Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  When he was gone, “See here, Ann,” the Captain said, and he stooped and kissed the child — a thing so uncommon, for his usual caress was a twist of the ear, that it impressed her more than the gravity of his tone. “You can’t come with us — we’re on business. So go back upstairs, that’s a good girl. And when your mother comes down, give her my love — in case I’m not back to-day, you know.”

  “Why?” Ann cried aghast, for Uncle George was the first of all her favourites, ranking even before Charles, the first footman. “An’t you coming back?”

  “Of course I am. But do you give her that message when she comes down — if I am delayed, d’you see.” Ann yielded reluctantly. “Oh, well,” she said. “All right, Uncle George, I’ll go. But you’re a pig not to let me go with you.” And her feet lagged as she crawled up the stairs. It was too bad of him. But on the landing she met Lord Robert hurrying down, and her eye was caught by something that he carried hidden under his coat. “Now what’s that he’s carrying?” Ann’s quick wits asked, as she flung a gibe at him in passing. “It is something he doesn’t want me to see.” And her curiosity aroused by these unusual proceedings, she watched them leave the hall by the garden door. Then she dawdled away to her mother’s room, instead of waiting to give the message when my lady came down.

  Lady Ellingham had that moment left her bed and was in her wrapper, her feet bare. “Mother,” Ann said, firmly prepared to tease until she learned what she wanted to know. “What’s it all about? Why are Uncle George and Bobbie up so early? And what are the necessaries?”

  Her mother was thrusting one white foot into a slipper. “Are they up?” she asked. “Already?”

  “Yes. And what are the necessaries, mother?”

  “The necessaries, child? What do you mean?” My lady was feeling in a leisurely way for the other slipper.

  “It is what Bobbie called them.”

  “My dear, I wish you would call him Lord Robert. You are really too old to — were they going out?”

  “Yes, and Uncle George told me to give his love to you if he wasn’t back when you came down.”

  My lady looked startled. “But he’s not leaving to-day?” she exclaimed, her attention caught at last. “I’ve not heard anything about it. Tell me, child. Did he say he was going?”

  “Oh, he’s coming back,” Ann replied carelessly. “But, mother, what did he mean by the necessaries? Bobbie had them under his coat, and he took precious good care that I shouldn’t see them, the pig!”

  “They’ve gone out together?”

  “Yes. I shouldn’t think they are out of sight yet.” With one foot still bare the Countess went quickly to the nearest window — her room looked on the garden. She drew back the curtain. She was just in time to see two heads pass bobbing along a side walk which was divided from the open lawn by a box-hedge — pass and disappear.

  It was not the nearest way to the gate at the foot of the gardens, for that was at the end of the middle walk, but it was the most private way and my lady’s face when she turned from the window frightened Ann. “What was it like that Lord Robert was carrying?” she asked, and she grasped the child’s arm to compel her attention.

  “A flat box, mother. It looked—”

  “And Colonel Ould left yesterday!” my lady exclaimed. “Oh, what — what can we do? If I were dressed!” Then, pushing the child from her, “Ann, run — run after them! But no, no, stop!” She raised her hands to her head with a gesture of distraction that alarmed the girl. “Stop! They would not heed you! And the men? I know them, they will do nothing!”

  “But what is it?” Ann whimpered, clinging to her mother. She was bewildered as well as frightened. “What is it, mother? What is the matter?”

  “They are going to fight! Yes, they are going to fight and — no, Ann, stay where you are, you will do no good! Who can? ah, who? They will not heed a servant, but — yes, she may delay them. She may if I am quick!” And without a thought of her hair tucked under her night-cap or of her bare foot, my lady sprang to the door, opened it, and hurried along the corridor and up the grand staircase, which certainly had never seen her in that disarray before. The frightened child followed, questioning her, but in vain. My lady did not pause until she had swept through the swing-door and stood in the passage before the door of the governess’s bedroom. She knocked sharply — knocked again without waiting for an answer.

  “Miss South! Miss South!” she cried in a voice that haste rendered breathless — the voice that men use when they cry “Fire! Fire!”

  “Are you dressed?”

  The girl was dressed, and taking the alarm had the door open in a second. She saw Lady Ellingham in her wrapper, and she stared.

  But my lady clapped her hands. “Thank God, you are dressed!” she said, pouring out her words one on the top of another. “Listen! There is mischief, terrible mischief! A duel! They are going to fight, and there is no one but you to go! Go, for God’s sake, after them! Stay them, delay them — do something, girl. I will follow. Oh!” as Rachel instead of moving stood paralysed by this sudden demand, “don’t stand there, but go!”

  “But who? Where?” Rachel stammered.

  “Oh, what does it matter?” with a gesture of despair. “George! Captain Dunstan! Beyond the lower garden! The bowling-green — it has happened there before! Go, girl, don’t lose a minute! Keep them in talk till I come. Oh!” she cried, wholly forgetting herself in her distraction — and no one could have been less like the Lady Ellingham of every day—” if I am to lose my only friend! My only friend!”

  The appeal and her despair shook Rachel into action. “Yes, yes, I will go!” she cried. She seized a cape that hung on the door within reach of her hand. “I will do what I can! But I fear, ma’am, they will not listen to me!”

  “They will! They will!” The Countess clapped her hands. “Don’t heed what they say! They cannot fight before you. Keep them, keep them!” She flung the words after the girl who was already at the stair-head. “I will follow! Oh, how wicked, how stupid men are!”

  Rachel flew down the stairs. She was outside the house, facing the bite of the frosty morning; she was racing, a small flying figure, down the middle walk of the garden before she had steadied her thoughts sufficiently to reflect on what was before her. Her first impulse was to rebel. Why, why had this been cast on her, ill-equipped as she was to meet it, and unequal to thrusting herself forward or imposing herself on others? Her nerves shrank, and she sickened at the thought of her task. But she must go through with it now, and she did not slacken her pace; and the first moment of recoil past, the issues at stake claimed her, cried shame on her that she should have hesitated. Life or death hung on her courage, depended on her speed — the life of one whom my lady loved, and who brusque, rough, masterful as he had been to her — and there had been times when she almost hated him — had with all his arbitrariness been kind and human!

  Now he was in danger that she might avert, and in danger how great the Countess’s distress proved! For my lady’s sake she must hurry! It would be time to think what she would do when she reached the spot.

  She ran down the steps to the lower level, and hastened at speed through the orchard to the farther gate. It was of iron, heavy to open, and it was only by the use of all her strength that she got it open. She passed through it, she was in the park. The bowling-green, a sunk green space enclosed by trees, lay away to her left at a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile. The path to it diverged from the main track about a hundred yards from the gardens, and already, what with her haste and the trouble she had had with the gate, she was faltering. Her breath was failing, her heart pounded, her skirts dragged her down. She had to walk, her eyes searching desperately the open ground before her.

  But the thought of the issues that hung on her speed goaded her; she ran again, walked, ran anew. By this time she was near the place where the path turned off, but the scattered trees were beginning to dance before her eyes, she was giddy, her sight was failing. And th
en, oh joy! at the junction she saw a man. He stepped out to meet her.

  “Are you out to stop ‘em, miss?” he asked, and he too seemed to see the need of haste. “This way! This way, miss! But you must be quick!” He beckoned to her to follow him along the main path.

  “Am I in time?” she gasped. The man’s company was some support.

  “If you are quick, miss!” he replied. “Come along!”

  She responded bravely, for her second wind had come, and she hurried after the man, her eyes questioning each turn of the path — it ran across the open but on either hand were clumps of trees that masked the view. But when she had followed her guide a hundred yards without result, doubts began to assail her. The Countess had said — the bowling-green! The bowling-green! She had not seemed to doubt that that would be the place. And in a moment Rachel jumped to the conclusion that the man was tricking her — that he had been posted there to guard against intrusion.

  She acted on the thought. Without a word she left the path for the open sward and made across it towards the belt of trees that fringed and concealed the bowling-green. Her guide called after her, argued, scolded. But she did not heed. Picking up her skirts, she stumbled on over the rough turf, and though she could have collapsed with fatigue, she toiled on, making such way that she reached the trees before the man who had started after her overtook her.

  “You’re all wrong, miss!” he swore. “You’re losing time! It is not here, I tell you!”

  But she turned a deaf ear. She caught the sound of voices before her — of one voice at any rate, sharp, loud, insistent; it seemed to be giving an order. Heavens, if at the last she should be too late! She did not think what she would say or what she would do. She stumbled on, burst through the laurels beneath the fringe of trees, saw before her the open sunk space, saw figures stationed here and there upon it.

  “Stop! Stop!” she cried. “Oh, stop!”

  But her voice had lost its power and only those nearest to her heard her. She had time to see that the figure standing stiff and erect abreast of her — for she had emerged towards one end of the green — was Captain Dunstan, that he was levelling a pistol, and that he started as she spoke. Then the pistols cracked, a tiny jet of smoke eddied before her. She saw him stagger, but he kept his feet.

  “Ah!”

  There was an old bench beside her, and she clutched the hack of it, supporting herself. She saw Lord Robert and another man step to the Captain’s side, and for a second or two she was still in the dark. Then she saw Lord Robert pass his arm round him, heard the beau’s words, “Bad luck!” and she understood.

  “It’s nothing! Nonsense!” That was the Captain speaking. “There, let me be, man! I can — —” He tried to push the others away, but he swayed on his feet.

  “No, you can’t, sir!” the second person who had come to his aid replied. He supported the wounded man on the other side. “It is not much,” he continued briskly, “but it’s enough. If you can walk to that seat? Now, my dear sir, don’t exert yourself. Lean on us! Leave it to us!”

  They moved, half carrying, half supporting the Captain towards the seat by which Rachel stood. Midway to it, and while, fascinated, she watched them, a fourth man joined them and exchanged a few words with them, raised his hat and walked quickly away. But Rachel had no eyes for him. Her whole attention was given to the group of three who approached the seat. As they drew near she fell back a pace or two.

  The Captain still grumbled. “Confound you, why didn’t you let me be? I could have held for another shot!” Then, as they let him down on the seat, “I’ve had worse. Why didn’t you let me be? If you’d let me be—”

  “Nonsense, sir,” said the doctor, for such Rachel guessed him to be. “Might have been worse, but it is enough. Keep still and don’t try to help yourself. We’ll soon have you comfortable.”

  “I lost him for a moment.” That was the Captain’s voice again.

  “Yes, yes, I saw,” the doctor said. “We all saw. A bad business. Don’t talk. Let me see what it is.” Rachel watched them slitting up the arm of his coat and cutting away his shirt. His linen was bedabbled with blood, but to her surprise she felt no inclination to recoil.

  The surgeon examined, felt, probed with deft fingers. “No great harm!” he said cheerfully. “Just winged! But I must have you in bed before I can do more.” He looked over his shoulder. He saw the man who had intercepted Rachel. “Run to the house,” he said. “Go to the back. Say nothing, but bring a chair and two men. Hurry, man!”

  “Where did my shot go?” That was the Captain again, his voice perceptibly weaker.

  “Wide,” said Bobbie. His eyes travelled to the girl. “I’ll put on a dressing,” said the doctor. He did it rapidly. “Here, if I had something to pass round him — this bandage is too short.” He looked round him, holding the bandage in place. He seemed to be at a loss.

  She did not stay to think. She unwound the sash that she wore about her waist and held it out, mutely offering it. Her eyes met the Captain’s, and she shrank again out of sight. But not until the doctor had taken the sash.

  “Excellent!” he said, with a sharp glance at her. “Excellent, ma’am! The very thing!”

  “Ay,” said Lord Robert in a tone not meant for her ear. “A hair of the dog that bit him, eh. If she hadn’t come up just then—”

  “Oh, unlucky, d — d unlucky,” the doctor replied. “Well, well!”

  Something more passed between them that poor Rachel, now more than suspecting the unlucky part she had played, did not catch. Then Lord Robert turned to her. “If you are able,” he said courteously, “will you return to the house and tell the housekeeper that Captain Dunstan’s bed will be needed?”

  “A mattress, not the bed,” the doctor corrected. “And hot water and sponges, ma’am. And perhaps you could break it to her ladyship.”

  Rachel assented, but her eyes asked a question.

  The doctor understood. “You can tell her ladyship that it is nothing serious,” he said.

  Rachel hastened away, bearing so much of comfort. But she was aware now that her unlucky appearance had distracted the Captain at the critical moment. And they all knew it! She longed to hide her head and her failure. And if he died? That was a thing too terrible to think of!

  By the garden gate she met Lady Ellingham, hurrying with a pale face to the scene, Ann hanging on her arm. She had learned the result, and Rachel was thankful that she could give the doctor’s assurance. But that done, the girl could not let well alone. In her candour she must needs blurt out the truth. “And I am afraid, I am afraid, Lady Ellingham, that it was my fault,” she said.

  “Yours ? Your fault?” My lady bent a pale frowning face on the trembling girl. “How? What do you mean?”

  “I called out — when they were just going to fire. And I am afraid that it — it put him off.”

  “Then you were a fool!” Lady Ellingham exclaimed cruelly, and without a second look went off, leaving Rachel to proceed more unhappy than before. Why hadn’t she looked before she spoke? Waited, done anything but what she had done?

  Then she met my lord, also hurrying, with a clouded face and his stock in his hand. She gave him the doctor’s message. He nodded, d — d Ould with unction, and ran on, while she, her knees trembling under her, sought Mrs. Jemmett’s room. By this time the house was alarmed and in commotion, but she found the housekeeper and did her errand.

  “A plague on them nasty pistols!” Mrs. Jemmett said. “I wish they were all at the bottom of the Red Sea! Where is he hit, miss?”

  “In the chest, I am afraid,” Rachel said with a shudder.

  “Is he spitting blood, miss?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Then he’ll do, and thank God for that! But it’s always the best that’s taken. I could burn that Colonel and joyful.”

  She bustled away with that. She had no thought to give to anyone so insignificant as the governess. But fortunately, as the girl dragged herself across th
e hall, she met Bowles, and Bowles, though he too had his hands full, had an eye for feminine distress. He bade her stay, fetched a glass of Madeira and forced her to drink it. “Now you go and lie down, miss,” he said. “It’s all you are fit for, and you can do no good.”

  So at last she was free to lock her door and review in misery of spirit what she had done and the part that she had played in the catastrophe; and the unhappy issue coming on the top of so much that had tried her, and aged her, that had snapped alike youth and buoyancy, seemed to be the last blow of misfortune. She felt that this was the climax.

  She did not suspect that it was in truth the beginning of recovery. She did not guess that the call on her nerves had done her good and not harm, that it had shaken her out of herself and her own troubles, and had gone some way and not a little way to divert the trend of her thoughts. Like a freshening breeze, blowing into a sick-room and expelling unhealthy vapours, it had cleansed her mind of obsessions; and thrusting before it more serious issues, had forced her to think of life and death as facts of import, of import graver than either a man’s treachery or a girl’s weakness. It was a tonic, sharp, but wholesome.

  CHAPTER XXII

  THE RETURN OF A SASH

  FOR an hour or two there was some doubt how it might go with the wounded man, and the anxiety which was felt, below stairs as well as above, spoke well for his popularity. At a time when many of the characteristics of the fop still clung to his class, the bluff manners that the Captain had learned at sea might have incurred dislike; and in a household strange to his ways he would probably have been condemned offhand. But in the house which had known him both as the Master George, who with pinched lips but dry eyes had exchanged the comforts of home for the tender mercies of the cockpit, and as the Captain, posted after the 1st of June and proved amid the flaming glories of the Nile, he was regarded more indulgently; and this although man and maid flew at his bidding, and he was known to be capable on occasion of hurling a boot at his servant’s head. But the man had served with him; and if Onions’s stories of the state in which his commander lived, and the awful and lonely dignity he maintained when afloat, meant anything, the boot should have taken high rank as a compliment.