To quote Onions: “Orders, bless your innocence, man! He don’t give no orders! He just looks, and the swabs of lieutenants slips down to leeward and sings out a-trembling! Orders! No, no more than the King in his crown! All as you’d ever hear in a twelve-month’d be ‘ Three dozen, my man!’ or ‘Close action!’ says he, and shuts up his glass, as you or me might spit on our hands. ‘Lay her aboard!’ says he. ‘ The men may cheer now! ‘“
However, an hour or two put an end to doubt, the bullet was extracted, and by noon the surgeon pronounced him weakened by loss of blood, but out of danger. The house breathed again, and turned with zest to the discussion of details. Onions, who had stood sentry at the parting of the paths, told his tale, and within an hour his story and the part that Rachel had played in it were in all mouths.
And below stairs only one conclusion was drawn from it: that the little governess was at the root of the trouble. Amazing, incredible! That trumpery! But what else could they think? Mrs. Jemmett alone declined to believe in the story, and scolded Bowles for upholding it.
“Nonsense, man!” she said. “D’you think the gentry has no eyes in their heads to quarrel about the likes of her! Or that that rake-hell of a Colonel that knows more than he ought of half the Lady Jennies in London — and light skirts they are, the one half of them! — would look at her! And the Captain who hasn’t a word to throw at a petticoat, be it ever so! Though I’m thinking there’s one ready enough to listen to him, and that’s Miss Froyle, and no other.”
“It’s her eyes,” said the butler sententiously.
“And you think that they quarrelled about them!”
“I wasn’t there to see, ma’am,” Bowles replied patiently. “All I say is, it looks like it.”
Mrs. Jemmett rubbed her nose. “She’s a pretty sly puss if it is so.”
“Well, if you ask me, Mrs. J., there’s more about her than you think for. What took Mr. Girardot off all of a sudden? You tell me that!”
Mrs. Jemmett stared. “Why, goodness gracious, man, you don’t mean to tell me as she’s carrying on with all three of ‘em? And her with nothing to her and not half the looks of Jane the housemaid, that is good red and white at any rate!”
“Well, who lives the longest will see the most,” said Bowles. It was a favourite saying of his and earned him a reputation for foresight.
Meanwhile above stairs, where they should have known better, the theory won its way on higher authority. Naturally the first person to be questioned was Lord Robert. But the beau could say no more than that the Captain had flung a glass of wine in Ould’s face, and that mediation had been out of the question. Further, that Ould’s second had told him that there was a woman at the bottom of it; and that was all that Lord Robert could say.
But what woman? My lord, curious and foreseeing a lasting joke against his sedate brother, went to the fountain-head and, as soon as the Captain was in a condition to talk, put the question. “Deuced glad it’s no worse, George,” he said. “Devilish glad! But who’s the lady? Not Charlotte Froyle, I’ll go bail! Why, I’d as soon go to war about a piece of bread and butter — and dry at that.”
Not seeing as clearly as he might have seen whither this was tending, Captain George hastened to clear Charlotte. “Miss Froyle?” he said with gusto. “Lord no!”
“Well, if it wasn’t Charlotte, who was it?”
“Oh, stow it!” This time George spoke with irritation, his face, which was paler than usual, taking a tinge of colour.
“But put her out, and there’s only — by gum, George!” My lord grinned abominably. “I see! The little governess, by Jove! So we weren’t far wrong when we roasted you, eh? Damme, I’d a sort of a notion of it from the time she boarded you that morning — outside, you remember? And Ould, the old sinner, was trailing the same petticoat! Well, I am hanged!”
“Oh, stow it, Fred!” the Captain repeated uneasily. “And whatever you do, for God’s sake keep a still tongue!” But he did not deny the charge, for he saw now that my lady alone remained, and her name must be kept out at all costs. It would never do for Fred to learn that they had fought about her, while he who should have defended her honour stood aside and did nothing.
So presently down goes my lord bursting with the jest — never had he had such a pull over his Joseph of a brother as this!
It was such a good thing that, in spite of George’s adjuration, he could not keep it to himself. As a rule he avoided a tete-a-tete with my lady much as he would have shunned a snow-bath in January. But this was so great a joke that for once he broke through a reserve that was born three parts of shame, and one part of a reluctance to leave the primrose paths in which his feet were entangled. He burst into her sitting-room and blurted out with great enjoyment the story of George’s backsliding.
My lady was transfixed. For a moment she had entertained a darkling and most unwelcome suspicion that she was herself at the bottom of the trouble. Of this the news relieved her. But it wounded her in her affection for George and grieved her on his account; and, it lowered him in her eyes. Were no men to be trusted, then — were they all alike? And so frigidly did she listen that my lord, chafing at her prudery, was glad to beat a quick retreat. He went still mumbling his joke with apparent enjoyment, but — confound it! — how different she used to be, he thought. How gay, how responsive. And for a brief moment, as he looked back, the primrose paths lost their charm.
In Lady Ellingham’s case the first result of this confidence was that she avoided her governess. She could not believe, knowing as she did the truth about the Girardot matter, that the girl was a party to this, or was truly to blame. But she was perplexed and suspicious. She had been prepared to thank Rachel frankly, and warmly, for her action of the morning, unfortunate as it had turned out. But with this on her mind she refrained, and Rachel drew her own conclusions and was unhappy, taking silence for condemnation, and in her solitude dwelling on, and exaggerating, the mistake that she had made. She fancied that she read reproach even in Priscilla’s eyes.
Ann, it is true, chose to regard her in the light of a heroine, and hung upon her a good deal. But as Ann’s admiration took the form of questions, equally plain-spoken and embarrassing, it worried her more than it cheered her. In her life apart she became in these days a little of a republican, thinking bitterly of the divisions of rank and the cold manners of the great.
And then one morning a wonderful thing happened. Lady Ellingham appeared in the schoolroom at noon, and, without any greeting, “Miss South,” she said, her tone constrained, “Captain Dunstan has been moved into my sitting-room to-day. He is well enough to sit up, and he wishes to see you. Perhaps you will come down with me now?”
Feeling that the world was nearing its end, Rachel murmured something — that she was glad that he was better — of course she would do anything —
“Very well,” said my lady rather curtly. “Then will you follow me?”
Still wondering much, Rachel did so, and a minute later found herself face to face with a Captain Dunstan who, in dressing-gown and slippers and with the tan gone from his face, looked strangely unlike himself. He bobbed up from his easy chair and bobbed down again. “Thank you, Kitty,” he said. “Sit there, Miss South. I got my lady to fetch you just to — to tell you what I thought of you, d’you see. Well, d’you know, you made a precious mess of that business, young lady? More haste, less speed, eh?” He smiled grimly. “You will know better another time, and not sheer in where you are not wanted, I fancy.”
“I am very — sorry,” she murmured meekly. Lady Ellingham’s eyes, pitilessly fixed upon her, confused her. “But indeed I did my best.”
“I believe you,” he replied with a chuckle. “I am told that you ran like a hare, kicking up behind. Onions says a hare’d be nothing to it!”
“I hadn’t time to think,” Rachel pleaded, with a hot face.
“And so were just in time to play the devil with us, eh? And after all,” he continued, with a queer searching look at h
er, “got no thanks, I hear?”
“I didn’t want any!” she answered with a spirt of resentment. Those cold eyes of Lady Ellingham’s — she would not have minded so much if they had not been on her all the time. And to what was this tending? Why had she been sent for? To be scolded?
Apparently not, or not that only, for, “Well, you deserved them,” he said, his eyes smiling. “You ought to have had your name read in general orders for carrying out instructions. And so I have told Kitty. If anyone was to blame she was. D’you understand, Miss South? You acted like a — like a—”
“Midshipman!” my lady suggested in an enigmatic tone.
“Well, a devilish good one! Yes, about that.” Rachel, blushing with surprise, murmured something incoherent — she was sorry that she had acted in haste — was sorry that he had been hurt.
“Can’t play at bowls without rubbers!” he rejoined. “But see here, young lady — where is it, my dear? Give it her.”
Lady Ellingham, always with the same air of acting against her will, took a sash from a table and handed it to Rachel.
“But this isn’t mine,” the girl stammered. “I think there has been — indeed this is much finer stuff.”
“Yours? Gad, ma’am, it isn’t yours! Yours was spoiled — finished! Finished for good and all. You should have thought of that! Didn’t you?”
“Of course I didn’t!” she protested, speaking more freely than she had spoken before.
“I believe you!” he retorted. “You wouldn’t! But that’s yours now. And shake hands, young lady.
We’ve been on the field together and—”
“George,” my lady struck in rather tartly, “you’ve talked enough for this morning. Take your sash, Miss South, and run away now.”
“You’re a devilish plucky girl!” the Captain said, sinking back in his chair. “But I knew that before.”
“Thank you very much,” Rachel answered. She was moved almost to tears.
“The boot is on the other foot!”
The girl escaped then and ran lightly up the stairs, smoothing the soft texture of the scarf with her hand. Her republican notions had melted into thin air. Her heart was full, she was overflowing, simple little soul, with gratitude.
Since her last parting with Girardot her thoughts of him were wholly changed. She had seen him as he was, plainly and almost openly seeking her ruin, and she shuddered as she pictured him. But of the lover — of the lover of the former time — she still, and in spite of herself, had long thoughts. She still at times wrestled with the memories of a past happiness. His presence — not as he was, but as she had imagined him — still haunted her pillow, the sweetness of his voice still melted her, his laughing eyes still at moments drew the heart from her, she still with shame thrilled at the remembered touch of his hand.
But the charm and the ache were growing a little and a little less with every day, as other thoughts and other cares dragged at her. And to-day, in particular, if her heart still throbbed and smarted, it was more dully. She thought of him less on this evening than on any evening before, and she slept at night without dreaming of him.
CHAPTER XXIII
AN UNEXPECTED SUMMONS
THE departure of Ould was not felt by the party.
No one loved the man, and, though the wit that is spiced with ill-nature has its use in preserving Society from insipidity, someone must smart for the general good. But Captain Dunstan’s confinement to a sickroom was felt. His downright opinions and his bluntness provided variety. If he was not witty he provoked wit in others, and his return to the dining-table, which was delayed by a three days’ visit that the others paid to a neighbouring house, was an occasion of some festivity. The servants wore their brightest faces, the two ladies an additional jewel or two, wine from his favourite bin was decanted under the chaplain’s own eye, and Lord Robert, no longer in awe of Ould’s caustic tongue, prepared to enjoy himself.
During dinner the Hunt Ball and the Manydown Assembly, at which the party had been present, were reviewed in all lights. Miss Froyle was quizzed on her conquest of a rustic squire, and the question whether my lord should have worn his Yeomanry uniform or the Hunt coat was redebated. The talk grew more nimble as the wine passed round, the parson’s face began to shine, and, when the King’s health had been drunk with all the honours, Bobbie saw his chance and gave a toast.
“Bumpers all,” he cried, “and a forfeit for the ladies if they pass it. It’s a most discreet toast. It commits no one, it probes no secrets, it removes no screen! It is reticent as Mrs. Fitzherbert, mysterious as Udolpho, and as dark as the Monk.”
“But more decent, I hope!” the chaplain muttered. “As decent as you like! The ladies may drink it without a blush, and my reverend friend without his cheeks becoming a shade more rubicund.”
“Well, what is it?” my lord inquired. “To it, Bobbie! Hie in.”
“What is it?” Bobbie repeated, raising his glass. “I know no more than you do! I know no more than you do, but I give you The Unknown Cause!”
“The Unknown Cause?” my lady repeated, puzzled. “To be sure, The Unknown Cause! But as George knows it, he can drink the toast or not, as he chooses. The Unknown Cause, ladies and gentlemen, and no heel-taps!”
Lady Ellingham saw too late what was intended, and she reddened with annoyance. Miss Froyle stiffened — she best knew why — my lord laughed, much tickled, while the Captain grunted, “Oh, confound you. Bobbie!” and Sir Austin mumured “To be sure! To be sure!” and waited for light.
But the ladies’ disapproval was pronounced, and it so checked the merriment that the chaplain was thinking how he might best bring off Lord Robert with credit — such little services were a part of his office — when Sir Austin, whose brain always lagged behind, said the very thing that he should not have said.
“By Jove!” he suggested blandly. “Ought we not, with ber ladyship’s permission, of course” — this with an old-fashioned bow in her direction—” to have the little governess down? On such an occasion, eh?” My lord choked in his glass. “Why, Froyle, you are a wizard!” he said. “You put one and one together as if you were Cocker himself! Well,” and his eyes twinkled with mischief, “you had better ask Kitty.” But my lady frowned. “I think,” she said frigidly, “that Miss South has done enough mischief already.
She would be as little in place here as she was on that unfortunate morning.”
“She meant well,” growled the Captain. But he looked at old Froyle as if he could have strangled him.
However, that brought all of them on him. “Not a doubt of it!” my lord said slyly. “She meant well!”
“Not a doubt in the world!” Bobbie assented, grinning.
“Rixae pars magna fuit,” smiled the chaplain.
“Angels rush in where Bobbies stand aloof!” my lord chimed in, his eyes dancing.
“Oh, confound you all!” George retorted, very red in the face. “Confound you, leave the thing alone!” We’ve had enough of it.”
“Quite enough!” said my lady. She looked at Charlotte, who silently but heartily agreed, and the two rose together. The men had to drop their joke and rise also. Bobbie moved to the door to open it, but was anticipated by the unexpected entrance of Bowles. “If you please, my lady,” he announced, “Miss South wishes to see you for a minute.”
“Talk of the devil!” the chaplain exclaimed, and even Lady Ellingham was startled. She lost her composed air. Coming on the top of what had just passed, the application was untimely. “Why?” she asked coldly. “What is it? Miss South should know that this is not an hour at which I see her.”
“I beg your ladyship’s pardon,” the butler said, “but an express letter has come for her. I understand that her mother is ill, and Miss South wishes to go at once. The chaise that brought the letter was ordered to wait for her that she may catch the night coach at Salisbury.”
“Indeed?” my lady said. She spoke in an altered tone. “Indeed! I am sorry. Very well. In my room.
”
“She went out, following Charlotte Froyle, and the men, with various ejaculations of sympathy, settled down to their wine. “Odd!” said one. “Devilish odd!” agreed another. “She’ll have a confoundedly cold journey, poor girl!” said a third, as he set down his glass. “Where does she come from?”
“Exeter way, somewhere,” my lord explained. “Aunt Elisabeth found her.” Then feeling that the girl was no longer a fit subject for jesting, he diverted the talk, and within a minute she was to all appearance forgotten. A match between one of the earl’s horses and a neighbour’s four-year-old was discussed and bets were made.
But an hour or so later the girl’s case came to the surface in an unforeseen fashion. The men, pretty sober on the whole, had been some minutes in the drawing-room when Captain Dunstan, who had lingered behind, entered with a hasty step. He approached his sister-in-law. “Did you see the letter?” he asked, speaking with more than his usual abruptness.
My lady looked up, at a loss for a moment to understand what he meant. “What letter?” she said. “Oh! Miss South’s, do you mean? Yes, I saw it.”
The letter was, indeed, lying on the table beside her, for the girl in her haste and distress had left it behind, and Lady Ellingham had brought it into the room to show it to Charlotte. Miss Froyle’s eyes, as my lady spoke, wandered bleakly to it, and, though she did not speak, the Captain followed her glance, saw the letter, and took it up. He read it without ceremony. “It says the chaise is to wait for her?” He spoke roughly as if he blamed someone.
“Well, George?”
“That she may catch the night coach at Salisbury? For Exeter?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Well, this. There is no night coach from Salisbury for Exeter. It runs only in summer.”
“Eh?” my lord exclaimed, overhearing. “What is that?”
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 729