Hector Graeme

by Evelyn Brentwood

  Produced by Al Haines.

  HECTOR GRAEME

  BY EVELYN BRENTWOOD

  TORONTO: BELL & COCKBURN LONDON: JOHN LANE MCMXII

  THE ANCHOR PRESS LTD., TIPTREE, ESSEX

  *HECTOR GRAEME*

  *BOOK I*

  *Hector Graeme*

  *CHAPTER I*

  The dull November afternoon was fast drawing to a close. Patches ofwhite mist lay in the hollows of the elm-dotted park; the outlines ofstately tree and russet copse were rapidly merging into the surroundinggrey.

  Already a flicker of light was beginning to appear in the windows ofRadford Hall, the home of Sir Thomas Caldwell, Baronet, a house--likeits owner--solid, sturdy, and unimaginative-looking. Nearly a mileaway, standing well back from a high ragged hedge of blackthorn, a lineof sportsmen could be seen waiting for the last drive of the day tocommence; behind each stood the waiting figure of a loader, ready withthe second gun. Listless and inactive as were now these figures, theywould shortly become possessed of a feverish energy; for in theturnip-field beyond the blackthorn hedge were many partridges, and,struggle later as they might with obstinate cartridges, their movementswould be far too slow for their impatient masters, who with gundischarged would view, in helpless wrath, the easiest of shots passunscathed overhead.

  At one end of the line, comfortably seated on a grouse-stick, a youngman was waiting with the rest. He was a young man whose face wore alook of great conceit, this appearance being enhanced by a somewhatpronounced eccentricity of attire. There was something about this youththat struck the observer as unusual; he was in some indescribable mannerdifferent from his fellows, though to the majority of mankind it must beowned the difference was not of a pleasing kind. This gentleman wasLieutenant Hector Graeme, senior subaltern of Her Majesty's 1st Regimentof Lancers, now on foreign service in India. In accordance with hisusual habit of evading his duties--or so said his enemies, among whommight be included the greater part of his brother officers--Graeme hadbeen successful in dodging the troopship; and, having been left behindwith the depot at Canterbury, was on leave from that place and stayingas a guest at Radford Hall, Sir Thomas being an old friend of hisfather's.

  Standing behind him--for the idea of yielding up his seat had somehownot occurred to him--was Lucy Caldwell, Sir Thomas' only daughter andthe mistress of his household, he having been a widower for many years.In her hand she was holding Hector's second gun, her obvious intentionbeing to act as loader to the fortunate subaltern. This, it may beremarked, was a task Lucy was thoroughly capable of performing, theyoung lady having been born and bred amongst sportsmen; indeed, therewas little concerning beasts and birds of the field with which she wasnot thoroughly familiar.

  At the present moment, however, there was a somewhat annoyed expressionon her usually good-tempered face, and her brow was knit as she stoodlistening to the shrill "tirwit, tirwit," rising from the turnip-field.

  "Most provoking you should have the worst place for this drive, Mr.Graeme," she said at length; "it will be the best of the day, I know,and the birds always fly over the centre and right."

  "Don't you worry about that, Miss Caldwell," answered Hector; "it's theluck of the draw; and anyway the birds will come to me all right, yousee if they don't."

  "Indeed they will not; they'll make for that field of roots over there,they always do."

  "Not this time, I think. Birds are curious things; they like coming tothe best shot; and that I am, here anyway. Gad, I don't believe I couldmiss to-day. Confess, Miss Caldwell, you don't often see such shootingas mine, now do you?"

  Lucy frowned. She had been taught to look upon bragging of any sort asan impossible thing, and the remark jarred.

  "Of course you're a good shot, Mr. Graeme," she said rather coldly; "butit's hardly necessary to proclaim the fact, is it? As for the birdscoming to you, you may know better than I do. I've lived heretwenty-one years, it's true, but----"

  A sudden whir of wings cut her short, and away past Graeme sped an oldFrench partridge, which was out of sight in the dusk behind before hehad time to raise his gun.

  "Damn!" said Hector, "what did I tell you? Beg pardon, Miss Caldwell,but that's rather annoying, an old Frenchman too; probably played thatgame many times before. Clean defeat, and I don't like it. Hullo,they've started," as through a gap in the hedge before them a distantline of white flags could be seen advancing. "Now, be quiet, like agood girl, and I promise you some fancy shooting."

  "Over," "over," came faintly from the advancing flags, followed someseconds later by a humming sound, rapidly growing louder, till with aroar a large covey of birds topped the blackthorn hedge, and then,seeing Graeme, broke up and scattered in all directions. A breathlessmoment followed, the air resounding with the crack of guns and whirringof wings, and then silence.

  "How many down, Mr. Graeme?" gasped Lucy, struggling with a stuckcartridge.

  "Three, for goodness' sake keep count or we shan't know where we are.Notice that last shot of mine, by the way? Sixty yards at least, andstone dead. No. Pity. Look out, there are more coming, straight to meas usual." Another right and left. "Oh, please be quicker. Damn, myguns are getting red hot. See these four coming? I'll have 'em all,hanged if I don't." Two double shots followed, and then a cry ofexultation. "Done it, by the Lord! What price De Grey now? I told youI couldn't miss. Only hope the others are looking, particularly oldPersian War. Wish he was next me; I'd give a fiver to wipe his eye.How many down? Thirty I make it."

  "Twenty-seven, Mr. Graeme, one a runner."

  "Runner, not it. I'm not dealing in runners to-day. All dead as stones.There are two more for you," as a brace came swinging over and werepromptly crumpled up dead in the air. "That makes twenty-nine by yourcounting, thirty-two by mine. Hang! here are the beaters, and the day'sover. How many down, Fox?" to a keeper who had now come up."Thirty-two all dead."

  "Gum, but that's good shooting," answered Fox, while a murmur ofapprobation arose from a cluster of smock-frocked beaters. "Thought Isaw someone a-cutting of 'em down, sir, and I said as 'ow I thought itmust be the Captain. Only 'ope the other gentlemen 'ave done as well.Hi, Rover, seek lost, good dawg, good dawg. Ah, drop it, now, wouldyou? Oh, thankye, sir, thankye very much," and the tactful Fox's handclosed on a five-pound note, a golden sovereign being likewise bestowedon the cluster of approving smock-frocks.

  The courtiers thus rewarded, Graeme turned to Lucy. "And now we'll walkhome across the park," he said; "no use waiting for the waggonette, whatdo you say, Miss Caldwell?"

  "I don't think I will, Mr. Graeme. You go if you like. I must get backto make the tea. You know what my uncle is, if he's kept waiting."

  "Do him good; he's a great deal too autocratic that old uncle of yours;thinks he's still commanding troops in Bugglaboo, or whatever hisinfernal Indian station was."

  "Mr. Graeme!"

  "Beg pardon, Miss Caldwell, but never mind him. Come along, we'll behome as soon as they are if we start now."

  Lucy hesitated. She wanted to go, and for that very reason, being awoman, pretended she did not. The idea, moreover, though pleasing, wasnevertheless in some unaccountable way rather alarming; for thoughordinarily a walk home with one of her father's guests, however late thehour, would have caused her no qualms, with Graeme, it was different.She had known him but three weeks, and yet in that short time he hadcome to occupy a place in her thoughts, and, what was worse, to controlher actions in a manner most disquieting to a girl as independent andfreedom-loving as Lucy Caldwell. This too in spite of the fact thatbot
h her father and uncle, the General, had little liking for Mr.Graeme, and were, she knew, secretly rejoicing in the knowledge that hewas leaving Radford Hall next day. Hector also was aware of this, andof the feelings of the rest of the house-party; but, having beenaccustomed to unpopularity since his childhood, their hostilitydisturbed him not at all.

  "Better come, Miss Caldwell," he urged. "See, they'll be ages beforethey start. It's my last evening here too; I think you might."

  Upon which Lucy decided that her reluctance was both prudish and absurd.

  "Very well, Mr. Graeme," she answered; "just wait a minute, though, andI'll ask Mr. Robson to let my father know." This done, the two startedon their walk, Lucy setting the pace, which was that of a good fourmiles an hour.

  "Where's Lucy, Tom?" said the General, some ten minutes later, as, thebag having been inspected, the two moved off towards the waitingwaggonette.

  "She'll be here in a minute; she was down at the other end of the line.The last I saw of her she was helping Graeme to collect his birds. Gad,that fellow can shoot, Charles, quite like one of those fellows you readabout in the _Badminton Library_."

  "Yes, and we shall hear all about it to-night too--every blessed shot hemade, and why he missed. Conceited, bumptious jackanapes."

  "Curious thing old Jack Graeme having a son like that, one of the best,old Jack. Must take after his mother, I suppose, she was a queer wildsort--wrong too."

  "He's not Jack's son at all; you know that well enough, Tom. Crawfordwas this fellow's father."

  "Surely, you don't believe that old scandal, Charles?"

  "Of course I do, this fellow's the dead spit of Crawford. The onlydifference between them is that he was a devilish good soldier, one ofthe best we had in the army. I didn't like the fellow, but I'll saythat for him. This chap, though, is a waster, so his regiment say.They can't stand him there, and that, as you know, Tom, is a bad sign, adamn bad sign."

  "I hope Lucy hasn't taken a fancy to him. It's worrying me a lot,Charles."

  "Not she, she's far too sensible. If she did, we'd have to stop it,that's all. I tell you, Tom, I'd sooner see the girl in a convent,or--yes, I would--dead, begad, than see her married to that fellow."

  "Oh come, Charles."

  "Yes, I would. There's something wrong about the chap; he sets me allon edge; he---- Hullo, Robson, seen my niece?"

  "She's walking home with Graeme, General, asked me to let you know. Shesaid she'd be at the house before the waggonette."

  "Oh!" said Sir Thomas.

  "Damn!" muttered the General.

  * * * * *

  Meantime the pair under discussion were making their way homewardsacross the park, Lucy rather silent, Hector discoursing on Hector andthat person's recent achievements. He was feeling particularly pleasedwith himself this evening, and, as a result, more than a little kindlytowards his companion. At length, even the topic of self was exhausted,and a sudden rather awkward pause ensued, whereupon Lucy managed to findher voice.

  "When do you expect to join your regiment in India, Mr. Graeme," shesaid, "soon, I suppose, now? How you must be looking forward to it."

  Graeme's face clouded. "Next September, I believe, that is, if I do goout. Don't think I shall, though, I've more than half a mind to send inmy papers and cut the whole show."

  "Surely not, Mr. Graeme, at your age. What on earth would you do withyourself? You couldn't idle for the rest of your life."

  "Couldn't I? I could idle very well, Miss Caldwell, besides, I shouldalways find plenty to do with shooting, hunting, and golf. Those are myinterests, and pretty good ones too, I think."

  "But surely a mere life of sport wouldn't content you. Don't you want toget on in your profession? Really, Mr. Graeme, I cannot understand aman holding such views."

  "Perhaps not, but it's a fact all the same. I've no wish to get on, asyou call it, indeed I loathe soldiering. What's the good of it afterall, what can it lead to? I've no doubt if I chose I could be as good asoldier as any of them, but I don't choose. It's a life of slavery, thearmy, it's being at the beck and call of every silly fool who happens tohave more gold lace on his hat than you have; and then the end--tobecome a general, a snuffy, purple-faced old ass, like----"

  "Like whom, Mr. Graeme?"

  "Oh, like Grampus, my present lord at Canterbury, who, when he gives aluncheon party, has the lot of us strutting past him on foot parade toshow his importance and amuse his lady friends."

  "But all generals are not like that, Mr. Graeme."

  "All I've met. It's a natural consequence too, I suppose. When a man'syoung and in full possession of his faculties he's only a humble captainor major, but as he approaches imbecility he rises in rank, till in theheight of senile decay he becomes a general."

  "Mr. Graeme, you forget, I think, that my uncle's a----"

  "He, of course, is one of the exceptions you just mentioned," saidHector with a rather nasty chuckle.

  "Mr. Graeme, you're horrid; I don't wonder people dislike you."

  "More do I, though perhaps if you'd been brought up as I have you'd behorrid too."

  "What do you mean?"

  Graeme hesitated for a moment, frowning, and then burst out, with a ringof passion in his voice:

  "You've had a happy life. Miss Caldwell, parents who have been parents,I've not. My father, for some reason, would never look at me, while mymother alternately petted and neglected me. She was a queer being, mymother, mad on spiritualism and such like, and what's more used to dragme into her experiments. She said I was clairvoyant."

  "Good heavens, Mr. Graeme, what an awful thing for a woman to do. I begyour pardon; I forget it's your mother I'm speaking of."

  "Say what you like; I don't care. I hated her when she was alive, anddo now she's dead. It's played the devil with me, Miss Caldwell. Iused to lie awake at night often and shriek with terror, and I'm notmuch better now at times. That's the way I was brought up, nobody tocare twopence about me; and gradually I got not to care too, till now Ithink I hate everybody just as they do me."

  "Oh, surely, not everybody," began Lucy, and then stopped suddenly. Atsomething in her voice, Graeme turned and looked at her, a queer thrillof excitement running through him. He tried to see her face, but it wasturned from him; the feeling of excitement grew, and his heart began tobeat fast.

  For some time he too had been conscious of a growing feeling ofattraction towards this girl; more, he felt himself to be in love withher--a not unusual experience, by the way, for Hector, to whom allfeminine creatures were as magnets to his iron. This feeling, however,though materially contributing to the enjoyment of the past three weeks,had hitherto not been regarded by him as serious, indeed, the idea ofproposing to Lucy Caldwell had never once presented itself to him. Nowthe charms of such a proceeding suddenly occurred to him. Theisolation, in which he had hitherto gloried, seemed no longer desirablebut hateful, and with this came a sudden longing for sympathy and thelove denied him in his childhood. It would be glorious, he thought, tohave someone to care for him; to be interested in what he did, to have ahome of his own instead of the Mess, which he hated; and straightwayHector made up his mind to do it, and, flinging prudence to the winds,spoke.

  "Miss Caldwell, Lucy, is there anyone who cares?"

  "I--I shouldn't think so. I--I don't know."

  "Do you care?--because I do. I--I love you most--damnably."

  "Most damnably?"

  "Yes, and if you'll marry me--I've meant to ask you for a long time, butI've funked it before. I'm not much of a catch, I know. I'll try andbe different. I could be, I think, if you took me in hand. For God'ssake say you will, Lucy."

  "But are you sure, Hector? Do you really mean it? Oh, I never said youmight, and look, there's an owl flown by; he saw us, I know he did. Youmight have waited till he'd gone. He has gone now, Hector."

  * * * * *

  The four
miles an hour dwindled down to a bare half. The darknessdeepened, owing to which possibly they lost their way, turning eastinstead of west. Away from the Hall they wandered, oblivious of apurple-faced gentleman who was awaiting them there, and whose wrath wasrapidly rising as he viewed the still mistressless tea-table.