They turned into the path which was too narrow for them to ride abreast. Adeline led the way, her anger seething within her. At last in a grassy opening she drew rein, wheeled and faced Daisy.
“Now,” she said, “you are to answer for the way you tried to seduce my husband last night.”
For a moment Daisy was stunned. She could not take in the words. Then they sank into her, and the look on Adeline’s face. She turned her horse sharply and made as though to gallop back.
“Stop!” exclaimed Adeline, and brought the weight of her riding crop across Daisy’s back.
Daisy turned her mare and faced Adeline.
“You devil!” she said.
“If I am a devil,” said Adeline, “it is you who have roused it in me! The men of my family would take their riding crop to a man who would play loose with their women. What did you do? You fairly wound yourself around my Philip’s body! You threw yourself across his knees last night by the lake! What do you think I am? Blind? Or a creature of no spirit? Let me tell you — I have been watching you. Ah, my eye has been on you. Take that!” she shouted, brandishing her riding crop.
If Adeline had expected Daisy to fly in terror, she was mistaken. Daisy was indeed terrified but she was furious also. There was a snakelike quality in her sinuous body, crouched on the saddle, in her short, slant-eyed face with the lips drawn back from the teeth. She raised her own riding crop in menace as she avoided Adeline’s blow.
“Don’t you dare to strike me again!” she cried.
“I’ll flog you as you deserve,” exclaimed Adeline. But her horse was nervous. He struggled against the bit and danced here and there. She could not reach Daisy.
“What do you know of love?” Daisy cried out. “You’re wrapped up in yourself. You’re too proud to love Philip as he deserves. I’m not proud. I’ve always wanted him!I’m going to have him. He loves me. What you saw last night, that wasn’t the half. We’re lovers, I tell you!”
“Lies! Lies! There’s no word of truth in you! But now you shall have your lesson.”
Now she rode close to Daisy and again and again she struck her with the crop. At each blow Daisy gave a cry of rage, for she was scarcely conscious of pain. She struck Adeline but the blow descended on the horse. In a convulsion of surprise he reared himself on his hind legs. Daisy’s mare, as though in emulation, reared also. And there for a short space they faced each other immobile, like two riders cut from bronze, the green forest standing in its denseness about them, the lustrous blue sky arching above. It was a pity that there was no spectator of this scene or that none of the four participants was conscious of its beauty.
Then suddenly Adeline’s horse began to plunge. He wheeled and galloped violently in the direction whence they had come and, as though in a concerted plan, the mare flew along the path into the forest. There was soon a wide space between them.
Adeline let him gallop but she spoke soothingly to him and bent forward to pat him.
“It was not I who hit you, Prince. It wasn’t I, old man. It was that villain, Daisy. We’ve always known in our hearts she was bad. But I flogged her! Lord, how I laid it on!”
Her cheeks blazing, her eyes ashine, she galloped home.
It was now high noon and very warm. She went to her room and changed into a cool flowing dress. She went to the dining room and busied herself in arranging rows of delicate glass goblets in a French cabinet. The room was now papered; rugs were laid on the floor; the long curtains, of a golden yellow with heavy cords and tassels, hung from the ornate cornices. The portraits of herself and Philip were side by side, above the silver-laden sideboard. It was a handsome room, she thought. She would not be ashamed to entertain here.
She busied herself, humming a little tune. But one part of her mind she kept locked.
The Laceys came to dinner and it was not till they were leaving and the shadow of the young birch lay at length on the grass that Robert Vaughan drove up to the door. His face was pale.
“What has happened?” he demanded, as though all were aware of something unusual.
“Happened?” answered Philip. “What do you mean?”
“Is Mrs. Wakefield safe?”
“She is.”
“Well, my cousin isn’t! Pixie has come home without her!”
Philip turned in astonishment to Adeline.
“You were riding with Daisy, weren’t you?”
“Yes … We had words … a quarrel … and we separated. I came home alone.”
“Oh,” cried Mrs. Lacey. “I’m afraid the poor girl has had an accident! Oh, dear — oh, dear!”
“We must organize a search party at once,” said Captain Lacey. He turned almost accusingly to Adeline. “Where was Miss Vaughan when you parted from her, Mrs. Whiteoak?”
Adeline knit her brow. “I don’t know. It was quite a long way off. On the cart track leading from the church. Then along a narrow path to a clearing. We separated there.”
“You must come and show us,” said Philip.
Mary asked — “Do you think there are wolves about?”
“Not a wolf,” answered Captain Lacey, but he spoke uneasily.
“I’ll bring Nero,” cried Sholto. “We shall need something in the way of a bloodhound.”
“What I am afraid of is that she has been thrown and injured. How was her horse behaving when you parted from her, Mrs. Whiteoak?”
“She was a little restive.”
Robert found the opportunity of saying to Adeline: —
“I have quarreled with Daisy too. I thought her behaviour last night was detestable. But now I feel frightened.”
“Nothing has happened to her.”
“But how can you know?”
“Something tells me.”
While Adeline and Philip were changing into their riding clothes, he exclaimed — “This is a pretty kettle of fish! If anything has happened to that girl, you will be blamed. You need not have said that you quarreled.”
“I am of a frank nature,” she returned.
“There is no need to disclose everything.” “I did not disclose the nature of our quarrel.”
There was complete silence for a space. Then Philip said — “I don’t want to be told what it was about.”
“No. Because you already know.”
He stared, his blue eyes prominent. “I know?”
“Of course, you know. We quarreled about you.”
“Well, all I can say is, you were damn silly women.”
“We were. But that is our nature, and our misfortune. She was lucky that I did no more than take my riding crop to her back.”
Philip stood transfixed. “God God!” he exclaimed.
Adeline laughed. “Oh, she struck back at me! She was not at all crushed. She rode off in a rage. She is probably playing a game of being lost in the forest, just to frighten me.”
“A risky game. Adeline, you may be sorry for this.”
She flung out — “Sorry for punishing a base female who has tried to seduce my husband! No — a thousand wolves, bears or wildcats, tear her to bits, I shall not be sorry! In any case I did not lose her. She lost herself. And she will be found. I’m certain of that.”
They joined the others who were mounted for the search. All the laborers from the estate, the farm hands from the neighborhood, the men and boys from the village, armed with guns or lanterns, riding or on foot, were gathered by nightfall to help in the recovery of Daisy.
Adeline led them to the spot where the two horses had risen on their hind legs to face each other like symbolic beasts on a coat-of-arms. A good deal of speculation was caused by the scattered and uneven hoofprints. What had the two ladies been doing? She herself was surprised by the hoofprints. What had passed now seemed like a dream.
It was easy to follow Pixie’s hoofprints to where she had turned homeward. They ran on smoothly for about three miles, following the path, then abruptly wheeled. The ground was trodden a little as though she had stood for a space. But there was no
trace of Daisy. Adeline returned to Jalna with her brothers for escort. All night, in moonlight and after the moon sank, the search went on. Guns were fired; the men shouted; the beams of lanterns penetrated dark thickets where the foot of man had not yet trodden. A thousand birds were startled from their sleep. A thousand wild creatures trembled in their burrows. But there was no trace of Daisy.
When the searchers returned the next morning, worn-out, a fresh party was formed. It was headed by Colonel Vaughan and, though Philip had been out all night, he returned to the search. Men came from a distance. The whole countryside was aroused. Daisy’s tragic case laid a shadow across every hearth.
At the end of the fourth day, Philip came in to the library where Adeline was embroidering an altar cloth for the new church. He looked tired out. He threw himself into a chair opposite here and remarked: —
“You look nice and cool.”
“I am,” she returned, putting her needle into the heart of a lily. But her hand trembled.
“It is well,” he observed severely, “to be able to detach yourself so completely from what is going on about you.”
“If you mean that I should be rending my garments in anguish over Daisy, I don’t see any sense in it. She will be found.”
“I wish you’d go out and find her, if you’re so damned sure. Egad, I’m tired enough!”
“She’ll come back,” Adeline spoke doggedly.
“How can you know?”
“I feel it.” Never must she let go that feeling!
“You have never before pretended to any occult power.”
“It isn’t occult. It’s just a feeling.”
“Well, I wish the rest of us felt that way. We are getting discouraged. The farmers are neglecting their crops. David Vaughan has offered a hundred pounds’ reward for her discovery.”
“That ought to help.”
“Your attitude,” he said, rising, “is odious.”
“So is Daisy,” she returned imperturbably.
The next day Wilmott came to see Adeline. He looked pale and anxious. Adeline was wheeling the perambulator up and down in front of the house with her two sons in it. After greeting her and admiring the babies, Wilmott fell into step with her and exclaimed: —
“I am worried almost to death.”
She turned to him in dismay. “Have you heard from Henrietta?”
“No, no, not that. But bad enough.”
“What then, James?”
“It’s about Tite. He has disappeared.”
“Since when?”
“Since the morning Miss Vaughan was lost. He set out that morning to spend two days with his relations. He has not come back. I grew so anxious yesterday that I rode to where the Indians live. I found his grandmother and she told me very vaguely that he had gone to an Indian Reserve to visit some cousins. He had left no message. That wasn’t like Tite. It is now five days since he left. My God, I’m afraid something terrible has happened.”
“But Indians are vague as to time, aren’t they?”
“Not Tite. He has a cool, clear-cut mind. What is tormenting me is the thought — the suspicion — well, I may as well tell you … Daisy Vaughan was attracted by him. She let him see that she was attracted. He repeated things she had said to him. To be sure he is only a boy. But he is of mixed blood — savage blood! What if he discovered her that morning in the woods?”
Thoughts of rape and murder flashed like horrid lightning through Adeline’s mind. Her heart trembled. Still she said as sturdily as before: —
“Daisy will be found alive. I’m sure of it.”
She was right. Two days later Philip came to her, almost running in his excitement.
“She is found!” he cried, his blue eyes bright in his relief. “Daisy Vaughan is safe at her uncle’s!”
“I told you!” she cried, her voice very young and clear. “I told you! Who found her?”
“That half-breed boy of Wilmott’s. Young Tite. He’d been visiting his people and he was on his way back. He found her in a shelter some Indians had once built of boughs when they were hunting. She’d loved on berries all the while.”
“Have you seen her?”
“No. Robert Vaughan just galloped over to tell us. There’ll be great rejoicing. Come, and he’ll tell us all about it.”
“Is she well?”
“Quite uninjured but pretty bedraggled, poor girl. Oh, Adeline, when I think of your part in this, I’m thankful, I can tell you!”
“So am I!” she cried. Bursting into tears, she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Philip, let this be a lesson to you!”
XXI
THE REWARD
ADELINE AND PHILIP found Robert Vaughan sitting on the porch. He did not look as elated as she had expected. But he smiled as he rose and came to shake hands.
“I could not go indoors,” he said. “My boots were so muddy. Well, what do you think of the news? We’re thankful, you may be sure. My mother especially. She has worried herself ill.”
“I know,” said Adeline, “and so have I. Even though I felt from the first that Daisy would be found.”
“It’s a miracle that she survived,” said Philip. “Now sit down and tell us all about it. Is she pretty weak?”
“No, she’s not particularly weak,” answered Robert, guardedly. “But she’s very thin. Her riding habit is fairly torn to ribbons by brambles.”
They sat down on the oak bench and Adeline’s eyes searched Robert’s face. She wished she had him alone. She said — “Now begin at the very beginning and tell all — when did you get the first word of her?”
“My father was dozing in his armchair on the verandah. He was done out, for he’d been away from home for the last two days and had almost no sleep or rest. He’s not a young man, you know. Well, he heard a step and he gave a great start because he was always hoping Daisy would walk in, in just that way. But it was Mrs. Wilmott’s half-breed boy, Tite, and he came right up to father and said, ‘Boss, I’ve found your lost girl.’”
“What a moment!” exclaimed Adeline. “Ah, I wish I’d been there!”
“My father could scarcely believe Tite at first but he was soon convinced. Tite had been visiting in the Reserve and on the way home he heard a voice crying, in a sort of wigwam of boughs and sapling that Indians had made a long while ago. He went in and there was Daisy lying on the ground weeping. She’d given up all hope.”
“Poor girl,” said Philip, in a tone not too heartfelt, for Adeline’s eyes were on him. “Poor girl.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Adeline. “Poor girl.”
Robert went on in the same curiously guarded tone: —
“Well, Tite’s story was that having his gun with him he at once set out to find some food for her. He shot a grouse, built a fire and roasted it. Daisy was ravenous. When she had eaten and slept for a little he supported her as far as a certain clearing he knew and left her there while he came home for help.”
“And she hadn’t heard our shouting or the reports of our guns!” exclaimed Philip.
“She says she heard nothing.”
“She must have wandered a long way.”
“Yes, she had wandered a long way.”
“That boy, Tite, must know the forest well.”
“He knows it like the palm of his hand. Well, to make a long story short. I went back with Tite while my father set about spreading the word to the other searchers that Daisy was found. When we reached the clearing there she was, sitting waiting for us in rags and tatters, with her hair down her back and her face dirty. We put her on the horse behind me and brought her home. My mother almost fainted at the sight of her. Mother had got the big tin bath full of hot water, and fresh clothes ready for her. I came straight over here.”
Adeline laid a gently hand on Robert’s arm. “You must be tired and hungry,” she said. “Philip, dear, would you ask Mrs. Coveyduck to bring us some of the hot scones she’s just made — and a pot of chocolate. My limbs are trembling so from excitement
that I fear they’d fail me. Otherwise I’d never ask you to run my errands, Philip. You know I’m not the sort of wife to do that, am I?”
“Listen to her!” said Philip, giving Robert a wink. He went in search of Mrs. Coveyduck.
“Now,” said Adeline, her face close to Robert’s, “tell me what you think about it all.”
He turned his face away.
“You don’t believe this story, do you, Robert?”
“Not a word of it,” he answered, his face sombre.
“But you believe that Tite found Daisy.”
“Yes, I believe he found her.”
“But not just today?”
“I tell you,” he cried fiercely, “I hated to have her on the horse with me! I hated her arms about me!”
“She couldn’t have helped but hear the guns and the shouting, could she?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“Why don’t you believe Tite’s story, Robert?”
“Because it was false. The story she poured out to me when I met her was false. Every tree in the forest shouted that she was false — false as hell!” He wrung his fingers together. “And when I saw my mother embracing her, weeping over her — my father shaken and aged by this week of misery — I could have killed her!”
“She can’t help what she is, Robert,” said Adeline, taking his hand. “I don’t feel angry at her now. If it isn’t one man, it’s another — with her. How did she greet your mother?”
“Oh, I don’t know! I came away.”
Philip returned through the hall. He said: —
“Mrs. Coveyduck is delighted. The chocolate is preparing. The scones smell delicious. What about that reward of a hundred pounds which your father offered for Miss Daisy’s discovery, Robert?”
“Oh, Tite had heard of that and claimed it in the first breath!”
“What a windfall for Tite!” exclaimed Philip, laughing. “He will probably leave Wilmott and set himself up as chief of his tribe.”
As they spoke of him, they saw Wilmott hastening along the drive. His face was alight. “Have you heard the news?” he cried. Then, seeing Robert, added, “But of course you have. What a relief! I was with the searching party when Colonel Vaughan appeared. We had given up hope of finding Miss Vaughan alive.” He sat down beside the others. He fanned himself with his hat. Then he turned to Robert. “There must be great rejoicing at Vaughanlands.”
01 The Building of Jalna Page 32