CHAPTER V
TRAVELLER'S JOY
The 8th of January dawned still and cold. A black frost was on theground, and in the sky the yellowish greyness which usually precedes aheavy snowfall.
It was, however, perfectly fine and dry at Bramforth when Olwen set outupon her northward journey. At Newcastle she had to change, and lateron must change again, for the little local line which would carry her toPicton Bars.
The lonely station stands high upon the fells, and the snow had begun tofall when she alighted upon the small, dreary platform.
A fly sent by Askwith, landlord of the Seven Spears at Caryngston, wasduly in waiting, and when she and her baggage were safely bestowed theystarted off, up a hill so steep that the driver did not mount his boxuntil they had gone a mile and a half. The Seven Spears was the curiousname of the hostelry to which Mrs. Guyse in her last letter had directedher new secretary, with the information that at this point upon herjourney she would be met.
By the time they had gained a wide, exposed plateau, the snow wasfalling with surprising and increasing rapidity. The great flakes werelike lumps of wool, and the whole face of the country was white in halfan hour. As they breasted the hill they encountered a keen icy windfrom the north, against which the horses could make but slow progress.The train had been warmed, but the interior of the fly was very chilly.It seemed to Olwen that in all the miles they travelled they neverpassed a single human habitation. How far they went she could not tell,but she was blue with cold, and very hungry by the time they reached theoutskirts of a small town or a large village. The grey stone cottageswere huddled in true Northumbrian fashion one against the other, rightupon the road, with no intervening garden plots as in southern counties.Owing to the storm, nobody was in the streets; and against all wallswhich faced the north the snow had already drifted deeply. Darkness wasclosing in as they reached the market square, white and empty in thepitiless weather.
Olwen felt a little nervous at the thought that the last, and presumablythe wildest, stage of her journey still lay before her. She had hardlyrealised that England contained a place so remote as Guysewyke.
The inn stood on the north side of the square, facing south. A woodenporch projected above the door, and wooden benches were ranged below thewindows.
As the horses stopped before the entrance, a middle-aged woman, in feltslippers, drying her hands upon a large print apron, came and stood inthe light of the doorway.
"Is it the yoong leddy for t' Pele?" she asked in a hearty voice, whichwas strangely comfortable in the circumstances.
"Yes," said Olwen as she jumped out eagerly. "Are you Mrs. Askwith?What dreadful weather you have here! It was quite fine at Bramforththis morning!"
"To think o' that! Coom away, Missie, and Saam'll put trooks doon in'tbaack kitchen. There's a canny bit o' snaw doon already, and we'll havemore'n enoof, coom morrning. Bad time o' year to be travelling, and yousooch a bit lassie!"
The last words were tinged with wonder as Miss Innes walked into thepassage, which was papered in imitation blocks of grey granite, dividedinto oblongs by bands of bright blue.
Olwen laughed. "I think it's fun--quite an adventure, you know," shereplied gaily. "Is there anybody here to meet me from Guysewyke?"
"Ow ay, there be," said the hostess; and as she spoke she pushed open adoor leading into the bar parlour, whence issued loud laughter and awhiff of mingled tobacco smoke, leather gaiters, beer, sawdust and hothumanity.
Olwen caught sight of several men on benches, three farmers round acentral table, and the host, in a green baize apron, with a tankard ineach hand.
The face of the farmer seated facing her was clearly visible for a fewmoments--a long dark face, with a pronounced chin, a slight blackmoustache, and eyes as green as jade. He seemed just to have saidsomething to amuse his companions, and was himself smiling, showing tworows of teeth as perfect as those of an animal. He looked, she thought,like a picture of _Der Freischuetz_, the demon huntsman.
In her hasty survey she saw nobody who looked like Mrs. Guyse's servant,but somebody must have been there, for the landlady called out:
"She've coom! Yoong lass've coom!" before banging the door and shuttingin the noise and warm odours.
She turned to the other side of the central passage and ushered the girlinto a second parlour, where a fire burned, but dully. Striking amatch, the woman lit a paraffin lamp, and disclosed the typical, square,small-windowed inn sitting-room, with the usual rag hearthrug, chinadogs on the mantelpiece, stuffed gamecock in a glass case, and cornercupboard with treasures of old cut glass and lustre ware. The panelledwalls had been painted in a vile yellowish imitation of the real oakwhich the paint in all probability masked.
Kneeling down with a pair of bellows, the landlady quickly blew thesluggish fire into a leaping blaze, upon which she placed a huge log.Then rising and dusting her knees with one hand, she looked doubtfullyat her guest.
"Ye'll no get to t' Pele to-night, loov," said she not unkindly. "It'sdrifting very hard oop on t' fell already. Muster Nin won't risk it inthe dark."
Then, in reply to Olwen's "Oh!" of consternation she added, "Well, well,you'll hear what he says himself."
She paused and listened to a new burst of wild merriment, which wasplainly audible from the bar. Her lips twisted into an indulgent smile.
"That's him. Troost him to set 'em all off!"
Her eyes wandered to the somewhat forlorn little figure of Olwen, who,doubtful as to whether she was to continue her travels or no, wasstanding by the table, cold, hungry and uncertain. "Bad time o' yearfor t' Pele," she remarked, as if puzzled. "Soommer's best, oopyander." Her expression was odd, and it seemed as if she was minded tosay more, but instead she turned suddenly, marched out into the passage,half opened the bar door, and called loudly:
"Muster Nin! Coom you here! Didn't you hear me tell you yoong lass'vecoom?"
"All right, Deb, keep your hair on," said a voice from within; there wasthe sound of a chair being pushed back, and the young farmer with blackhair and green eyes emerged, a pipe in his mouth, a tumbler of hot drinkin his hand.
His eyes and those of the stranger girl met momentarily; and she wasconscious of two very distinct impressions: first, of his real, thoughsuppressed, anxiety to see her, and secondly, of his disappointment.She could not have explained how she knew this; but in some way shereceived the impression of his having expected something very different.
"Hallo!" he said, looking her up and down as she stood in cold dignityby the parlour table. "You Miss Innes--eh! How-de-do?"
She bowed. "You are----?"
"My name's Guyse. I drove down this morning to do some business in thetown and bring you back. Didn't foresee this weather. Afraid it's nouse hoping to get to the Pele to-night. What do you think, Deb?"
Deb's opinion, quite frankly and decidedly, was that it would be afool's trick to attempt the journey. Madam would never expect them.
The Demon Huntsman, pipe in mouth, studied the silent girl withhalf-shut eyes. "Think you can make her comfortable here, Deb?" heasked at length.
"Ow ay, Muster Nin. I'll be going oop now and kindle a fire in herroom. What time would you like supper--eh?"
"That's for the lady to say."
"You really think," began Olwen, summoning her courage, "that we hadbetter not try to go on? You are not speaking on my account? I am nottimid or nervous."
He grinned. "Dessay not. I am though."
"And you are sure that Mrs. Guyse will understand and approve?"
Both Mrs. Askwith and he were very sure of that.
"Then, if I am to stay here, might I beg for a cup of tea? I'm so coldand hungry."
"Tea?" The good woman was overcome with remorse that she had notthought of this. Off she went to prepare it forthwith, and Miss Innesand the young man were left together.
Slowly she laid down her muff and gloves, unfastened M
arjorie's motorcoat in which she had travelled, and laid it aside, disclosing her slimlittle person in a dark blue suit. Then she sat down in a big chair ofthe kind known as a porter's chair, and held her stiff hands to thecomforting warmth of the fire.
Her escort had moved round to the fireside, and was sitting on a cornerof the table, swinging one leg, and smoking away with a total disregardof her permission.
His eyes were on her, and after a while he took out his pipe, andchuckled, displaying his clean white teeth. "Mean to say you've been abank clerk for three years?" he asked teasingly.
Olwen almost jumped, so much did this familiarity astonish her.
"Why not?" she countered stiffly.
"You look to me as if you were straight from boarding school, as if youhad spent your days walking out in a crocodile, with a mistress behindto see that you didn't give the glad eye to anybody along the seafront."
Olwen was roused. She must give this offensive young cad something toremember. "You were never more mistaken in your life," said she coolly."I am quite able to take care of myself, and people are rarely rude tome twice."
"Rude?" he laughed, not the least abashed. "I should think not! Fancycheeking a kitten at the age of six weeks!"
"Your habits with regard to kittens or anyone else," she snapped, "areof no interest to me. Pray don't let me keep you fromyour--er--associates in the next room."
He laughed out, his head thrown back. "Fuff-fuff! I do love to hear akitten swear!"
Olwen tilted her chin to a very haughty angle. "Mrs. Guyse has providedme with an unusual kind of escort," she said. "May I ask who you are?Do you live near Guysewyke Pele?"
"No, I don't. I live inside it. I'm the son of the house, and I hopeyou and I are going to have fine times together. You looked such amouse that I thought you had no spunk in you; but you've got a spirit ofyour own, all right, all right."
Olwen rose, and gathered up her coat, with the intention of asking Mrs.Askwith to let her see her room. As she made for the door, it wasopened by an apple-cheeked damsel who carried a tea-tray. This she setdown upon the table, giving young Guyse what he would have called theglad eye as she did so.
"Hallo, Flossie," said he, taking up his glass, "I drink to your verygood health. You see before you, Flossie, no less a person than theQueen of Sheba. Make your very lowest courtesy. Her Majesty istravelling incog., and I've got into hot water by failing to recogniseher. Look out for yourself, my girl, or you'll get the set-down of yourlife."
Flossie began to titter, and young Guyse, rising, said, "Tarta, kitten!"and walked back into the bar parlour. As the door closed behind himthere sounded an outburst of laughter, and Olwen wondered if it werecaused by some remark he had made about herself. Her cheeks were warmwith indignation. This creature--this tavern wit--was to be her housemate at the Pele! ... Why, Ben Holroyd was an aristocrat compared withthis!
"Mr. Ninian's full of his nonsense, ain't he?" said Flossie cheerfully."Known me from a baaby, he has. Me moother she says it's a fair wonderhow he do keep up his spirits in that lonely plaace. There, Miss, yourtea's ready, and should I carry your things oopstairs?"
Olwen sank down with relief to sip hot tea and eat excellent hotteacake. She was almost ready to cry at prospect before her, but therefreshment and the warmth revived her somewhat. It was not yet twelvehours since she left the Vicarage; she could not yet accept defeat! Butshe felt uneasy.
Mrs. Guyse had made no mention of her son. She had conveyed theimpression that she lived alone. Was it wildly possible that her realescort had been delayed by the snow and this unspeakable young man wasmasquerading? That might account for the merriment in the bar, but itseemed impossible that the Askwiths should be conniving at such a trick.Her gloomy meditations were broken into by the entrance of Deb, who cameto know if she had enjoyed her tea. She thanked her politely, and askedwhether there were such a thing as a telegraph office within reach, asshe was anxious to send a message to her people to explain that theweather had delayed her.
Mrs. Askwith approved of this idea. "You caan't tell, you might besnowed oop here, and days before you get to t' Pele," was herdisquieting opinion. Then, not pausing to consult her guest, she oncemore pushed open the bar door and shouted for "Muster Nin."
She explained to him that the young lady wished to send a telegram, andhe replied, "That's easy enough, if the snow hasn't broken down thewires, and I don't think it will have yet." Advancing into the parlour,he peeped in, a mocking devil in his eyes. "If your Majesty willcondescend to allow her slave to hold an umbrella over her, we will atonce fare forth across the market-place," said he.
He did not wait for a reply, but took up her fur coat from the chairwhere still it lay, and held it for her to put on. She was taken bysurprise, and did so almost mechanically.
"Now, Deb, the big umbrella," said he, "and I can manage so that thismidget shan't be blown away."
They emerged into the porch. As the wind was behind the house, theywere here comparatively in shelter, and the snow seemed a meresprinkling. "Now," said he, as he set the umbrella firmly on hisshoulder so as to shield their backs, "cling to me for all you're worth,little 'un, and I'll have you across in a brace of shakes."
It was not a moment for standing on one's dignity. The readiness withwhich he had come from the warm room to do her a service mollified hersomewhat, and she tucked her hand into his arm as directed.
As soon as they were beyond the shelter of the house, the blast drovethem on furiously. She had the sensation of being attached to a livewire, so elastic yet so complete was young Guyse's resistance to thestorm.
Soon the snow was over their boots, and she was jumping along in afashion which could not but provoke them both to mirth. She was gaspingfor breath when they reached the opposite side of the market-place, andstood before the chemist's shop, which was also the post office. Thechemist, with a sack over his head, was busy sweeping the drifts fromhis doorstep. The colour was high in Olwen's cheeks, and her eyes werestarry as she made a dash for the comparative light and warmth of theshop within.
The postmaster came to attend them, read Olwen's message slowly andlaboriously aloud, and discussed the storm with great fluency in adialect which Olwen could only partly understand. They discussed thechance of getting to the Pele next day, and Olwen found that her escorthad no intention at all of remaining weather-bound.
"This fall is going to stop soon after midnight," he said, "the windwill drop, and then we'll have out Askwith's sleigh and go up there inno time."
On their return journey they met the wind, and young Guyse thought itbetter not to hoist the umbrella. As the gust shrieked in their facesthe girl recalled the prosaic, everyday aspect which the residentialdistrict of Bramforth had worn that morning. Everything grey,everything dull; everything just as it always had been and always wouldbe! ... And now she was fighting the elements, the icy blast from theCheviots like knives upon her face, ankle deep in snow, and clingingclose to a young ruffian whom, an hour ago, she had never seen.
As they fought their way on, the white surrounding expanse of snow wasbroken by an approaching figure. There was a moon behind thesnow-clouds, so that the night was not quite black, and she could seethat it was a man in an oilskin coat and a cap with flaps tied down overhis ears, who was moving towards them.
Young Guyse evidently had no wish to encounter the traveller. He flunghis arm round Olwen and turned her in a slightly different direction.His attempt at evasion was thwarted by a shout from the man.
"Hi, Guyse! Guyse! Is that you?"
Guyse wheeled sulkily. "Hallo!" ungraciously, "what do you want?"
"Have you got ... knife in pocket ... with hook for clearing horse'shoof?"
The speaker was out of breath, but his voice was that of an educatedman. Olwen saw that he had a short, pointed, fair beard, to which themoisture clung in drops.
Her escort most reluctantly felt in his pockets, and while he did so sheknew herself the object of
keen scrutiny on the part of the other.
"Thanks, I'm sure"--as the knife was produced--"I'm afraid I have keptthis--er--lady standing. What shall I do with the knife, to return it?"
"Leave it with Askwith. I shall be at the Seven Spears till morning."With these words he dragged the girl away, ignoring the other's shout ofthanks and good night.
"Who was that?" cried Olwen in his ear.
"That? The doctor. Fellow called Balmayne. Confounded busybody!Always spying!"
"Spying!"
"On me. Why can't he mind his own business? Out there in the snow justto get a look at you, I suppose."
"What nonsense!"
"Like to have been introduced to you, wouldn't he? No fear!"
As he spoke, they reached their haven, the lee of the storm, and sheheard his words clearly. She disengaged herself from him, no longer inneed of his support, which he nevertheless seemed disinclined towithdraw. The doctor, she thought, might well have felt curious as towho she was--careering across the market-place with young Guyse's armround her waist!
The Lonely Stronghold Page 5