Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “But George thinks of nobody else!” Lord Robert replied. “If you ask me” — he paused to select a rasher of bacon—” I think Nelson is a bit rash and they are right. He’ll come to grief one of these days, will George’s pet. Suppose he had had a fleet at Teneriffe in — when was it? Ninety-seven? — instead of a ship or two? He got a confounded licking there, as it was.”

  “Ay, but if he had led the first attack himself? That’s what George says! He swears that he would have put the shoe on the other foot.”

  “But that’s all maybe! Maybe he’d have got killed first round! And Parker’s a safer man in my opinion. It’s not Vinegar Parker, it’s Vinegar Parker’s son, you know. Anyway, it’ll be a bloody business if the Danes stand to it. Devilish stubborn fellows, mind you, the Hanes! Stubborn fellows! None of your sing-song get-up-to-morrow Dons.”

  “Ha! ha! Danes and Dons!” said Sir Austin.

  “I wish,” Lady Ellingham murmured, but with no show of feeling, “that George were safe back again.”

  “Gad, he’ll be as happy as a schoolboy,” his brother declared. “Sure to be in the thick of it, and nothing he likes better. Rather him than I! Cold weather, north winds and the bulkheads down in his cabin. Ugh! Who’d be a sailor?”

  “It is not a polished service,” Sir Austin pronounced gravely. “Rough, very rough! George, of course — but, oh dear, I have met some dreadful examples! Impossible! Quite impossible!”

  “Hard knocks and no prize-money this cruise!”

  “I’m afraid so,” my lady assented, handling the urn. “Poor George!”

  “But George hasn’t done badly,” Lord Robert suggested. “I suppose if he has made a thousand in the last five years he has made twenty?”

  “He made fifteen in the Medora,” agreed my lord, rising and moving to the side-table to help himself. “But that was in a frigate, of course — all the money’s made in the frigates. And plaguey hard knocks for it too, my lad! It would not suit your genius, Bobbie, as well as fluttering round the petticoats?”

  “Now do I flutter?” Bobbie protested. “‘Pon honour,” he continued, lowering his voice and addressing Lady Ellingham — he was sitting beside her, “take that tempestuous little petticoat over yonder — it is not from me she’s in danger. Whoever it is, it is not me, my lady.”

  Unfortunately Lord Ellingham on his way back to the table had stopped to speak to Rachel — he was at that instant speaking to her; and this put a point on the beau’s words that he perhaps did not intend. The Countess, however, whatever she thought, gave no sign. “I am sure that Miss South,” she said, “if you mean Miss South, is in no danger.”

  “Ah!” virtuously. “Good job too. A nice little thing. Good manners.”

  My lord as he sat down took up the old thread.

  “Anyway,” he said, “George won’t be the last in at the death, I’ll wager! Lucky dog too! Sure to come out all right.”

  “Don’t!” my lady’s voice rose sharply. “Don’t say that!”

  “Touch wood, eh? Oh, all right, my lady. But God bless me, don’t cry out before you are hurt!”

  In an instinctive reaching out for sympathy, Lady Ellingham glanced down the table. She could hardly have said whether she desired or feared to see that which she saw. The girl was so absorbed in the discussion, and so avid for more, that she was unconscious of observation; and her parted lips, her suspended breath, her tragic eyes told a tale. “Little fool,” my lady thought, with something of fellow-feeling, yet something of contempt also. “I do believe — and yesterday she loved another man, and may love another to-morrow!” And drawn one way by antagonism and another by sympathy, she could have at once kissed the girl and boxed her ears. Her jealousy decided her, and, “Miss South,” she said sharply, “you may take Ann upstairs. And be good enough to see that her hair-band is properly tied to-morrow.”

  Recalled by the snub, Rachel rose in confusion, and dragged away the reluctant Ann. But in the hall Ann rebelled. She was firmly set on seeing the hunting party start from the door, and Rachel went up alone, her thoughts in a whirl. This first breakfast in public which she had anticipated with so much misgiving now stood for nothing. She could think only of the talk at the table, and of the wider world and the wider issues it had opened to her. Admirals’ names flitted across her mind, she heard the crash of mighty fleets, the booming of guns, the North Sea breaking as she had heard the sea break in winter storms on the shore before the cottage. She trembled as she pictured these things, while they who should have trembled were so cold, so indifferent, they did not seem to care. And he had been so kind to her, he had acted so generously, thought so wisely for her — he who had so many and so much graver things to think of!

  The bulkheads down in his cabin! She did not know what it meant, but it had a wretched sound. And as she looked out on the bare leafless trees and the herbage white with frost where the cold rays of the sun had not touched it, she shivered; thinking of the biting winds, the decks swept by freezing spray, the thud of the waves as they struck the mounting bows. A man’s work? Yes, and more than a man’s. She saw him not as he was — for in truth he was at that moment snugly ensconced in his room at the Fountain at Plymouth — but as a heroic figure, high on some fancied poop, riding the storm, facing the gale, wind-blown, magnificent!

  But she thought of him very humbly, and of any question of love as between her and him she did not dream. At the Folly he was a great man, my lord’s brother; but on the sea, as she saw him, by the light of what she had heard that morning, he loomed stupendous. Even if she had not so lately surrendered her heart to another that the idea was shameful and degrading, even if love had not come to seem a thing to distrust and shun, he stood so far from her that the thought did not occur to her. But she did feel warm gratitude to him, as she recalled his kindness, and deep anxiety as she measured his danger. “He’ll not be the last in it!” my lord had said. No, she was sure of that, sure, as she clasped her hands and fervently thought a prayer for him! No, he would not be the last in it!

  And they, the others, cared so little! They were so indifferent — though he might never come back.

  Until now the events of the great world had possessed little interest for the girl. She could not have said whether Pitt was a Whig or a Tory! But now all was changed. Henceforth her ears were greedily open to every scrap of news or of rumour; and had her time been wholly spent as before in the solitude of the schoolroom, she would have been miserable. But day by day she found herself taken more and more into the life of the house, her unaffected simplicity aiding the process. Sir Austin condescended to pay her stately compliments, my lord was hearty and cheery; she learned how to keep Lord Robert in check and the chaplain, whom she disliked, at a distance. Miss Froyle, it is true, ignored her presence when she could, and greeted her with a stare when she could not; and my lady was changeable after an odd, disconcerting fashion, at one moment almost cordial, at another abashing her with a formal word, or wounding her by a sharp order that sent her smarting from the room.

  Unfortunately for every kind word there was a snub; for the Countess’s goodwill was continually outweighed by two feelings that, inconsistent as they were, swayed her by turns. The one she knew to be only too well based and not all ignoble. Against the other, a haunting vague suspicion of which she had never been able wholly to rid herself, she struggled, but only with partial success. Shaken off, it recurred with every fresh proof of the girl’s power to charm.

  Yet, uncertain and fickle as my lady seemed, she was as good as her word in a matter that caused some talk in the house. “If you please, miss,” Priscilla said one day, entering as Rachel was closing the lesson-books and preparing to replace them, “Mr. Coker wishes to know if you will begin your riding lessons this morning?”

  Rachel turned from the shelf in a flutter, her heart in her mouth. She had not thought that my lady would remember. Or perhaps she had changed her mind. “Oh, but,” she stammered, “I don’t think that—”

&nbs
p; “It’s her ladyship’s orders, miss. And I am to bring Lady Ann’s skirt if you say yes.”

  “Oh!” Rachel replied in a small voice. “Very well, Priscilla. I will get ready.”

  “I’ll put out the skirt, miss. And please, Mr. Coker will be waiting in the stable court.”

  “And, by gum, what fun!” Ann cried, tossing up a book and catching it again. “I’ll bet you’ll get a fall! Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall! Humpty Dumpty had a great fall!” And chanting this, which she thought a fine piece of wit, she flew in great glee to summon Bodmin to witness the disaster.

  Rachel would gladly have shunned the ordeal, but she dared not slight Lady Ellingham’s kindness, and when she was ready — and very awkward she felt in her unwonted garb — she crept down the stairs, hiding her tremors as well as she could. Alas! she found Ann and her brother already on the scene, dancing up and down in their eagerness, and in the background a group of grinning men and maids peeping from the back-offices.

  But Coker, a shrewd person who drew his own conclusions, had foreseen this, and instead of mounting her from the stable-block he led her outside and drew up the pony beside a handy log. “Now, miss, don’t you be afraid,” he said comfortably. “The old pony will carry you like an arm-chair. Keep your knee in the crook and you can’t fall, and your hands down, and look square before you. I’ll shorten the stirrup a hole and you’ll sit the straighter. Eyes to the front, that’s the secret of ladies’ riding, and you’ll make no sore backs. Now I’ll lead her on, and all you have to do is to sit straight. Old Jessie knows as well as you do that you’re new to it, and she’ll take as much care of you as a nurse of a babby! There! Now I’ll let her go and you walk her down the avenue.

  Don’t hold her head, just feel her mouth and keep your hands down. That’s it! Now, my lord,” as he turned on Bodmin, “have done, if you please! None of your tricks, or I’ll tell the Earl! I will as sure as I am here!”

  He let her do no more than walk that day, and in half an hour Rachel had overcome the worst of her fears. She felt at home in the saddle and could venture to look about her. She alighted with a sense of achievement and a gallant determination to do more another day. And the next time she trotted a hundred yards with Coker running beside her and crying, “Lift yourself, miss! Lift yourself! That’s it! Don’t hang by her mouth! That’s it! Now eyes to the front! Eyes to the front! Well done, old gal!” he added, addressing the pony. “I’m blest if you are not an arm-chair!”

  He was a judicious teacher, and if she was not a dashing learner and had more fears to conquer than those she betrayed, she was determined to overcome them; for she foresaw that in another situation the ability to ride might be a valuable asset. And Coker took pains with her, as Tom in an injudicious moment ventured to remark. He got a flea in his ear. “Do you go and strap the chestnut!” snapped the stud-groom. “And see you do it or I’ll strap you. I know what I’m about, my lad, if you don’t.” For Coker was prudent and had not given thought to that taking out of Medea for nothing.

  So within ten days Rachel, enjoying the delicious sensation of a canter, tasted the real joys of riding, and bitten by it, was promoted at the end of a fortnight to ride out with her pupil. True, Ann complained bitterly of the old pony’s sluggish pace and by turns patronized her companion and tickled her companion’s mount. But Rachel returned flushed with triumph. As it happened, they fell in a hundred yards from the house with the men, who had been out rabbiting, and her colour and bright eyes gave her the additional attraction that she needed. My lord himself lifted her down amid a shower of laughing compliments that made her feel almost one of themselves. How kind he was, and how pleasant! He was, indeed, so kind that it occurred to him to ride out with them himself, and more than once he did so, criticized her seat and her hands, and flattered himself that he was finishing her education.

  But of course this made talk in the house. The grooms, viewing the matter professionally, went no further than to decide that she would make a rider — in time. And Coker accepted her half-crown and a grateful smile as if the former had been a guinea. But the housemaids tossed their heads — things were come to a pretty pass with governesses riding out and his lordship playing riding-master! And the footmen winked and said that she had a well-turned leg — at which the kitchenmaids giggled.

  Mrs. Jemmett said little, but perhaps thought the more. And the butler said as good as nothing. But presently one was found to say something — and something to the purpose.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  THE FLOOD-GATES RAISED

  LADY ELLINGHAM was knitting her brows over the housekeeper’s books, when the door opened and her friend came in. Charlotte did not move at once to the table. She paused before a mirror and languidly straightened her hat; not because her appearance was anything to her at the moment, but because, as my lady might have seen had she looked up and marked the glint in her visitor’s eye, the girl needed a minute in which to compose herself. In the end Charlotte took off her hat and with a pettish gesture flung it on the table.

  “I hate that hat!” she said.

  My lady laid down her pen. She looked up. “What is the matter with it?” she asked.

  “It is too large and too flowery and too — oh, too everything. I wish,” Charlotte continued, dropping into the nearest chair, “I had your easy nature, Kitty! Nothing ever puts you out, I declare.”

  Lady Effingham suppressed a sigh. “I don’t know that,” she replied patiently. “Perhaps it is only that I don’t show it as quickly as you do, Charlotte.”

  “No! Nor as openly! Well, perhaps it is that. Anyway,” she decided, frowning at the offending hat, “it is a hideous thing!”

  “Certainly I have seen you in one that I liked better.”

  “I hope so. I shall give it to my maid when I leave to-morrow. No, I shan’t! Or I shall be seeing it every day, and I hate it!” Then with a yawn, “How long do you stay here, Kitty?”

  “At the Folly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well!” my lady hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. I am uncertain at present.”

  Charlotte sat up in well-simulated surprise. “But won’t you be dreadfully lonely here — with only the children? When is Lord Ellingham leaving?”

  “He has not said.” Lady Ellingham’s tone was cold. Between friends certain things come to be taken for granted, but my lady had never invited discussion upon them, and she did not mean to do so now.

  She reckoned, however, without her guest. Charlotte had her reasons for trespassing on the forbidden ground, and she was not going to be warned off. “Hasn’t he said?” she rejoined. “You know Bobbie goes with us to-morrow?”

  “Yes, I understand so.”

  “And,” after a long pause, “it is a bit unusual, Kitty, isn’t it?”

  The Countess coloured, but she strove to maintain her reserve. “Perhaps it is,” she said carelessly. “He is not fond of the country, and, as you know, he seldom does stay here long — unless we have company.”

  The girl saw her opportunity and took it resolutely. “Then,” she said, “what keeps him here now?”

  My lady looked steadily at her. A little pink in her cheeks betrayed her displeasure. But before she could speak, Charlotte leapt the gap and came to the point with a rush. “I tell you what it is, Kitty,” she said. “You ought not to keep that girl here.”

  “Who do you—”

  “Oh, you know whom I mean, quite well.” The young lady’s eyes gleamed with spite. “Your Miss South, to be sure! Who else? If you do, depend upon it you will repent it, Kitty. She’s a minx, and the worst kind of minx, a sly, demure one! You’ve brought her too much forward, my dear, and she’s deceiving you! She’s throwing dust in your eyes every day! You need only go as far as the window at the end of the corridor, the one that looks on the stable court, and if they are there still — as they were five minutes ago — you will know what I know! And what,” she added viciously, “I expect that everyone in the hous
e except you knows already!”

  Lady Ellingham had not foreseen speech of this plainness. But she had learned to control herself, she had had indeed only too much reason to learn the lesson, and she continued to look steadily at her companion. “My dear Charlotte,” she said gravely, “it is you who deceive yourself. You don’t like the girl — I don’t know why, but I can guess.” This was a little feline stab. “And, believe me, whether you have good reason or not for the feeling, it leads your fancy astray. I have no doubt, indeed I have good ground to know that, whatever you have seen, it means nothing. It is quite harmless.”

  “And you are not going—”

  “To the corridor window?” with a faint smile. “Foolish girl! No, of course not. Why should I?” She took up her pen. “I have something better to do, my dear. I know Miss South pretty well by this time — and her affairs. And I have these books to do.”

  The smile that accompanied the careless words was more than Charlotte in her excitement could bear. She sprang to her feet, her eyes sparkling. She snatched up her hat. “I don’t believe you care!” she said, reckless of consequences, and casting delicacy to the winds. “I don’t believe that you have an ounce of feeling in you! You are a monster, Kitty! A monster! To see this going on and to do nothing! I wouldn’t be you for a — for a fortune! Oh, I’ve no patience with you! You are blind! Blind!”

  “My dear,” my lady replied, and she ticked off an item in the book with care. “Don’t be silly! You excite yourself about nothing!”

  But, “You’re a monster!” Charlotte repeated, tears of vexation in her eyes. And she flung out of the room.

  Lady Ellingham, her eyes on the book, added up a column of pence and — for women can do two things at once — added it correctly. “I made a mistake once and I won’t make it again,” her thoughts ran. “I won’t lower myself. He is at least a gentleman.” She reckoned up the shillings, doing a sum on her fingers, then the pounds. She initialled the total. “No, I am sure he would not,” she thought. “And there is George too. She does not know about George.” The corridor window — and that spiteful girl watching to see if she would go to it? Not for her life! But she no longer saw the figures in the book. She stared at them mechanically, and her face was pale and thoughtful. If there were any truth in this, what was she to believe? Who was she to trust if those candid eyes and baby looks did but mark the guile that this jealous girl denounced? If this were true, true at all, to what depths of contempt and degradation was she falling? Nay, to what a depth had she fallen already, if such a thing was believed by those about her, if, thinking themselves in the disgraceful secret, they whispered behind her back, smiled in wonder at her fatuity, her blindness, her weakness?