Complete Works of a E W Mason

by A. E. W. Mason

  “Quick!” I cried of a sudden, and drew Elmscott through an opening in the hedge into the field that bordered the road. The next moment the berlin dashed by.

  “Did you see?” I asked. “Otto Krax was on the box.”

  “Ay!” he answered. “And Countess Lukstein within the carriage. What takes her back so fast, I wonder? She will be in London two days before her time.”

  We came out again from behind the hedge, and watched the carriage dwindling to a speck along the road.

  “If you will, Morrice,” said my cousin, with a great reluctance, “you can let Marston journey to Bristol, and yourself follow the Countess to town.”

  “Nay!” said I shortly. “I have a mind to settle my accounts with Marston, and not later than this morning.”

  He brightened wonderfully at the words.

  “‘Twere indeed more than a pity to miss so promising an occasion. But as I am your Mentor for the nonce, I deemed it right to mention the alternative — though I should have thought the less of you had you taken my advice. Here comes the landlord to summon us to breakfast.”

  We followed him along the passage towards the kitchen. The door stood half-opened, and peeping through the crack at the hinges, we could see Marston and his friend seated at a table.

  “Gentlemen,” said Elmscott, stepping in with the politest bow, “will you allow two friends to join your repast?”

  Marston was in the act of raising a tankard to his lips; but save that his face turned a shade paler, and his hand trembled so that a few drops of the wine were spilled upon the cloth, he betrayed none of the disappointment which my cousin had fondly anticipated. He looked at us steadily for a second, and then drained the tankard. His companion — a Mr. Cuthbert Cliffe, with whom both Elmscott and myself were acquainted — rose from his seat and welcomed us heartily. It was evident that he was in the dark as to the object of our journey. We seated ourselves opposite them on the other side of the table. Elmscott was somewhat dashed by the prosaic nature of the reception, and seemed at a loss how to broach the subject of the duel, when Marston suddenly hissed at me:

  “How the devil came you here?”

  “On a magic carpet,” replied Elmscott smoothly. “Like the Arabian, we came upon a magic carpet.”

  Marston rose from the table and walked to the fireplace, where he stood kicking the logs with the toe of his boot, and laughing to himself in a short, affected way, as men are used who seek to cover up a mortification. Then he turned again to me.

  “Very well,” he said, with a nod, “and the sooner the better. If Lord Elmscott and Mr. Cliffe will arrange the details, I am entirely at your service.”

  With that he set his hat carelessly on his head, and sauntered out of the room. Mr. Cliffe looked at me in surprise.

  “It is an old-standing quarrel between Mr. Buckler and your friend,” Elmscott explained, “but certain matters, of which we need not speak, have brought it to a head. Your friend would fain have deferred the settlement for another week, but Mr. Buckler’s engagements forbade the delay.”

  So far he had got when a suspicion flashed into my head. Leaving Elmscott to arrange the encounter with Mr. Cliffe, I hurried down the passage and out on to the road. On neither side was Marston to be seen, but I perceived that the stable door stood open. I looked quickly to the priming of my pistol — for, knowing that the Great West Road was infested by footpads and highwaymen, we had armed ourselves with some care before leaving London — and took my station in the middle of the way. Another minute and I should have been too late; for Marston dashed out of the stable door, already mounted upon his horse. He drove his spurs into its flanks, and rode straight at me. I had just time to leap on one side. His riding-whip slashed across my face, I heard him laugh with a triumphant mockery, and then I fired. The horse bounded into the air with a scream of pain, sank on its haunches, and rolled over on its side.

  The noise of the shot brought our seconds to the door.

  “Your friend seems in need of assistance,” said Elmscott. For Marston lay on the road struggling to free himself from the weight of the horse. Cliffe loosened the saddle and helped Marston to his feet. Then he drew aside and stood silent, looking at his companion with a questioning disdain. Marston returned the look with a proud indifference, which, in spite of myself, I could not but admire.

  “There was more courage than cowardice in the act,” said I, “to those who understand it.”

  “I can do without your approbation,” said Marston, flushing, as he turned sharply upon me. Catching sight of my face, he smiled. “Did the whip sting?” he asked.

  I unsheathed my sword, and without another word we mounted the bank on the left side of the road and passed on to the heath.

  The seconds chose a spot about a hundred yards from the highway, where the turf was level and smooth, and set us facing north and south, so that neither might get advantage from the sun. The morning was very clear and bright, with just here and there a feather of white cloud in the blue of the sky; and our swords shone in the sunlight like darting tongues of flame.

  The encounter was of the shortest, since we were in no condition to plan or execute the combinations of a cool and subtle attack, but drove at each other with the utmost fury. Marston wounded me in the forearm before ever I touched him. But a few seconds after that he had pinked me, he laid his side open, and I passed my sword between his ribs. He staggered backwards, swayed for a moment to and fro in an effort to keep his feet; his knees gave under him, and he sank down upon the heath, his fingers clasping and unclasping convulsively about the pommel of his sword. Cliffe lifted him in his arms and strove to staunch the blood, which was reddening through his shirt, while Elmscott ran to the inn and hurried off to Hungerford for a surgeon.

  For awhile I stood on my ground, idly digging holes in the grass with the point of my rapier. Then Marston called me faintly, and I dropped the sword and went to his side. His face was white and sweaty, and the pupils of his eyes were contracted to pin-points.

  I knelt down and bent my head close to his.

  “So,” he whispered, “luck sides with you after all. This time I thought that I had won the vole.”

  He was silent for a minute or so, and then:

  “I want to speak with you alone.”

  I took him from Cliffe’s arms and supported his head upon my knee, he pressing both his hands tightly upon his side.

  “Betty is afraid,” he continued, with a gasp between each word, as soon as Cliffe had left us. “Betty is afraid, and her husband’s a fool.”

  The implied request, even at that moment, struck me as wonderfully characteristic of the man. So long as his own desires were at stake he disregarded his sister’s fears; but no sooner had all chance of gaining them failed, than his affection for her reasserted itself, and even drove him to the length of asking help from his chief enemy.

  “I will see that no harm comes to her.”

  “Promise!”

  I promised, somehow touched by his trust in me.

  “I knew you would,” he said gratefully; and then, with a smile: “I am sorry I hit you with my whip — Morrice. I could have loved you.”

  Again he lay silent, plucking at the grass with the fingers of his left hand.

  “Lift me higher! There is something else.”

  I raised his body as gently as I could; but nevertheless the rough bandage which Cliffe had fastened over the wound became displaced with the movement, and the blood burst out again, soaking through his shirt.

  “You spoke of a miniature — —” he began, and then with a little gasping sob he turned over in my arms, and fell forward on the grass upon his face.

  I called to Cliffe, who stood with his back towards us a little distance off, and ran to where I had laid my coat and cravat before the duel commenced. For the cravat was of soft muslin, and might, I fancied, be of some use as lint. With this in my hand, I hurried back. Cliffe was lifting Marston from the ground.

  “Best let him
lie there quietly,” I said.

  He turned the body over upon its back.

  “Aye!” he answered, “under God’s sky.”

  I dropped on my knees beside the corpse, felt the pulse, laid my ear to the heart. The sun shone hot and bright upon his dead face. Cliffe took a handkerchief from his pocket, and gently placed it over Marston’s eyes.

  “This means a year on the Continent for you, my friend,” he said.

  When Elmscott and the surgeon arrived some half an hour later, they found me eating my breakfast in the kitchen.

  “Where is he?” they asked.

  “Who?” said I.

  I remember vaguely that the surgeon looked at me with a certain anxiety, and made a remark to Elmscott. Then they went out of the room again. How long it was before they returned I have no notion. Elmscott brought in my coat, hat, and sword, and I got up to put them on; but the doctor checked him, and setting me again in my chair, bound up my arm, not without some resistance from me, for I saw that his hands were dabbled with Marston’s blood.

  “Now,” said he to Elmscott, “if you will help, we will get him upstairs to bed.”

  “No!” said I, suddenly recollecting all that had occurred. “I made Marston a promise. I must keep it! I must ride to town and keep it!”

  “It will be the best way, if he can,” said Elmscott. “He will be taken here for a surety. I have sent a messenger to Bristol with the news.”

  The surgeon eased my arm into the sleeve of my coat, and made a sling about my shoulders with my cravat. Elmscott buckled on my sword and led me to the stables, leaving me outside while he went in and saddled a horse.

  “This is Cliffe’s horse,” said he; “yours is too tired. I will explain to him.”

  He held the horse while I climbed into the saddle.

  “Now, Morrice,” he said, “you have no time to lose. You have got the start of the law; keep it. Marston’s family is of some power and weight. As soon as his death is known, there will be a hue and cry after you; so fly the country. I would say leave the promise unfulfilled, but that it were waste of breath. Fly the country as soon as you may, unless you have a mind for twelve months in Newgate gaol. I will follow you to town with all speed, but for your own sake ‘twere best I find you gone.”

  He moved aside, and I galloped off towards Newberry. The misery of that ride I could not, if I would, describe. The pain of my wound, the utter weariness and dejection which came upon me as a reaction from the excitement of the last days, and the knowledge that I could no longer shirk my confession, so combined to weaken and distress me, that I had much ado to keep my seat in the saddle. ’Twas late in the evening when I rode up to Ilga’s lodging. The door, by some chance, stood open, and without bethinking me to summon the servants, I walked straight up the staircase to the parlour, dragging myself from one step to the other by the help of the balustrade. The parlour door was shut, and I could not lay my fingers on the handle, but scratched blindly up and down the panels in an effort to find it. At last some one opened the door from within, and I staggered into the room. Mdlle. Durette — for it was she — set up a little scream, and then in the embrasure of the window I saw the Countess rise slowly to her feet. The last light of the day fell grey and wan across her face and hair. I saw her as through a mist, and she seemed to me more than ordinarily tall. I stumbled across the room, my limbs growing heavier every moment.

  “Countess,” I began, “I have a promise to fulfil. Lady Tracy — —” There I stopped. The room commenced to swim round me. “Lady Tracy — —” I repeated.

  The Countess stood motionless as a statue, dumb as a statue. Yet in a strange way she appeared suddenly to come near and increase in stature — suddenly to dwindle and diminish.

  “Ilga,” I cried, stretching out my hands to her. She made no movement. I felt my legs bend beneath me, as if the bones of them were dissolved to water, and I sank heavily upon my knees. “Ilga,” I cried again, but very faintly. She stirred not so much as a muscle to help me, and I fell forward swooning, with my head upon her feet.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  CONCERNING AN INVITATION AND A LOCKED DOOR.

  WHEN CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED to me, and I became sensible of where I lay, I perceived that Elmscott was in the room. He stood in the centre, slapping his boot continually with his riding-crop, and betraying every expression of impatience upon his face. But I gave little heed to him, for beside me knelt Ilga, a bottle of hartshorn salts in her hand. I was resting upon a couch, which stood before the spinet; the lamps were lighted, and the curtains drawn across the window, so that my swoon must have lasted some while.

  As I let my eyes rest upon the Countess, she slipped an arm under my head and raised it, taking at the same time a cup of cordial, which Clemence Durette held ready. ’Twas of a very potent description, and filled me with a great sense of comfort. Ilga moved her arm as though to withdraw it. “No,” I murmured to her, and she smiled and let it remain.

  “Come, Morrice,” said Elmscott. “You have but to walk downstairs. A carriage is waiting.”

  He moved towards the couch. I tried to raise my arm to warn him off, but found that it had been bandaged afresh, and was fastened in a sling. For a moment I could not remember how I had come by the hurt; then the history of it came back to me, and with that the promise I had made to my dying antagonist. For while I believed that Lady Tracy could have no grounds for her apprehensions, seeing that the Countess must needs be ignorant of her relations with the Count, whatever they might have been, I felt that the circumstances under which the request was uttered gave to it a special authority, and laid upon me a strict compulsion to obey it to the letter. The request, moreover, fitted exactly with my own intention. Ilga believed now that I had never seen Lady Tracy until that morning when she fainted, and so by merely confessing that the death of Count Lukstein lay at my door, and at my door alone, I should divert all possibilities of suspicion from approaching Lady Tracy; so I whispered to Ilga:

  “Send every one away!”

  “Nay,” she replied; “your cousin has told me.”

  “It is not that,” said I. “There is something else — something my cousin could not know.”

  “Does it follow,” she answered, lowering her eyes, “that I could not know it? Or do you think me blind?”

  The gentle, hesitating words nearly drove my purpose from my mind. It would have been so easy to say just, “I love you, and you know it.” It became so difficult to say, “I killed your husband, and have deceived you.” However, the confession pressed urgently for utterance, and I said again: “Send them away!”

  “No,” she replied, “you have no time for that now. You must leave London to-night. Everything is ready; your cousin’s carriage waits to take you to the coast. To-morrow you must cross to France. But if you still — still wish to unburden your mind — —”

  “Heart,” I could not refrain from whispering; and, indeed, my heart leaped as she faltered and blushed crimson.

  “Then,” she continued, “come to Lukstein! You will be welcome,” and with a quiet gravity she repeated the phrase: “You will be very welcome!”

  Every word she spoke made my task the harder. I trust that the weakness of my body, the pain of the wound, and my great fatigue, had something to do with the sapping of my resolution. But whatever the cause, an overwhelming desire to cease from effort, to let the whole world go, rushed in upon me. The one real thing for me was this woman who knelt beside the couch; the one real need was to tell her of my love. I felt as though, that once told, I could rest without compunction, without a scruple of regret, just rest like a tired child.

  “Come to Lukstein!” she repeated.

  “Hear me now!” I replied with a last struggle, and got to my feet. I was still so weak, however, that the violence of the movement made me sick and dizzy, and I tottered into Elmscott’s arms.

  “Come, Morrice!” he urged. “A little courage; ’tis only a few steps to descend.”

  I steadi
ed myself against his shoulder. In a corner of the room, rigid and impassive, was the tall figure of Otto Krax. How could I speak before him?

  “I shall expect you, then,” said the Countess, “and soon. I leave England to-morrow myself, and return straight home.”

  “You leave England to-morrow?” I asked eagerly.

  “To-morrow!” she replied.

  I drew a deep breath of relief. All danger to Lady Tracy, all her fears of danger, would vanish with the departure of the Countess; and as for my confession — it could wait.

  “At Castle Lukstein, then,” said I, and it seemed to me that she also drew a breath of relief.

  From Pall Mall we drove to my lodging, where I found my trunks packed, and Udal fully dressed to accompany me in my flight; for Elmscott, who had started from the “Half-way House” some two hours later than myself, had ridden straight thither. On learning that my people had no news of me, he had immediately guessed where I should be discovered, and, instructing them to prepare instantly for a journey, had himself hastened to the apartment of the Countess.

  My baggage was speedily placed in the boot, Udal mounted on the box, I directed my other servants to pay the bill and return to Cumberland, and we drove off quickly to the coast, just twenty-four hours after we had set out upon the great West Road on our desperate adventure.

  As we rolled peacefully through the moonlit gardens of Kent, I had time to think over and apportion the hurried events of the day, and I recalled the half-spoken sentence which was on Marston’s lips at the moment of his death. I conjectured that he intended some expression of remorse for the use to which he had put the likeness of his sister, and I began again to wonder at the strange inconsistency of the man. I had been bewildered by it before in respect of this very miniature, when I first observed his genuine devotion to his sister. To-day he had afforded me a second and corroborating instance, for no sooner had he knowledge of his sister’s fears, than he had used the knowledge straightway as a weapon against me, leaving it to his antagonist to secure her the safeguarding which she implored. And yet that his anxiety on her account was very real it was impossible for me to doubt, for I had looked upon his face when he bound me by a promise to protect her.