Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  The result was a tense silence, broken only by the boy’s horrified, “Well, Ann!”

  For a moment Rachel sobbed, unable to control herself. “I must go!” she whispered to herself. “I must go. This the end!”

  “No, I am hanged if it is!” a harsh voice replied. She had not heard the door open, nor was she aware that it had opened. Then “You little whelp!” the same voice continued. “No, you don’t go! You ought to be whipped — whipped till you come to your senses! Two dozen would do you good, you spiteful baggage! Strike an officer on duty, would you? Down on your marrowbones this minute, miss, and beg Miss South’s pardon! Down on your knees, or I will twist your ear off, you little vixen!”

  A cry of pain. Then, “I won’t! I won’t!” Ann shrieked.

  “You will or—”

  But this was too much for Rachel. “Don’t! Don’t hurt her. Please! Please!” she wailed. But she had not the courage to turn and disclose the smarting patch on her cheek. She was utterly humiliated by what had passed. It proved her to be so unfit, so hopelessly unfit for her position. It meant failure, failure the most mortifying. She could never control, never hope to control the child after this.

  “Hurt her?” the Captain replied grimly. “But I am going to hurt her if she does not at once—”

  “No, no!” Rachel pleaded, suppressing her tears. “It will be of no use. I pray you won’t,” she begged. “Please — please don’t hurt her. It was my fault. I am not fit to — I must go.”

  He seemed to hesitate, but there was no diminution of anger in his tones when he spoke. “Well, you little savage,” he said at last, “go then! But first you listen to me, miss! You are in Coventry now! I’ll have no tiger-cat for niece of mine, and I don’t speak to you until I have heard that you’ve gone down on your knees and begged Miss South’s pardon. I wouldn’t touch such a little savage with the toe of my boot! And you, Master George, you are the cause of this rumpus, I’ll bet. I came up to fetch you. But you don’t shoot to-day, my lad. I shall see your father about that. Nor until this little she-cat comes to her senses, mind you. You’re both in fault, I know! Now go!” harshly. “Go out, both of you. My hands tingle to box your heads off! Go! Out at once! Both of you!”

  Rachel heard dragging steps across the floor, a tearful sniff, which, she had no doubt, proceeded from the boy, she heard the door close. She dared not turn to make sure that Captain Dunstan had gone with them, but she hoped desperately that he had. She shrank from meeting his eyes.

  But he had not gone. A moment and he broke the silence in a tone almost as harsh as that in which he had scolded the offenders. “Well, you can’t say, ma’am, that I didn’t warn you,” he said. “I told you what a stubborn little toad she was, and by Jove she is! I told you that you’d never manage her. She wants a boatswain’s mate with a rope’s end behind her. And you, God bless me, you’re only a thread-paper!”

  “No,” Rachel said, trying to steady her voice. “I — I ought not to have come. But I didn’t know. And now,” she faltered with a sob that she could not stifle, “I must go. I am no use after this.”

  “Oh, well, it never does to be beaten. It’s bad, d — d bad for her. Worse for her than for you. Must think of that after all. What started the rumpus?”

  “Her brother teased her and she took up the ink-stand,” Rachel explained, furtively drying her eyes, “to throw at him. And I caught her hand and took it from her and she—”

  “Yes,” with a chuckle, “I saw the rest — and heard it. And instead of boxing her ears till she could not see — you give up, ma’am, and cry!”

  “I couldn’t! Indeed I couldn’t!” Rachel said weakly.

  “Well, I don’t know that you could,” he admitted grudgingly. “For I’m hanged if I don’t think Ann is the bigger of the two. And a pretty mess she has made,” with disgust. “Ink all over the place, confound her!” She fancied that he was busying himself mopping it up, and perforce she turned.

  “I will get a cloth,” she said meekly. She took one from a cupboard.

  “That’s better,” he said, and thought to himself, though he seemed hardly to glance at her, that he had never seen such a pathetic little face. “Here! That book is spoiled, anyway. I’d hang it round her neck and make her wear it for a week, and perhaps my young lady would learn to keep her hands off inkpots — and her governess. Do you do that—”

  Rachel shook her head. “It’s too late now,” she said.

  “You do as I say. Do you hear?”

  “You — you’ve been very kind,” she replied despondently, “but I must see Lady Ellingham and tell her.”

  “I’ll tell her. You can leave that to me. And do you do as I say when Ann comes to you. Trounce the little vixen well. Show her that you are her master, and will stand no nonsense.”

  “But I’m not her master. And I am sure that she will not come.”

  “She will or I don’t know her. I’ll see to that. She’s not all bad, though she has a devil of a temper. She’s spoiled and her worst side is outside. But she’s a streak of good in her and her mother thinks her more manageable since you’ve been here. I suppose you know that?” He looked sharply at her.

  “No,” Rachel said, much surprised. “I did not.”

  “Well, do you just rig the gratings,” which was Dutch to his listener, “and stand by, and I’ll see that she comes aboard. I must go now, they are waiting for me. I’ll deal with Ann, and if she does not bend her stiff little neck to-day I’ll see that she does tomorrow! And for God’s sake, young lady,” he urged with rough impatience, “don’t go peaking and puling like a baby.”

  He stalked out, but was hardly gone before Rachel had an idea and flew after him. She overtook him at the baize door. “Oh,” she stammered, “if you please, will you let Lord Bodmin shoot? He was not much in fault and—”

  “Let him shoot?” the Captain retorted. “No, ma’am, I’m hanged if I do! Don’t you know that that will hit the girl harder than anything? No, by gad, discipline! Discipline first! Master George must smart like the rest of us! I’ll bet that you are smarting for your part in it!” And for the first time he met her eyes, a gleam of humour in his own.

  Rachel winced and coloured, but she had not to suffer long. The Captain turned and hurried down the great staircase. She went back to the schoolroom, sat down and sighed.

  Still the catastrophe had switched her thoughts for the moment off her deeper trouble, and for a while it was rather on what Captain Dunstan had done and said that her mind turned. He had displayed an amount of common sense that surprised her, but would have surprised her less, had she been aware of the responsibilities that in those days of war fell upon young shoulders. His advice had not been rendered more palatable by the rough words with which he had seasoned it; and Rachel was far from understanding him, for in her ignorance she had no conception of the hardships of the cockpit and the midshipman’s berth into which he had been flung a mere child, or of the years of lonely command and responsibility for the lives of hundreds which had tempered the man to what he was. She did not understand him because she did not know his past, his early struggles, his later success, the trials that had proved him. But she did feel that, lacking much, he had meant to be kind.

  At the same time she was sure that Ann would not surrender and that the end would be the same. She could hope, indeed, for no other end. She would take her wounded spirit and her wretched story of vanity and weakness away with her and would hide her head in her home. There she might forget him — it was all that was left for her to do.

  She thought herself the most unhappy creature on earth, and told herself too that she could have borne it better if she had not stooped to wound him; if she had not wreaked her wretched pride at his expense, who, after all, had done so much for her, had been so helpful, so good to her! It was that — that which now most of all cut her to the heart and, rankling, tortured her. For possibly if she had been more patient, more trusting — but it was too late, too late to think of that
now!

  Presently, looking languidly from the window, she saw a sight that drew from her a pang of sympathy, and with it a feeble smile. For she discovered that she had a fellow-sufferer. The Captain had been as good as his word. Bodmin, the image of disconsolate idleness, lounged and loitered, before the house, sullenly beating the trunk of a tree with a switch, and at odds with himself and all the world. It needed no stretch of fancy to understand that he too considered himself the most unhappy of beings.

  CHAPTER XV

  INTERCESSION

  SLEEP is Nature’s reaction after grief, and Rachel, to her surprise, slept long and soundly that night and next day awoke not only refreshed, but with the tiniest germ of hope re-sown in her breast. She did not know what she expected and assured herself that she expected nothing. But youth is powerful, and change possible, and there was a stir and bustle in the house — for more guests had arrived — that penetrated through the swing-door and reached even the schoolroom.

  But one thing fell out as she had foreseen. Ten o’clock came but no Ann; and now she had to make up her mind what she would do. She watched the minute hand move slowly towards the quarter past, and she felt — though the decision was momentous, and tried her sorely now that she had to act — that she could no longer defer the task of seeing Lady Ellingham. She could not bear to sit idle, useless, brooding with folded hands in the schoolroom while the child ran wild. Accordingly, after giving as much law as she thought right, she laid her hand on the bell-rope to summon the schoolroom maid, then paused, bethinking herself that she might first smooth her hair. She went for the purpose into the bedroom.

  Thence, glancing idly from the window, she saw two figures standing in the half-circle before the house; and it needed but a single look at the boy’s drooping head and the toe that restlessly scraped the gravel to inform her what was the point at issue. Rachel’s tender heart owned the appeal; and there might be no delay if the boy was not to be disappointed again. To see was to act, and bareheaded, without staying to snatch up a cloak, or to weigh the punctilios, Rachel ran from the room, raced down the staircase and out by the side door. She turned the corner and saw that she was in time. The Captain and the boy were still together, and intent only on her purpose, she paid no heed to the knot of men who a few paces away were grouped about a tall girl — a new arrival, who stood on the steps before the grand entrance.

  Rachel made straight for Captain Dunstan and touched him timidly on the arm. “If you please,” she said, breathless with the haste that she had made, “if you please, may he shoot to-day? He was not, indeed, he was not much in fault. If you please, let him shoot.”

  Whether the Captain was more surprised or displeased was doubtful, but his face gave her no encouragement, and his answer was peremptory. “No!” he said. “Certainly not! He will not shoot to-day! Do you hear, ma’am? And you have nothing on your head and it is cold. You should be in the house.”

  But Rachel had caught the grateful look that the boy had shot at her, and she persisted. “Oh, but indeed it is not just, Captain Dunstan,” she urged. “He was not greatly to blame and it — it is not fair that he should be punished so severely.”

  “But, I told you, no, ma’am!” the Captain retorted, raising his voice as if he had been on his own quarterdeck and there was a mutiny to be quelled. “And no, it is! The cub has misbehaved and he may think himself lucky that he is not on the old Medora, or he’d suffer after another fashion. God bless me, ma’am, I thought you had some sense. It is your business to have it.”

  “Dear me,” a gay voice interposed. “What is this, Captain Dunstan? What has set you up?” And the girl, whom Rachel had not noticed, joined the little group, followed by her attendant men. “Is it — is it this young lady who has provoked the tempest?”

  “Yes,” said the Captain curtly. “She ought to know better.”

  “Never mind, Miss South,” Lord Robert struck in. “Do you hang out signals of distress, and I’ll be your consort and bear up to the rescue!”

  “I fancy the signals are flying already,” Colonel Ould said, sotto voce, for poor Rachel, finding herself on a sudden the centre of an amused group, had coloured up to her hair.

  “Then you may take it I am alongside,” Bobbie replied in the same tone. “What can I do for you, Miss South?”

  “I want Captain Dunstan to be good enough,” Rachel said shyly, “to allow Lord Bodmin to shoot to-day.” She was aware that the wind was ruffling the curls that she had not had time to arrange, and most devoutly she wished herself in the house.

  “That all?” said Bobbie. “Then it is as good as done. We’ll all stand by you, though mind you I am your consort, Miss South, and he can’t say us all nay. Come, Miss Froyle,” he went on, turning to the girl who had first interposed — she was handsome, tall and full-figured—” he can’t refuse you, I am sure. Add your voice,” he insisted, a spice of mischief in his tone, “and the thing is done.”

  “Nonsense, Lord Robert,” the girl replied sharply. Then aside, “Who is this?” she asked.

  “The governess,” some one prompted.

  “‘Who whipped two female ‘prentices to death, And hid them in the coal-hole,’” quoted the Colonel, much to Rachel’s confusion.

  “No, no,” said Bobbie, laughing in spite of himself. “You shall not traduce my consort. Hanged if you shall. Though I did notice that Ann was looking a little queer at breakfast.”

  “But why,” Miss Froyle asked languidly, “should not Lord Bodmin shoot, Captain Dunstan?”

  “He knows very well,” the Captain growled. He looked by no means pleased with the turn things had taken. “There, get your guns,” he continued impatiently. “And let us be off! To quarters! To quarters!”

  “You d — d mutineers!” added the irrepressible Bobbie. “That puts us men out of action. But there still remains Miss Froyle. She is not on the ship’s books, though some do say that the beautiful new figure-head of the Medora was taken directly from—”

  “Lord Robert, you speak too much,” the lady said, colouring slightly. “But I hope that you will let Lord Bodmin shoot, Captain Dunstan! See how unhappy the poor boy looks. Please do. I ask it as a favour.”

  “Brava!” Bobbie cried. “Now he can’t refuse.”

  “Can’t he?” the Captain said gruffly. “Sorry, Miss Froyle, but discipline is discipline! The boy has misbehaved and he must pay for it.”

  “Lo,” Ould quoted solemnly, “the poor savage who no charm can find, either in tresses bound or unconfined!” Which drew all eyes to Rachel’s head and caused a general laugh.

  At this moment a new arrival added himself to the group. It was Filmer, the parson, and he was followed by Lord Ellingham. “Well done, Colonel!” he said. “You surpass yourself. But what is the cause of this rush of wit to the head?”

  “Yes, what is up?” Lord Ellingham chimed in gaily. “Good morning, Miss South. Are you part of the joke?”

  “Miss South is the whole of it,” Ould rejoined — he was enjoying the girl’s embarrassment. “She has been praying old George to let young George shoot to-day. And Miss Froyle supports the petition. But the martinet is proof against all blandishments great and small. That is where we are, Fred.”

  “Oh, come,” my lord answered, “discipline may be carried too far. And after all there is an appeal. Now, Miss South,” and he turned to her with the smile which was credited with so many conquests, for he was perfectly aware that he was playing to an appreciative gallery—” you should have come to me, you know. I am known to be weak. But it is not too late if you are really so anxious that the naughty boy shall be forgiven.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Fred,” his brother snapped.

  “No, no, George. You’ve played your part. I am the Court of Appeal and you must not threaten me. If you do want the boy pardoned, Miss South — but I must hear your voice, you know.”

  Rachel knew that he was playing with her and that the others were watching the issue with amusement. She hesitated.
She did want the boy to be pardoned, but she felt that to appeal to my lord was to be false to the Captain, who had been kind to her after his fashion. She had gone so far, however, that she could not well retreat, and in a very small voice, “If you please?” she murmured.

  My lord’s eyes twinkled. “As a favour to you, Miss South, of course?”

  Her cheeks tingled but what could she do but assent. “If you please,” she murmured.

  “Granted!” my lord cried. “Who could resist, eh? But, begad, Miss South, you will have to be grateful, for you’ve got me into trouble. There! I thought so! There goes George in a huff. I bet his shooting is spoiled for the day?”

  As the group broke up, Ould filed off with Miss Froyle. He was a clever man as well as a man of fashion; a wit at White’s and a cynical observer of the weak points of others, with a malicious taste for stirring up mischief where the opportunity offered. He knew that the upshot of the business had not been to his companion’s liking, for Charlotte Froyle was credited with something more than a fancy for Captain Dunstan. The Froyles were country neighbours. “George isn’t best pleased!” he remarked with a chuckle. “What do you think about it?”

  “I don’t think anything,” she replied. “Except that Ellingham is up to his usual tricks. How Kitty can—”

  “Put up with it? Well,” he said, smiling, “no doubt there’s a limit to everything. And perhaps Fred will find that out by and by — like many a one before him.”

  “I should think so. I know if I were in her place—” She broke off. “If you are going to shoot to-day,” she resumed impatiently, “we ought to be off.”

  He looked back. “Still at it, Fred!” he called out. “Miss Froyle wants to know if you are going to shoot to-day. Or are you — otherwise engaged, my lad?”