Kitabı oku: «The Sapphire Cross», sayfa 14

Mr Chunt’s Toast

Mr Chunt presided over a good many discussions in his parlour, where farmer and tradesman met to talk over the course of events during the first few weeks. The subject of Lady Gernon’s disappearance was tabooed by general consent. It was not the first event of the kind that had happened through badly-assorted marriages, and wouldn’t be the last, said the baker, sententiously; and then it was acknowledged by general consent that money didn’t make happiness, and that there was a deal of wickedness in this world.

Upon another night Mr Chunt took to bewailing in public the injury done to his trade, by the shutting up of the Castle.

“Looks a reg’lar devastation, gentlemen,” he said; “things all in holland, shutters closed, stables locked up, and all just as if it didn’t belong to nobody.”

“Oh, Sir Murray will be back one of these days,” said a small farmer, cheerfully, “and then trade will brighten up again; meanwhile, you must be contented with our custom, Chunt. He’ll tire of foreign parts, you’ll see.”

“Don’t hear any likelihood of Mrs Norton going, I suppose?” said one.

“Not she, poor little woman; she even looks quite cheerful, and is always out with that little boy of hers. Noble little chap he grows!”

“Ah!” said another, “he played his cards well, the Captain did. He hadn’t been gone long before there was two couples down to arrest him – two parties, one after the other. Stopped here, they did. Post-chaises: come down in style. Didn’t they, Chunt?” The landlord nodded in confirmation. “Just got away in time. Pity, though. He’d have been a bonny man if it hadn’t been for his disappointment, and those iron shares. It was on account of his being director, and answerable for a good deal, I suppose, that the bailiffs wanted him.”

A week passed, and then Chunt, who had been waiting to have a good full audience, brought out a large auctioneer’s posting bill, and laid it before his customers as a surprise.

“What d’yer think of that, gentlemen, eh?” he said. “Merland will be another place soon. There’s poor old Gurdon and poor old Barker both dead within the last four-and-twenty hours, and now that’s been sent to me to stick up in the bar. Read it out, Mr Mouncey.”

The baker put on his spectacles, and read aloud the list of the “elegant and superior household furniture and effects, to be sold by auction, without reserve, at Merland Rectory, by direction of the Reverend Henry Elstree, who was leaving the place.”

“Chunt’s about right,” said Huttoft, the saddler: “the place won’t be the same, soon. The old people at the Rectory ain’t looked the same, since I saw them coming back that day from the Hall – the day after Lady Gernon elop – disappeared.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said the landlord, “I believe I’m as sorry as any one present; but it’s no use to fret for other folks’ troubles. I propose that we have glasses round of brandy hot, gentlemen, for I feel quite sinking.”

“Do you pay, Chunt?” said Mouncey, jocosely.

“There ain’t a man present as would be more free, gentlemen,” said the landlord, “if I could; but, I put it to the company, with the present fall off in my trade, am I able?”

“No – no!” was chorused; and, the glasses being filled, Jonathan Chunt proposed a toast which was drunk with acclamation, and the landlord’s toast was:

“Gentlemen, here’s to happier times!”

End of Book I

After Twenty Years

“You dog! you confounded lubber! Drive on, or you’ll have them out of sight!” shouted a frank, opened-faced young fellow of some three or four and twenty, as he leaned out of the front window of a post-chaise, and urged his post-boy to increase of speed.

“An’ how can I get another mile an hour out on such bastes, yer honner?” said the post-boy in answer. “The crayture I’m riding takes no more heed of the spur than the grate baste the levvyathan of Howly Scripture; and as to the blind mare there, the more I larrup her the more she hangs back out ov the collar.”

“Gammon! – nonsense!” cried the young man: “you can catch them if you like.”

“Shure, sor, I’d catch ’em if it was me. The spirit of me’s been close alongside this last quarter of an hour; but the bastes here ’ave got skins like a rhinosros.”

“Half a guinea if you catch them and go by in the next two miles,” shouted the traveller.

“An why didn’t ye spake sooner, sor? It’s meself’s the boy to get it out of the bastes if it’s to be done at all;” and the effect of the golden spur was soon visible in the way in which the mire of the cross-country road flew up from the whirling wheels.

For a couple of hours now, with the present and the preceding post-boy, had this chase been carried on, – now one chaise, now the other, being to the fore; the explanation of this being of the simplest character.

Lieutenant Brace Norton, of H.M.S. “Icarus,” had just arrived in port, and was, as he put it, homeward bound after his first voyage with the rank of lieutenant. In fact, he took so much pride in his epaulette, won after no end of midshipman’s adventures, that, until better sense prevailed, he had had some thought of wearing it home. He had travelled as far as the county town by rail, and now, having a rather large idea of his own importance, was finishing his journey in one of the post-chaises – scarce things then – left upon the road. At the railway station he had twice encountered a fair young face, small, dark, oval, and with a pair of sad-looking, lustrous eyes, their owner leaning upon the arm of a tall, grey-haired gentleman; and after making his way to the hotel and ordering his conveyance, spending the time consumed in getting it ready by smoking a cigar, he was startled, upon going to the door to lounge about the steps, by seeing the same travellers take their places in a chaise which had been prepared before his own.

“Do you know who that gentleman is?” he had said to the landlord, who had bowed his visitors to the door.

“Can’t say, sir, I’m sure,” was the reply. “Please excuse me, sir – I’m wanted.”

“Here waiter, my chaise; look sharp!” exclaimed the young lieutenant, slipping a shilling into the man’s hand, on seeing the direction the first chaise had taken. “Hurry them on, there’s a good fellow, and tell them to put in the best pair of horses.”

“Best pair’s gone, sir, with number one chaise, but I’ll get them to look alive.”

In spite of his stamping with impatience, and conducting himself in a most unreasonable manner, even to going into the yard himself, and hoisting the sluggish post-boy – a youth of about sixty – into his jacket, a full quarter of an hour elapsed before the chaise began to rattle out of the yard with the traveller in it.

“Here – hi! stop!” shouted a voice, as they turned down the main street.

“What the deuce now?” exclaimed the traveller, as the post-boy pulled up, after nearly running into a flock of sheep, and the waiter came panting up.

“Please, sir, you ain’t paid for the cigar, and sherry and biscuit,” exclaimed the man, in injured tones.

“Confound it, no!” cried the young man. “And – I say, I haven’t got my portmanteau! There, my man, look sharp, whatever you do!”

Five minutes more elapsed, but at length the bill was paid, the portmanteau secured to the front, and the crazy vehicle was once more well under weigh, the young sailor fuming the while with impatience. But as soon as the town was passed, liberal promises sent the shabby cattle scuffling along at a pretty good pace; and when the traveller had about given up all hopes of again seeing the face that had attracted his attention, the first post-chaise became visible, slowly crawling up one of the hills about half-way between Lincoln and Marshton, when again urging on the post-boy, the vehicle was at length overtaken, and whilst passing it the young man’s heart leaped as he again caught sight of the fair traveller, leaning forward to see who was passing, but withdrawing instantly upon seeing that she was the object of attention.

Twice did Brace Norton find the opportunities for a short glance at the now averted face: once during the stages, and again when they changed horses at Marshton; but now, to his disgust, it seemed that he had been favoured with worse cattle than before; and in spite of his urging the fresh post-boy – a native of “Sorrey,” as he took an opportunity of assuring his employer – it seemed that he was to be left entirely at the rear, to see the face no more.

But the golden spur prevailed; and as the young lieutenant saw that they were gaining rapidly, he threw himself back, muttering, “What a thing it is that there are no women at sea! It only wants their presence to make it perfect. I wonder who those can be, though? On a visit somewhere. Jove! What luck if it’s anywhere near us!”

His reverie was interrupted by the broadly-speaking post-boy yoho-ing to the one in front, and the next minute they passed the first chaise in an easy canter; but Brace Norton obtained no view, for, to his great chagrin, the window on this side – the side occupied by the gentleman – had the blind drawn down.

“Didn’t I do it in style, yer honner?” cried the post-boy, turning in his saddle to grin.

“Yes – yes; but easy now. Let them pass you.” And then to himself the traveller muttered, “I shall be right next time.”

“Is that to be included in the half-guinea, yer honner?” cried the post-boy, with a leer; but he obtained no answer, save a fierce gesture not to look back; for now the passing was to be performed by the other chaise, which in a few moments had again left them behind, while this time again the susceptible sailor had been doomed to disappointment, for as the chaise passed, the momentary glance showed him that the lady occupants head was averted, and that she was talking to her companion.

“But what a neck!” muttered the young man; “and what glorious hair! What a cluster of braids! Why, she could sit on it, I’d swear, if it were down. Confound you! will you go on?” he shouted, thrusting his head from the window. “What are you crawling like that for?”

“Did yer honner want me to be always passing them, widout ever letting them get first again?” said the post-boy.

“You blundering idiot!” muttered the young man, laughing in spite of himself. “Drive on, Pat,” he said, aloud, “and pass them again.”

“Me name’s Jeames, yer honner, av ye please,” said the post-boy, with dignity, and for a short distance he drove sulkily on at a very moderate pace, till the thought that he had not yet obtained the promised half-guinea prompted him to try and keep his employer in a good temper; and once more he passed the foremost chaise at a canter, slackening again in obedience to orders received soon afterwards.

Now every one who has been much upon the road must be fully aware that there is a feeling existent amply shared by man and horse, which, however strange the comparison may seem, is fully expressed in the old saying, that most people like to play first fiddle. Be driving, and pass the sorriest old jaded brute that was ever verging upon the cat’s-meat barrow, and see if the poor beast does not, for a few minutes, prick up his ears, and break into a trot to regain his place. Generally the driver is ready enough to urge him on, and if you slacken pace for a few minutes, ten to one but you are passed in your turn.

It was so here with the post-boy and horses of the other chaise: to be passed here on the road again and again by a rival was not to be borne; and the slackening under Brace Norton’s instructions being taken as a signal of defeat, there soon came a shout from behind to the Irish boy to draw aside, one which, being rather sulky at having had a mistake made in his country, the post-boy refused to heed; and just as Brace was hopefully gazing from his window for another glance, there came the crash of wheel against wheel, the swerving aside of the horses, and in less time than it can be written, to Brace Norton’s horror, he saw the vehicle of his companions of the road overturned – the off-wheels in the ditch, and one horse kicking and plunging in a way that threatened death to the occupants of the carriage.

The Wreck Ashore

“’E’ve done it now, sor, an’ I hope ye’re satisfied!” said James, sitting complacently on his saddle, and looking at the plunging horses, his fellow-servant with one leg entangled in the harness, and the havoc made at each plunge of the uppermost beast.

“You scoundrel!” exclaimed Brace, furiously, as he leaped down. “Why didn’t you give more room? Here, come and help!”

“Can’t lave me bastes, sor, or they’d take fright, they’re so full of sperrit,” said the youth, coolly, as, running to the prostrate chaise, Brace contrived to drag open the door, feeling, as he did so, that he was alone to blame for the accident.

“Here, quick! my child! help her first,” exclaimed the gentleman, but most needlessly, for the young man had neither look nor thought for him, but was striving to lift the insensible and bleeding form of the wounded girl from the wreck. For at the first crash of the overturning chaise the window had been driven in, and one of the splinters of glass had gashed her temple.

“Good Heavens! what have I done?” muttered Brace, as he succeeded in passing his arms round the senseless form, lifted it by main force from the door, and then bore it to the grass a few yards further on, where, laying it down, he proceeded to press his handkerchief to the wound.

“Let me come, young man,” said a harsh voice at his elbow, and, starting with surprise, Brace saw that the gentleman, till now forgotten, had climbed from the chaise, and now made no scruple in thrusting him aside to take his place.

“What can I do? Had I not better gallop off for a doctor?”

“Thank you, no,” was the cold reply, as the gentleman, for an instant, looked the tenderer of service full in the face. “This is no scene from a romance, sir. You need trouble yourself no further. My daughter is more frightened than hurt, I dare say.”

“A cold-hearted, unfeeling brute,” muttered Brace to himself, for he was greatly excited, and felt at that moment as if he would have given the world to have been allowed to kneel there and support the inanimate form. For a moment he felt ready to make confession that he had been the cause of the accident, but that he felt would be folly; and once more, heedless of the cold reception his offers met with, he proposed that a doctor should be fetched.

“If I required a medical man, sir,” said the gentleman, “there is the post-boy, my paid servant, that I could send for one: unless,” he said, tauntingly, “you, sir, wish to earn something more than my thanks.”

The colour rose to the young man’s cheek as he met the cold, glittering eye turned to him for a moment; but he smothered the resentment he could not avoid feeling, and, without a word, turned away to a clear part of the ditch, returning, in a few minutes, with his navy cloth cap half full of water.

The gentleman frowned as he saw this favour forced upon him as he thought, and unwillingly accepting it, he sprinkled the white face, and bathed the forehead, wiping away the ruddy stains, and binding a handkerchief tightly across the wound. But for awhile there were no signs of returning animation, and once more, in spite of the scowl upon the fathers face, Brace Norton hurried away to bring more water.

“There is a faint shade of colour returning now,” exclaimed Brace, eagerly.

“Then perhaps you will have the goodness to retire, sir,” said the gentleman, haughtily. “My daughter is not accustomed to the society of strangers; and, at such a time, your presence would be a fresh shock.”

“But this is a lonely place, sir. You are miles away from any aid. Pray let me endeavour to be of some service. Surely I can help you.”

“I thank you, no,” was the cold reply.

“But for the lady’s sake, sir,” exclaimed Brace, almost indignantly. “You will take my chaise, and continue your journey?”

“Young man,” was the rude answer, “I am not in the habit of placing myself under obligations to strangers. I shall not require your chaise: I have no doubt, with the help of some of the labourers about, our own vehicle can be set right in a very short time.”

“Sure, sor, the short time will be a month,” said Brace’s post-boy; “the hint wheel’s off intirely, and Jerry Stone siz as the harness is all to tatthers, an’ he wants to know if aither of ye gentlemen have got a drop of brandy wid ye, for the poor boy feels faint.”

In effect, the other post-boy was seated upon a bank beside his now extricated horses – set free by the liberal use of a knife amongst the harness; and it was evident, from the way in which the poor fellow was rocking himself to and fro, that he was in great pain; while a glance at the wretched chaise showed the impossibility of making use of it for further proceeding upon that day.

But Brace Norton possessed something of the irrepressible in his composition, and, speaking gently, he said, addressing the late speaker: “I am aware, sir, that it is unpleasant to have favours forced upon you by a complete stranger, but let me beg of you not to let the little I offer be looked upon in the light of a favour. For the young lady’s sake, pray make use of my chaise, and leave me to take my chance. I dare not presume to offer you advice, but would not a reference to some medical man be advisable? This long-continued swoon – ”

Brace Norton said no more, for, glancing from father to daughter as he spoke, he became aware that sensibility had returned, and that a pair of soft, sad, dreamy eyes were fixed upon him, but only for their lids to be lowered, and a faint blush to overspread the pallid cheeks upon her seeing that her gaze was observed.

“Do you feel in pain?” said the gentleman, bending over her, but paying no heed to Brace Norton’s remarks.

“No, papa; only a little faint. But you are not hurt?”

“No, no; not at all.” Then, in an undertone: “How very unfortunate!” and he frowned at the shattered chaise as he would have done at its driver.

Brace Norton was wise enough in his generation to see that the less he said the less likely he would be to give offence; but a bitter feeling of disappointment came over him as he found how completely his presence was ignored.

“If it were not for that sweet girl he might walk,” muttered the young man; but the next moment his heart leaped with pleasure, when, after standing thoughtfully for a few moments, and then glancing from his daughter to the wreck and back again, the gentleman spoke somewhat more courteously.

“Necessity forces me, sir, to accept the offer of your chaise for my – for reasons of my own,” he added, hastily. “I will make use of it on condition that you allow me to pay any – ”

“Good heavens, sir!” exclaimed Brace, as haughtily now as the stranger, “give me credit for wishing to act as should one gentleman towards another whom he sees with his jibboom – absurd! – whom he encounters in distress – I beg pardon, I mean in – in a strait,” exclaimed Brace, desperately, for his nautical imagery did not find much favour. “I am only a simple officer in the navy, and no doubt a sea life makes me somewhat rude, but my offers of service are genuine, not mercenary.”

The stranger bowed, and turned to his daughter, who was now standing at his side.

“Take down that portmanteau,” exclaimed Brace to the post-boy.

“Yes, sor!” And after a good deal of grunting, unbuckling, and lifting it was placed by the road side.

“If you will allow me,” said Brace, “I will see that the damaged chaise is sent back to its owner.”

He turned then to hand the lady into the vehicle, but he was motioned back: not, though, without receiving from her a faint smile of thanks.

“My daughter needs no assistance further than I can render,” was the stern response to Brace’s offer. “Your handkerchief, sir!”

Brace took the handkerchief handed to him, as if the donor were about to strike him down. Then he drew back as father and daughter entered the chaise, so that he did not catch the order given to the post-boy. Then there was a stiff salutation from the gentleman; a slight bow from the lady; and the horses had started, leaving Brace, bareheaded, handsome, and flushed, standing in the road, till, suddenly the front windows were dashed down, the door partly opened, and, evidently suffering from some strong emotion, the face of the gentleman appeared to be turned the next moment towards the post-boy, as he roared, in a voice of thunder: “Stop!”