Starvecrow Farm

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE DARK MAID

  The substance followed the shadow so quickly that Henrietta had nottime to consider her position before the latch rose. The door opened,and a girl entered hurriedly. The surprise was common to both, for thenewcomer had closed the door behind her before she discernedHenrietta, and then her action was eloquent. She turned the key in thelock, and stood frowning, with her back to the door, and one shoulderadvanced as if to defend herself. The other hand remained on thefastening.

  "You here?" she muttered.

  "Yes," Henrietta replied, returning her look, and speaking witha touch of pride. For the feeling of dislike was instinctive; ifBess's insolent smile had not stamped itself on her memory--on thatfirst morning at the Low Wood, which seemed so very, very longago--Henrietta had still known that she was in the presence of anenemy. "Are you--his daughter?" she continued.

  "Yes," Bess answered. She did not move from the door, and shemaintained her attitude, as if the surprise that had arrested herstill kept her hand on the key. "Yes," she repeated, "I am. Youdon't"--with a glance from one to the other--"like him, I see!"

  "That is no matter," Henrietta answered with dignity. "I am not herefor him, nor to see him; I wish to see----"

  "Your lover?"

  Henrietta winced, and her face turned scarlet. And now there was noquestion of the hostility between them. Bess's dark, smiling face wasinsolence itself.

  "What? Wasn't he that?" the gipsy girl continued. "If he wasnot"--with a coarse look--"what do you want with him?"

  Silenced for the moment by the other's taunt, Henrietta now found hervoice.

  "I wish to see him," she said. "That is enough for you."

  "Oh, is it?" Bess replied. She had taken her hand from the key andmoved a pace or two into the room, so as to confront her rival atclose quarters. "That's my affair! I fancy you will have to tell me agood deal more before you do see him."

  "Why?"

  "Oh, why?" mimicking her rudely. "Why? Because----"

  "What are you to him?"

  "What you were!" Bess answered.

  Henrietta's face flamed anew. But the insult no longer found herunprepared. She saw that she was in the presence of a woman dangerousand reckless; and one who considered her a rival. On the hearthcrouched and gibbered that fearful old man. The door was locked--theaction had not been lost on her; and no living being, no one outsidethat door, knew that she was here.

  "You are insolent!" was all she answered.

  "But it is true!" Bess said. "Or, if it is not true----"

  "It is not true!" with a glance of scorn. She knew even in herinnocence that this girl had been more to him.

  "Then why do you ask for him?" with derision. "What do you want withhim? What right have you to ask for him?"

  "I wish to see him," Henrietta answered. She would not, if she couldavoid it, let her fears appear. After all, it was daylight, and shewas strong and young; a match, she thought, for the other if the oldman had not been there. "I wish to see him, that is all, and that isenough," she repeated, firmly.

  Bess did not answer at once. Indeed, at this point there came over hera change, as if either the other's courage impressed her, or coolerthoughts suggested a different course of action. Her eyes stillbrooded malevolently on the other's face, as if she would gladly havespoiled her beauty, and her sharp, white teeth gleamed. But toHenrietta's last words she did not answer. She seemed to be wavering,to be uncertain. And at last,

  "Do you mean him fair?" she asked. "That is the question."

  "I mean no harm to him."

  "Upon your honour?"

  "Upon my honour."

  "I'd tear you limb from limb if you did!" Bess cried in the old toneof violence. And the look which accompanied the words matched them.But the next moment, "If I could believe you," she said more quietly,"it would be well and good. But----"

  "You may believe me. Why should I do him harm?"

  Bess bit her nails in doubt; and for the first time since her entranceshe turned her eyes from her rival. Perhaps for this reasonHenrietta's courage rose. She told herself that she had been foolishto feel fear a few minutes before: that she had allowed herself to bescared by a few rude words, such as women of this class used on theleast provocation. And the temptation to drop the matter if she couldescape uninjured gave way to a brave determination to do all that waspossible. She resolved to be firm, yet prudent; and to persevere. Andwhen the dialogue was resumed the tone on each side was more moderate.

  "Well," Bess said, with a grudging air, "perhaps you may not wish todo him harm. I don't know, my lass. But you may do it, all the same."

  "How?"

  "If you think he is here you are mistaken."

  Henrietta had already come to this conclusion.

  "Still," she said, "I can go to him."

  "I don't see how you are to go to him."

  "I will go anywhere."

  "Ay," with contempt. "And so will a many more at your heels."

  "No one saw me come here," Henrietta said.

  "No. But it will be odd if no one sees you leave here. I met Bishop asI came, and another with him, hot-foot after you, both, and raisingthe country as fast as they could."

  Henrietta frowned. She gazed through the window. Then she looked againat Bess.

  "Is he far from here?" she asked.

  "That's telling, and I'm not going to tell. Far or near, I don't seehow you are to go to him, unless----" She broke off, paused a moment,and then, as if she put away a thought that had occurred to her, "No,"she said with decision, "I see no way. There is no way."

  To Henrietta, the girl, the situation, the surroundings, and not leasther own role, were odious. Merely to negotiate with such an one asthis was a humiliation; but to endure her open scorn, to feel hercheeks burn under the fire of her taunts, was hateful. Yet failure inthe enterprise from which she had let herself expect so much was stillworse--still worse; and the prospect of it overcame her pride. Shecould not accept the defeat of all her hopes and expectations. Shecould not.

  "You said 'unless,'" she retorted.

  Bess laughed.

  "Ay, but it's an 'unless,'" she answered contemptuously, "that you arenot the one to fill up."

  "What do you mean?"

  "What I say," Bess answered impudently. And vaulting sideways on thetable, she sat swinging her feet, and eyeing the other with atriumphant smile.

  "Unless what?"

  "Unless you like to stay here until it is dark,--ay, dark, my prettypeacock; and that won't be for an hour or more. Then you may go to himsafely. Not before! But you fine ladies," with a look that took inHenrietta, from her high-piled hair and flushed face to the hem of herskirt, "are afraid of your shadows, I'm told."

  "I am not afraid of my shadow," Henrietta answered.

  "You're afraid of the dark, or why didn't you come when he asked you?And when you could have helped him? Why did you not come then and saywhat you chose to him?"

  "I did come," Henrietta answered coldly. "It was he who failed to meetme."

  "That's a nice flim-flam!" Bess rejoined, with incredulity. "You'renot one to venture yourself out after moonrise, I'll be bound. And soI told him! But any way," sliding to her feet, and speaking withdecision, "he's not here, and you can't see him! And to tell thetruth, I'd as lief have your room as your company, that being so."

  She turned to the door as if to open it. But Henrietta did not move.She was deep in thought. The sneering words, the dark handsome face,filled her with distrust; and with something like loathing of herselfwhen she reflected that the man she sought had been this girl's lover.But they also aroused her spirit. They spurred her to the step whichthe other dared her to take. Was she to show herself as a timid thing,as poor a creature as this gipsy girl deemed her? She had come hitherwith her heart set upon a prize; was she to relinquish that prizebecause its pursuit demanded an ordinary amount of courage--suchcourage as this village girl poss
essed and made naught of?

  And yet--and yet she hesitated. She was not afraid of the girl; shewas not afraid--she told herself--of the man who had once professed tobe her lover: but there might be others, and it would be dark. If theboy were there, there would be others. And she was not sure that shewas--not afraid. For the old man by the fireside, with his squalidclothes and his horrible greediness, made her flesh creep. Shehesitated, until Bess, with a sneer, bade her to go if she was going.

  "I'd as soon see your back," she continued, "and ha' done with it. Iknow your sort! All fine feathers and as much spunk as a mouse!"

  Henrietta made up her mind. She sat down on the nearest stool.

  "I shall remain," she said, "and go with you to see him."

  "Not you! So what's the use of talking?"

  "I shall go," Henrietta replied firmly. "It will be dark in an hour. Iwill remain and go with you."

  Bess shrugged her shoulders and answered nothing. But had Henriettacaught sight of her smile, she had certainly changed her mind.

  Even without that, and unwarned, the girl found, as they sat there insilence, and the minutes passed and the light faded, much ground forhesitation. The words which Clyne had used when he forbade her to riskherself, the terms in which he had described the desperate plight ofthe men whom she must beard, the fears that had assailed her when shehad gone after dark to meet a peril less serious--all these thingsrecurred to her memory, and scared her. By pressing her lips togethershe maintained a show of unconcern; but only because the dusk hid herloss of colour. She repented--gravely; but she had not the courage todraw back. She shrank from meeting--as she must meet, if she rose togo--the other's smile of triumph; she shrank from the sense ofhumiliation under which she would smart after she had escaped. She hadcast the die and must dare. She must see the enterprise through. Andshe sat on. But she was sure that she could hardly suffer anythingworse than she suffered during those minutes, while her fate still layin her hands, while the power to withdraw was still hers, andindecision plucked at her. The man who fights with his back to thewall suffers less than when, before he drew his blade, imaginationdealt him a score of deaths.

  The old man continued to grumble over the fire; and seldom, butsometimes, he laid his chin on his shoulder and looked back at her.Bess, on the contrary, gazed at her as the cat at the mouse; but withher back to the light and her own face in shadow, so that whateverthoughts or passions clouded her dark eyes, they passed unseen.Presently, as the light failed, Bess's head became no more than a darkknob breaking the lower line of dusty panes; while through the upper apatch of pale green sky, promising frost, held Henrietta's eyes andraised a still but solemn voice amid the tumult of her thoughts. Thatmorsel of sky was the only clean, pure thing within sight, and itfaded quickly, and became first grey and then a blur of darkness. Bythat time the room, with its close, fetid odours and its hints atgruesome secrets, had sunk into the blackness of night.

  The fire gave out a dull glow, but it went no farther than the hearth.Yet presently it was the cause of an illusion, if illusion it was,which gave Henrietta a shock. Turning her eyes from the window--itseemed to her that longer waiting would break her down--she saw theoutline of the old miser's figure, but erect and much closer to herthan before--and, unless she was mistaken, with hands outstretched asif to clutch her neck. She uttered a low cry, and rose, and steppedback. On the instant he vanished. But whether he sank down, orretreated, or had never stirred, she could not be sure; while her cryfound an echo in Bess's mischievous laughter.

  "Ha! ha! You're not quite so bold!" Bess cried, with enjoyment, "asyou were an hour ago, I reckon!"

  The jeer gave a fillip to Henrietta's pride.

  "I am ready," she said, though her voice shook a little.

  "And you'll go?"

  "Yes," coldly; "I shall go."

  "Did you think he was going to twist your pretty neck?" Bess rejoined."Was that it? But come," in a more sober tone, "we'll go. Good-night,old man!" And moving to the door with the ease of one who knew everyfoot of the room, she unlocked it. A breath of fresh, cold air,blowing on her cheek, informed Henrietta that the door was open. Shegroped her way to it.

  "Do you wait here," Bess whispered, "while I see if the coast isclear. You'll hear an owl hoot; then come."

  But Henrietta was not going to be left with that old man. She creptoutside the door and, holding it behind her, waited. The night wasdark as well as cold, for the moon would not rise for some hours; andHenrietta wondered, as she drew her hood about her neck, how they wereto go anywhere. Presently the owl hooted low, and she released thedoor, and groped her way round the house and between the fir trunks tothe gate. A hand, rough but small, clutched her wrist and turned herabout; a voice whispered, "Come!" and the two, Bess acting as guide,set off in silence along the road in the direction of Troutbeck.

  "How far is it?" Henrietta muttered, when they had gone a distance,that in the night seemed a good half mile.

  "That's telling," Bess answered. "'Tain't far. Turn here! Right!right!" pushing her. "Now wait while I----"

  "What are you doing?"

  Bess did not explain that she was opening a gate. Instead, sheimpelled the other forward and squeezed her arm to impress on her theneed of silence. Henrietta felt that the ground over which they werepassing was at once softer and more uneven, and she guessed that theyhad left the road. A moment later the air met her cheek more coldly,and the gloom seemed less opaque. She conjectured that she stood onthe brow of a hill--or a precipice--and involuntarily she recoiled.But Bess dragged her on, down a slope so steep that, although the girltrod with caution, she was scarcely able to keep her feet.

  Feeling her still hang hack, the gipsy girl plucked at her.

  "Hurry!" she whispered. "Hurry, can't you? We are nearly there."

  "Where?"

  "Why, there!"

  But the cold and the darkness and the other's hostile tone had shakenHenrietta's nerves. She jerked herself free.

  "Where?" she repeated firmly. "Where are we going? I shall not gofarther unless you tell me."

  "Nonsense!"

  "I shall not."

  "Let be! Let be!"

  "Tell me this minute!"

  "To Tyson the doctor's, if you must know," Bess replied grudgingly.

  "Oh!"

  She knew now. She stood half way down the smooth side of the hollow inwhich Tyson's farm nestled. She remembered the large kitchen, with theshining oaken table and the woman with the pale plump face who hadcrouched on the settle and gone in fear of nights. And though theplace still stood a trifle uncanny in her memory, and theuncomfortable impression which the woman's complaints had made on her,had not quite passed from her, the knowledge relieved her.

  She knew at least where she was, and that the place lay barely afurlong from the road. She might count, too, on the aid of thedoctor's wife, who was jealous of this very girl. And after all, incomparison with the miser's wretched abode, Tyson's house, thoughlonely, seemed an everyday dwelling, and safe.

  The news reassured her. When Bess, in a tone of scorn that thinlymasked disappointment, flung at her the words, "Then you are notcoming?" she was ready.

  "Yes, I am coming," she said. And she yielded herself again to Bess'sguidance. In less than a minute they were at the bottom of the hollow.They skirted the fold-yard and the long, silent buildings that bulkedsomewhat blacker than the night. They turned a corner, and a dog notfar from them stirred its chain and growled. But Bess stilled it by aword, and the two halted in the gloom, where a thin line of lightescaped beneath a door,