“I don’t know,” was the answer to the abrupt query. “Only stunned, I think. Head cut with the broken glass.”
“Not killed then?” said Linnell bitterly.
“No. Such as he generally come off easily,” replied Mellersh. “What’s to be done?”
“Better send our man back for a fresh post-chaise,” said Linnell quickly. “Will you attend to Miss Denville?” he whispered. “I think I’ll take one of the horses and ride back myself for the chaise.”
“Why not let me go, Dick?”
“No,” said Linnell in sombre tones. “I’ve stopped this wretched flight. My part’s done. Mellersh, I trust to you to place her once more under her father’s charge.”
“Will not you do it?”
“I? No. I have done. We’ll send this man for the chaise, though. That scoundrel Rockley may come to again and be troublesome.”
“Lookye here, gents,” said the man who had ridden the wheeler, “we want to know who’s going to pay for this night’s job. My leg’s bad; my ’oss is dead; and the chay’s all to pieces.”
“Wait and see, my man,” said Mellersh sternly. “You will be recompensed.”
“But fine words butter no parsnips, you know, sir. I want to know – ”
“Hold your tongue, fellow! I am Colonel Mellersh, of Saltinville. That man you were driving is Major Rockley, of the – th Dragoons. Of course everything will be paid for, and you will be recompensed. Now then, which of you can ride back for a fresh chaise?”
“Well, sir, I – ”
“Damn it, man, don’t talk. Five guineas if a chaise is here within an hour.”
“Ah, that’s business, sir. Come on, mate. We’ll be back before then.”
The man seemed to forget his bruised leg, and with the help of his comrade the girths were unbuckled, and the saddle dragged off the dead horse, placed upon the other, and they were about to start when the first postboy asked whether it would be safe to leave the injured chaise where it was.
As it happened, in the struggle it had been dragged off the road on to the grass border, and lay there, so that there was ample room for passers-by; and, satisfied with this, the postboys were off at a rapid trot.
“Rather an awkward position if that fellow is seriously injured,” said Linnell grimly.
“Pooh! man; it was an accident, and he was engaged in an unlawful act,” said Mellersh coolly, but with a peculiar meaning in his tone.
Linnell winced, for the mental pang was sharp. His old friend suggested that Claire might have been a willing partner in that night’s adventure.
He made no reply. He dared not, for fear that it should be an angry retort; and content that he had certainly for the present frustrated Rockley’s machinations, he walked to his side, and, seeing that his temple was bleeding, he knelt down by him, took out his handkerchief, and bound up the cut, furtively watching Mellersh the while as he stood by the other prostrate figure on the turf.
Linnell longed to go to her and kneel there, holding her little hand in his, but he was too heartsore; and, telling himself that there was more dignity in keeping aloof and playing the manly part of ceasing to care for one whom he believed to be unworthy of his love, even if he rendered help when there was need, he contented himself with deputing the care he would gladly have bestowed to another.
It had grown darker during the past few minutes, a thicker cloud having veiled the sky, when, as Linnell rose from where he knelt, he heard a sigh which went through him.
“She is coming round,” he muttered. “Poor girl! Poor, weak, foolish girl! I – ”
“Why, Dick!” cried Mellersh in a sharp, angry voice. “Come here!”
“What is it? There is no danger, is there?” cried Linnell, hastening across the road.
“Danger? No,” cried Mellersh angrily. “Whom do you suppose we have stopped here?”
“Whom? Miss Denville, of course, and – Good Heavens! – Miss Dean!”
“What is it? Where am I? You – Mr Linnell! – Colonel Mellersh!” said Cora confusedly, as she struggled up into a sitting position.
“At your service, madam,” said Mellersh, with a peculiar bitterness in his voice.
“What has happened?” cried Cora, holding her hand to her head, and staring wildly round till her eyes lighted upon the broken chaise. “Oh!”
She said no more, but struggled to her feet, turned giddy, and would have fallen, had not Mellersh caught her arm and supported her.
It was evident that she had realised her position in that one glance, and she seemed to shudder slightly. At the end of a few minutes, though, she recovered, and, shrinking from Mellersh, she looked round.
“Give me that cloak,” she said calmly. “It is cold.”
Linnell, who was half-stunned by the discovery, hurriedly stooped and picked up the cloak, spreading it rather clumsily and placing it upon her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said coldly; and there was an awkward pause, during which Mellersh walked to and fro with the look of a caged wild beast.
“Well?” said Cora suddenly. “Why are we waiting, Colonel Mellersh? Will you kindly see me home?”
“See you home?” he replied.
“Where is that man – Major Rockley?” cried Cora hastily.
“I am afraid he is incapacitated for further service, Miss Dean,” said Mellersh coldly. “The accident has prevented him from carrying out – shall I say your wishes?”
“What?” she replied. “Do you think I – ! Pah!”
She turned her back upon him angrily.
“Mr Linnell,” she said, “you will not insult me if I ask you to see me safely home, even if I do not enter into any explanations. Let us go at once.”
There was a strange resentful hauteur in her tone, and Linnell offered her his arm.
“We will walk a little way if you wish it, Miss Dean,” he said; “but we ought hardly to leave Major Rockley in this state. My friend Colonel Mellersh – ”
“Don’t mind me, Dick,” said the latter. “I’ll play hospital nurse, if Miss Dean will trust me with the care of the Major.”
Cora did not condescend to reply, but stepped forward as if to walk back.
“We are many miles from Saltinville, Miss Dean,” said Linnell, “and a post-chaise will be here soon.”
Further conversation was prevented by James Bell whispering hurriedly:
“It’s all a mistake, Mr Linnell, and the consequences will be terrible if I am found to have taken the Major’s horses. Can you do without me?”
“Yes,” said Linnell quickly; “but your master?”
“I can’t think of him, sir,” said Bell hastily. “I must think of myself. Gentlemen, I thought we were chasing another lady whom I would have given my life to save. I stood by you; will you stand by me?”
“Yes,” said Mellersh quickly. “Take the horses back. I’ll stay by your master till help comes.”
“And you will not tell upon me about the horses, gentlemen?”
“No,” said Mellersh shortly. “Go.”
“And you, Mr Linnell?”
“You may trust me,” was the reply.
Bell went off with the horses on the instant, and a tedious time of waiting ensued, the end of which was that it was arranged when the fresh post-chaise came that Mellersh should ride with Cora and the injured man back to the posting house, Linnell walking by the side of the chaise.
On reaching the inn, Rockley was placed in the landlord’s care, with instructions to fetch a medical man, and the three afterwards had a perfectly silent ride back to Saltinville, where Mrs Dean was found sitting up in a high state of excitement, and ready to greet her daughter:
“Lor! Bet – Cora – you have give me a turn. I thought it was a real elopement, and now you’ve come back.”
“Well, Dick,” said Mellersh grimly, as they stood together in the latter’s room. “What do you think of it now?”
“I think I’ve been a fool,” said Linnell shortly; “but I can’t quite make it out.”
“Neither can I,” responded Mellersh, after a pause.
Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Eight.
Under a Thick Cloak
“You’ll be so glad to hear, my dear,” prattled on Mrs Barclay, who was exceedingly warm and happy. “There’s quite a reconciliation, my dear.”
“Reconciliation?”
“Yes, dear. Young Cornet Denville has just fetched her to take her round the grounds, which is just as it should be, you know. I’d have gone with them, but I’m afraid of the night air, and catching a bad cold, you see, and so I think it’s better not to risk taking a chill, and – ”
“Who fetched her – Cornet Denville?”
“Yes, my dear, her brother; and I’ve been thinking – ”
“Don’t talk, Mrs Barclay,” cried Cora quickly – “don’t talk, pray, only tell me which way she went.”
“Through that door, my dear, and on to the lawn. You’ll catch ’em if you make haste. Bless us and save us, what is the matter with her? Any one would think poor Claire had run off with her young man. Dear, dear! what a blessing to be sure,” sighed Mrs Barclay complacently, as she fanned herself, “to have one’s own Jo-si-ah, and no troubles of that kind now.”
Cora was gone – out through the window and on to the grass. There were couples here and there in the dim light, but not those she wished to see, as she stood passing her large lace scarf over her head.
“What shall I do?” she moaned; and in frantic haste she ran down the first path she came to, feeling more and more sure that she was wrong; but directly after she found that this crossed a broad grass path at right angles; and as she reached it she uttered a gasp, for there was a couple coming down towards her, and she felt rather than saw that it was those she sought.
They were close upon her, coming between the bushes, and Morton was talking loudly, with the thick utterance of one nearly inebriated, while Claire was answering in a troubled way.
“Very sorry,” he said slowly, “sorry, little sis. Love you too much not to ’pologise, but – man’s position – as officer and a gentleman – ”
“Yes, yes, dear, you’ve said so before.”
“And I must say you – Hallo! Who’s thish?”
“Claire!” cried Cora, in a low whisper. “Back to the house – quick!”
“Miss Dean!”
“Yes. Quick! For heaven’s sake. Go. Your father.”
Cora did not know it, but she had touched the right chord.
Claire had seemed startled at first, and had hesitated as they stood together in the darkness with Morton holding the new-comer’s arm; but as Cora exclaimed, as the place of safety Claire was to seek, “your father!” the thought flashed through Claire’s brain that he had had some terrible seizure – or, worse, that horror of which he was in dread had come upon him, and in an instant, she had turned and run back towards the house.
“Why, what the dickensh – I say, what’s matter?” stammered Morton. “Here, Miss Dean, I know you – you know – bu’ful Miss Dean. Proud of your company. Officer and a gentleman – and take my – ”
It was so cleverly done that Cora was taken by surprise. She was about, as the simplest way out of the difficulty, to take the lad’s arm, and walk back with him to the house, when there was a slight rustle behind her, the sound of a blow or fall, and the latter muffled and strange, for a great cavalry cloak was thrown over her head, twisted tightly round her, binding her arms to her side, and stifling the cry she uttered; and as she struggled fiercely for her liberty she was lifted from her feet and borne away.
It was all done so quickly that she was staggered, and she had not recovered from her confusion when she felt herself forced into a carriage – the chaise, evidently, of which she had heard. Then came the banging of a door as she was held back by two strong arms, the swaying and jerking of the chaise as it went over rough ground and ruts. Then she realised that it swayed more than ever as they turned on to a hard road, and she could hear the dull, smothered rattle of the wheels and the tramp of horses’ feet.
She was a woman of plenty of strength of mind; but, for the time being, the fact of having fallen into this trap laid for Claire stunned her, and she felt a depressing dread. But by degrees this gave place to her returning courage, and she struggled furiously, but found that she was tightly held, and a deep voice she knew kept on bidding her to be patient – not to be alarmed – and the like.
In the midst of her excitement she ceased struggling and lay back in the corner of the chaise thinking, for the adventure had now assumed a ludicrous aspect. It was dramatic – a scene that might have happened in a play, and she laughed as she thought of Major Rockley’s rage and disappointment when he realised his mistake.
“I’m not afraid of him,” she thought, “and I hate him with all my heart. It is only waiting till we stop, and then the tables will be turned.”
“Ah, that’s more sensible,” came through the thick cloak. “Promise to be patient and not call out, and I will take off the cloak.”
It was very hot. She could hardly breathe, but she dreaded having it removed till she recalled how dark it was; that it must be even darker, shut up in the chaise, and that she had on her large lace mantilla, with which she could well cover her face.
“Shall I take off the cloak?” was said, after they had stopped and changed horses; and, feeling that she must have air, she made a gesture with her hands, passing them up towards her face as she felt the great cloth-covering partly removed, and, as it was drawn away, carefully covering her face and neck with the scarf.
“At last!” exclaimed her companion, trying to pass his arm round her, but she struck at him so fiercely that he desisted, and just then the chaise slackened speed.
“What is it?” he cried, gripping his prisoner’s arm with one hand, as he leaned forward and let down a front window.
“Like us to go on as fast as this, Captain? Road’s getting a bit hilly.”
“Yes, and faster, you fools. On, quick! What’s that?”
“Sounds like horses, sir, coming on behind.”
“Oh, not after us, but go on as fast as you can.”
The chaise rumbled on as the window was drawn up, and the sound of the horses deadened; but Rockley let down the window on his side of the vehicle and thrust out his head.
As he did so Cora listened intently, and made out the beating of horses’ hoofs behind, now dying out, now louder, now dying out again, but always heard; and her heart gave a joyful bound as the thought came that an alarm might have been given by Morton Denville, and these be friends in pursuit – Richard Linnell perhaps.
Her heart sank like lead. No; she was not afraid of Major Rockley, and she did not care a fig for the opinion of Saltinville society. She had been carried off against her will, and the sneers would be those against Rockley, not against her.
The chaise might go on for hours – all night, if the Major liked. The longer it was before he discovered his mistake the greater his rage would be. What was there to fear? If she shrieked the postboys must come to her help, or she could command help at the next stopping-place.
And the horsemen coming on?
Yes, they were evidently gaining ground, but it was not to overtake her. He was trying to save the woman he loved – he, Richard Linnell – and her heart sank lower and lower still.
Then it gave a bound, for there was the click-click of a pistol, just as before now she had heard it on the stage, and Rockley said:
“That’s right. I’m glad you are quiet. I’ve got you, and, by Jove, I’ll shoot the man who tries to get you away as I would a dog.”
Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Little Gossip
That hat which the Master of the Ceremonies raised so frequently to the various visitors looked in its solidity as if it might very well become an heirloom, and descend to his son, should he in more mature life take to his father’s duties.
Stuart Denville had just replaced it for about the twentieth time that morning, when he encountered Lady Drelincourt in her chair.
Her ladyship had been very cold since her visit to the Denvilles, but this particular morning she was all smiles and good humour.
“Now, here you are, Denville, and you’ll tell me all about it. You were there?”
“Yes, dear Lady Drelincourt,” said Denville, with his best smile, as he thought of Morton and his possible future. “I was there. At – er – ”
“Pontardent’s, yes. Now, tell me, there’s a good man, all about it. Is the Major much hurt? Now, how tiresome! What do you want, Bray? You are always hunting me about with that wicked boy.”
“No, no,” said Sir Matthew, in his ponderous fashion. “Drawn, Lady Drelincourt, drawn. Attracted, eh, Payne?”
Sir Harry Payne – “that wicked boy,” as he was termed by her ladyship – declared upon his reputation that Sir Matthew Bray was quite right. It was attraction.
“I felt it myself, demme, that I did, horribly, madam; but I said I would be true to my friend Bray, here, and I fled from temptation like a man.”
“I’m afraid I can’t believe you – either of you,” said her ladyship, simpering. “But, now, do tell me – no, no, don’t go, Denville; I want to talk to you. Sir Harry, now was Major Rockley, that dreadful Mephistopheles, half killed?”
Sir Harry Payne screwed up his face, shook his head, took snuff loudly, and, raising his hat, walked away.
“How tantalising!” cried Lady Drelincourt. “Now, Bray, do tell me. Is it true that he was carrying off that Miss Dean, and her mother sent Colonel Mellersh and Mr Linnell to fetch them back?”
“Mustn’t tell. Can’t say a word, dear Lady Drelincourt. Brother-officer, you see. But – ”
Sir Matthew Bray blew out his cheeks, frowned, rolled his eyes, pursed up his lips, and looked as if he were fully charged with important information which honour forbade him to part with, ending by shaking his head at her ladyship, and then giving it a solemn nod.
“I knew I was right,” said her ladyship triumphantly. “Now, didn’t you hear the same version, Denville?”
“Well, I – must confess, your ladyship – that I – er – did.”
“Of course. That’s it. Well, Rockley’s a very, very wicked man, and I don’t think I shall ever speak to him again. I’ve quite done with him. Yes, you may stay a little while, Bray, but not long. People are so scandalous. Good-bye, Denville. Is your little girl quite well?”
Denville declared that she was in the best of health; and, as Lady Drelincourt was wheeled away in one direction, so much fashionable lumber, the Master of the Ceremonies went mincing in the other.
Saltinville boasted of about a dozen versions of the scandal, one of the most popular being that which was picked up at Miss Clode’s. In this version Cora Dean had no part, but Claire Denville had.
For a whole week these various accounts were bandied about and garbled and told, till the result of the mixture was very singular, and it would have puzzled an expert to work out the simple truth. Then something fresh sprang up, and the elopement or abduction – nobody at last knew which, or who were the principals – was forgotten, especially as Rockley was seen about as usual, and the proprietor of the chaise and the killed horse was fully recompensed by the Major. How he obtained the money, he and Josiah Barclay best knew.
But Stuart Denville was disappointed with respect to his daughter’s prospects. It was sheer pleasure to her to be able to stay quietly at home; but her father bitterly regretted the absence of invitation cards, while he, for one, remained strangely in ignorance that it was his own child who was nearly carried off that night.
