It only lasted a few minutes, for the heavy rain had soaked everything and a descent was inevitable. Soon the wet fog rose and closed overhead again, the moon took strange opalescent colours, and was dimmed and then disappeared, as the balloon sank steadily into the storm.
“If we had only had a fine night, we could have got to Scotland,” said Dorothy Wynne, in a tone of profound regret.
“Don’t you be too sure!” answered Bob. “With this wind it looks more like the North Sea!”
“Then if our ballast had held out we could have got across to Norway,” retorted the young lady, who was not to be daunted by trifles.
But at this moment the car jerked violently, throwing all its four occupants against one side of itself. It turned and rolled and jumped like a skiff in a breaking sea.
“Hang on, girls!” cried Bob Trevelyan. “We’re on our trial rope already!”
The two young women were already hanging on by the rigging for dear life; and Jocelyn was making it especially easy for Anne to hang on. Indeed, she had a sensation which was very like being carried along in his arms — which surprised her, for she knew she was not particularly light in spite of her slim waist. A slender ash sapling can be as heavy as a common pine nearly twice its size.
Presently the jerking was varied by a violent wrench, which laid the car on its side, and almost upset it.
“Bad for that tree-top,” observed Bob, as the balloon sailed away again. “What next, I wonder? Does any one see anything? One ought to, with that moon up there; but it’s as dark as Erebus.”
“It’s the blackest moonlight night I’ve ever known,” laughed Anne.
Possibly she found it more amusing than the other did, and she certainly felt more safe than Lady Dorothy possibly could. Jocelyn was a surprisingly strong young man, and may have exaggerated her danger a little.
“I believe we are over a desert island,” said her friend cheerfully. “I’ve not seen any lights for an age.”
The conversation was interrupted by a tremendous wrench, and the car was wrestling with another tree-top.
“That was a rather thrilling moment!” laughed Anne Trevelyan.
“I tell you what,” said Bob, not laughing at all, “at the first open space we come to, down we go! We’re sinking every minute, and I don’t want to stop her with my nose against the next oak we strike.” He spoke quietly, but the others understood their danger, and all four peered down over the edge of the car in breathless silence, while the balloon moved on in a series of irregular bounds, as the trail-rope encountered more or less resistance. A faint grey line now became visible ahead, where the belt of trees ended.
“If we clear the trees, I’ll pop the valve,” said Bob quietly. “There must be open ground beyond. Be ready with the anchor, Anne; Jocelyn will help you. It’s a night for the ripping line, and I’ll manage that myself.”
All four clung to the rigging in silence for some moments. Then the report of the suddenly opened valve rang through the air like a muffled gunshot. Two seconds passed, not more, and Bob ripped.
“Look out for the bump, girls!”
The fast sinking car descended, slanting on the wind, till it struck the ground with considerable force and was instantly overturned. The four clung on with all their might, almost where they were, while Trevelyan ripped again; the balloon swayed wildly, darted forward a couple of yards, wrenching the car along after it, and then collapsed like a dying game-cock.
Bob crawled out of the wreck first, and then helped the others, and in the gloom the two young girls silently straightened their hats; for that is the first impulse of feminine humanity after an accident. If a woman could be raised from the dead by radium, which begins to look possible, she would straighten her hat before doing anything else.
“This is all very well, but where are we?” asked Lady Dorothy, as soon as that was done.
“In a meadow,” answered Jocelyn. “Lucky it’s not a ploughed field.”
“What a night!” groaned the young girl.
For they had been dry and comfortable under the vast shelter of the inflated balloon, but they were now almost instantly soaked through and through by the lashing rain, and the two girls staggered as they stood up and faced the raging gale. Again Jocelyn’s arm was very useful to Miss Anne.
“We must make for shelter at once,” her brother said. “After all, we are in England, and we can’t be very far from civilisation. No one will steal the balloon on a night like this.”
“The old thing looks comfortable enough,” observed Jocelyn. “Rather done, though!”
He and Anne followed her brother and Dorothy, who led the way, linking arms and bending their heads to the storm, while they waded through what felt like a field of wet bathing sponges. Against the dim grey light they could see the trees over which they had lately passed, writhing and twisting in the gale.
“If this is a meadow, it’s a pretty big one,” said Anne. —
At that moment Bob uttered an exclamation: he and his companion had struck a narrow path covered with fine white gravel that gleamed in the uncertain light.
“We’re in a park!” cried Trevelyan. “What luck! That means a good-sized house, at all events.”
“And a possible dinner,” added Lady Dorothy cheerfully.
But Jocelyn and Anne said nothing, because they were so busy in helping each other to walk. All four tramped steadily along the path for a couple of hundred yards or more, till they brought up short before an insurmountable obstacle that suddenly loomed up out of the dark; it was nothing less than a stone wall, at least fifteen feet high, which evidently enclosed the grounds, and seemed to be topped by a row of murderous-looking split spikes. The path turned aside some twenty feet from it, and seemed to wander away aimlessly towards the trees.
“This is an odd sort of place we’ve dropped into!” said Lady Dorothy; and all four stood in a row and stared at the forbidding wall.
“They evidently don’t encourage trespassers,” observed Trevelyan.
“Only an idiot would waste all that money,” said Jocelyn, who was still hard up, and momentarily looked at everything from the financial point of view.
“I rather wish we were on the other side of it,” Anne said.
“You’ll be left waiting, dear,” answered Lady Dorothy, who adored American slang.
“Follow the path,” Jocelyn advised. “It must lead to the house in the end.”
There was clearly nothing else to be done, and for some minutes no sound was heard but the regular tread of four pairs of strong shoes crunching the fine gravel, and the swish of the driving rain, and the howling of the wind in the trees not far off. They could still see the wall stretching away into the gloom.
Suddenly, there were lights in the distance, and a big house loomed against the stormy sky; an ugly, square, uninviting house, as they saw in a few minutes, for the sight had revived their spirits, and they walked faster. Before long they struck the drive, towards which the path led, and across the gravelled space to the front door.
Trevelyan rang, and the others huddled round him on the steps, to get shelter from the rain.
A footman in a quiet brown livery opened in a few moments, and they did not notice that he seemed exceedingly surprised when he saw them; indeed, his astonishment was altogether out of proportion to the circumstances, for his jaw dropped, and he gasped audibly. All the four were dazzled by the blaze of light from the vestibule, after having been so long out of doors in the dark, and did not notice the man’s manner. Trevelyan at once explained what brought them; and as soon as the footman understood, he let them in, shut and locked the door, put the key in his pocket, and went off, muttering something about the master of the house.
A few moments later the latter appeared in person, in evening dress, and carrying his napkin in his hand, having evidently left his dinner in the utmost haste. Though tired and half stupefied by the storm, the four aeronauts were strongly impressed by his personality. He was by no means
an ill-looking man, yet there was something extraordinary and almost terrifying in his appearance. He was tall, lean, strongly made, and of a dark complexion, with smooth iron-grey hair; his jaw was broad and square, his Ups thin and determined. One sees many such men in England, but not with eyes like his. They were round, but deep-set, and they were at once luminous and hard, like those of the nobler birds of prey. I know a tamer of wild beasts who has just such eyes as those; one would almost say that he could not shut the lids if he tried, even for sleep, and it is easy to understand why the big tigers slink down and crouch under them, watching him cautiously, as if his look would kill.
Trevelyan spoke first. “We are awfully sorry to intrude on your privacy in this way,” he said, remembering the spiked wall of the park, and reflecting that it looked as forbidding as its owner. “We are balloonists, and were caught in the storm, and had to come down where we could, for fear of being blown out to sea — and it happened to be in your grounds. Is the sea far off?”
“A quarter of a mile,” answered the master of the house, in a deep, quiet voice, much as a tamer speaks to his lions.
Anne and Dorothy exchanged glances.
“Then, considering what a narrow escape we’ve had,” Trevelyan continued, “I hope you won’t mind our having trespassed.”
At the last word a smile dawned on the grim face of the master of the house. “I fancy you are the first people who have ever succeeded in trespassing here,” he said.
“I should think so!” cried Lady Dorothy. “We saw your wall.”
They were beginning to think it strange that they were not asked to come in, and Trevelyan was a trifle impatient. “Should you mind very much if we came in and dried ourselves a bit?” he asked. “The ladies are soaking.”
“And I am very sorry to bother you,” added Dorothy, “but really we are starving. We had to throw all our eatables overboard as ballast, you see.”
The master of the house did not answer at once, and seemed absorbed in his reflections. He thoughtfully stroked his long upper lip. “By all means,” he said at last, very slowly. “Of course! Come in, and make yourselves as comfortable as you can.”
The vestibule in which this conversation had taken place -opened upon a hall of moderate size and plainly furnished, where a coal fire was burning brightly. The host drew aside to let them pass in, and they began to warm themselves. He looked up, apparently in some inexplicable perplexity.
“Where have you come from?” he asked.
“From London,” Trevelyan answered. “Is there any way of going back to-night? By-the-bye, where are we?”
“You’re in Yorkshire, and the nearest station is Hamley, six miles from here.”
“By Jove!” ejaculated Jocelyn, on learning that he was not forty miles from King’s Follitt. “What’s the last train to York?”
“Eight thirty-seven,” answered the host, and he looked at his watch. “It’s almost that now. No train before to-morrow morning, I’m sorry to say. You’re nearly five miles from any other house, too.”
Then Lady Dorothy Wynne, who had a sweet low voice, turned it to its most persuasive tone. “I’m very, very sorry,” she said, “but I’m afraid we shall have to trespass on your kindness still further, and ask shelter for the night.”
Again the master of the house stroked his upper lip with a thoughtful expression before answering. His reluctance to offer any hospitality to the dripping party was quite apparent, and he looked at the waiting footman, who looked at him.
From far away the sound of voices, talking and laughing, reached the hall in the silence that followed Dorothy’s speech.
Clearly there was a large party at dinner.
“By all means! Of course!” The host used the very words he had used before. “I can certainly put you up, though I’ve rather a large party in the house. Never mind; there is always room for more. John, call Mrs. Williams.”
During the footman’s absence Trevelyan thought it was at last time to introduce the party. “My name is Trevelyan,” he said. “This is Lady Dorothy Wynne, and this is my sister.”
“My name is Follitt,” said Jocelyn, speaking for himself.
The man’s peculiar eyes turned from one face to the other as he heard the names, and nodded slightly. A tamer might inspect a new set of wild beasts with much the same look while making up his mind how to treat each. “My name is Steele,” he answered. “I hope you will soon be none the worse for your wetting.”
The arrival of Mrs. Williams at this juncture rendered an answer unnecessary. She looked half a governess and half a housekeeper; she was a quiet, superior sort of person, with a stiff starched collar and gold-rimmed eye-glasses, and she wore a black silk dress, with a large bunch of keys at her side.
Mr. Steele spoke to her very slowly and distinctly. “These ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “have descended in the grounds with their balloon. There is no train tonight, as you know, and there is no other place to which they can go, so they must tarry here till to-morrow morning. There are still some empty bedrooms, I think?”
“Three, sir. There are Five, Six, and Seven in the new wing unoccupied.”
Mr. Steele nodded, and looked at Mrs. Williams, and then at the footman. Trevelyan was sure that they exchanged a glance of intelligence.
“You may find my house-party rather mixed,” said the host, almost with geniality, now that he had at last made up his mind. “The fact is, I have a sort of gathering of relations and distant connections. I like to see many people about me, of all ages. You won’t mind dining with us? We had just sat down when you came, so that there is plenty of time. I daresay you will be glad to go to bed directly afterwards. You must be very tired, I’m sure.” He said a few words to Mrs. Williams in an undertone, leading the way with her to the stairs, and she answered by a quick succession of nods. The others followed, and went up after her, while Mr. Steele went back to his guests.
The bedrooms to which the housekeeper showed the party lacked individuality, and though they were thoroughly comfortable, there was not the least attempt at luxury, or even good taste. The furniture was new, but very plain, and the chintz was fresh, but utterly uninteresting, if not quite hideous. A few cheap prints hung on the walls.
“I’m sure there’s no lady of the house,” said Anne to Dorothy, and she proceeded to extract information from the housekeeper.
Mr. Steele was not married. He had no near relations — at least, not in the house; but he liked to be surrounded by many people, and the place was generally full. Mrs. Williams would say no more, or possibly there was nothing more to be said; but she did her best to make the newcomers comfortable, and produced dry skirts and shoes for the ladies.
A few minutes later they were all ushered into the dining-room, where at least five-and-twenty men were seated at a big table. All turned their heads and looked curiously at the newly-arrived guests.
Mr. Steele rose to meet the latter as they entered. There were four vacant places on his left.
“Will you and Miss Trevelyan sit together by me,” he said, speaking to Lady Dorothy, “and the two gentlemen beyond?”
The arrangement seemed a singular one; but the four took their seats, and as Jocelyn slipped in next to Anne, her brother was the only one who found himself beside a stranger.
He glanced at his neighbour, who was a mild-eyed, benevolent old gentleman, whose smooth grey hair was neatly parted and brushed over his ears. He wore a single stud with a large carbuncle set in it, and he had black silk mittens on his bony little hands. He returned Trevelyan’s glance pleasantly, and then went on eating his fish with a faint smile.
Mr. Steele began to talk with Lady Dorothy, and though his voice was not loud, it seemed to dominate the conversation as far as she was concerned, so that she heard no one else.
“May I ask if Mr and Miss Trevelyan are connected with the Dorsetshire family of that name?” he inquired, after a few preliminary phrases.
“They are the Dorsetshire Trevelyans them
selves,” answered Lady Dorothy. “He is the eldest son.”
“Oh, indeed — indeed,” repeated Mr. Steele, thoughtfully. “Thank you,” he added quietly; “it was mere curiosity. Do you go in for any sport besides ballooning? Golf, for instance? We have excellent links here, and we play a good deal.” He spoke louder, and looked down the table. “Mr. Weede over there is one of our crack players.”
At this remark a pale young clergyman in spectacles, who sat at the other end of the table, looked up with a deprecatory smile.
“You will make me vain of my poor accomplishment, if you say such things,” he said humbly. “Remember the Preacher, Mr. Steele: ‘Vanity of vanities, all is not vanity that glitters!’”
Lady Dorothy laughed kindly in an encouraging way, because he seemed so humble.
But every one at once began to talk of golf, almost excitedly.
“My friends are almost all very fond of out-of-door games,” said Mr. Steele to Lady Dorothy, as if in explanation.
“Do you mind telling me who that goodlooking man is?” she asked. “The third from the other end on the left? The one with the grey moustache and a tired face, who looks like an old soldier.”
“Trevelyan is his name, and he is an old army man. But do tell me something about your trip,” Mr. Steele went on quickly: “you must have had a terrible time of it in such a storm.”
“It wasn’t very successful,” the young girl answered carelessly; “but we get used to all sorts of weather in balloons, you know. The last time I was up, we came down rather suddenly in a cricket held where there was a match going on. I remember that I got some most extraordinary bruises! I can’t help looking at that man — Mr. Trevelyan, you say he is. I see why you asked about my friend here — they may be connections. Where does this one belong?”
“He’s a Lincolnshire man,” answered the host briefly, and as if he did not care about him.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 1324