Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  Even so, and let it stand to her credit, Augusta’s smile did not vary, nor her placidity fail. But as she sat at her tambour frame where the light of the three tall windows of the drawing-room fell on her matchless complexion and her finely turned arm, she meditated long on the position. It was not so much of the fickle lover that she thought, as of her sister, and her sister’s private concerns. For Peggy might be adroit, she might hoodwink her father and blind the servants — though what they knew was less certain — but if she fancied that she could loop the curtain of one of the windows that looked on the sea, and repeat the manoeuvre whenever it suited her, without awakening a sister’s suspicions, she was mistaken. Augusta had marked the act, and found occasion to unloop the curtain. The event had justified her stratagem; she had seen Peggy move carelessly to the curtain and loop it anew. Thereafter Augusta had watched and she had seen other things; among them a young man who passed often upon the water between the Cove and Beremouth, and frequently looked up at the tall headland and the windows that crowned it. She had drawn her conclusions.

  As her shapely hand rose and fell, and she passed the needle through the strained linen, in the stillness of the room that looked on sky and sea, Augusta pondered how she might turn the thing to advantage. She knew that one word to her father would bring Peggy’s cloud-castle toppling about her ears. But she discerned with equal clearness that that would not advance her own interests; she knew her father’s methods, and she was sure that exposed to the pressure that he would exert, a pressure as irresistible as it was gentle, the most wilful Peggy would give way.

  She gave much thought to the matter, and sought with patience an answer to the riddle. At length, and by chance, her mind fastened on the allusion to the Cottage, that, leased to the Blighs by Budgen, was the Rector’s property. Later she heard that Budgen had taken the younger Bligh into his service; and on that she began to see her way. Not clearly, nor very certainly yet; it was a delicate operation that she contemplated, and much would depend upon whether her judgment of Peggy’s character proved correct. Still she had now a line that she could follow, if the opportunity presented itself.

  On a fine Sunday, a fortnight or so after Charles Bligh’s disgrace became known, she fancied that her time had come. The long morning service at an end, the congregation, instead of streaming away by twos and threes down the winding road that led to the town, paused in chattering groups about the west door to await the exit of the Beremouth Fencibles, a troop that Wyke had raised at his own expense. The corps had attended the service, and to see them, gay in their red facings, drawn up, put through the firelock exercises and dismissed, was a show that sunshine and Sunday leisure made attractive. Nor was it the commonalty only whom the sight detained, or who viewed with sympathy or apathy, as the case might be, the old Captain limping to and fro, as he saw to the dressing of the line. The Rectory party lingered, waiting for Sir Albery, and from their station, a little apart by the low wall of the Rectory Lane, they too eyed the shabby half-pay officer and shaped their various opinions of him.

  “It is really disgraceful!” Augusta remarked — she spoke with graceful languor. “Sir Albery should be rid of him!”

  Charlotte Bicester took her up — Charlotte whose bluntness and oddity were the torment of her mother’s life. “What? That dear old man?” she exclaimed. “Why, I love him! He’s so neat! He’s the only soldier among them! Do look at Dunch the barber,” she continued with amusement, “treading on the tails of his own coat! And Sir Albery choking in his stock, poor dear, and as stiff as the men are slouching! Why, I think the old man’s a picture. What has he done, Augusta?”

  “Quite enough to make you love him, my dear,” Augusta replied, “if you love lame ducks! But it’s not what he has done, but what his son has done — if you ask me!”

  “What? The sins of the children on the fathers?”

  Charlotte replied smartly. “But surely that’s bad scripture. And what has the son done? Got drunk once too often? Why, if that is all, and it is all I’ve heard—”

  “On duty?”

  “Well, he’s paid for it, poor devil! Or so I hear.”

  Lady Bicester raised her hands in horror. “Charlotte!” she cried. “My dear, what things you say!”

  Charlotte winked at Peggy. “I learn them from the gentlemen, mother,” she said, “when they come up a little free from the Rector’s third bottle! I don’t freeze them as Augusta does, and I see them as they are. But gentlemen will be gentlemen, my lady says, and we must make allowances for them.”

  “Do you call him a gentleman?” Augusta asked.

  But that, as her sister expected, was more than Peggy, who so far had been silent, could bear. “At any rate he has seen service!” she said.

  “Bravo, Peggy!” Charlotte cried. “What do you say, Mr. Fareham?”

  But Mr. Fareham, a younger son whose parents would willingly have taken Charlotte into the family — for, though plain, she had money — had fallen instead into Augusta’s toils. “I think a man should carry his liquor like a gentleman,” he said.

  “Then he’d carry a lot!” Charlotte retorted. “But there, it’s over, and they are dismissing. And do look at Dunch! I’m sure that man will fall over his coattails before he’s done!” Then, “Peggy! Where are you going?” she cried.

  But Peggy was out of hearing. She had not come with any intention of behaving ill. On the contrary she had formed all sorts of wise and prudent resolutions. But her temper and her feelings proved, as often before, too much for her, and already she was half-way across the churchyard, from which the Fencibles, mingling with the crowd, were beginning to flow away. Sir Albery saw her moving in his direction and thought that she was coming to him, and the flattered man greeted her approach with a fatuous smile. But Peggy passed by him without a glance. She greeted the old Captain, holding out her hand to him.

  “Now, isn’t that like Peggy!” Augusta murmured. She shrugged her handsome shoulders. “Silly, silly girl!”

  But Charlotte clapped her hands. “Bravo, Peggy!” she repeated.

  Dr. Portnal had left the vestry a moment before and was approaching the group. He overheard her words. “Why silly?” he asked, with stately geniality. “And why Bravo? What is it, my dear, that has evoked such opposite sentiments?”

  “Only a little quixotry — on Peggy’s part,” Augusta replied, her object apparently to pass the matter by. “I think We may go now. The show is over.”

  But she did not move at once. She paused long enough to allow the Rector’s eyes to alight on Peggy, who was in the act of parting from the Captain. “I see,” Dr. Portnal said, “I see. But there” — he shrugged his shoulders indulgently—” old heads do not grow on young shoulders.”

  “They’d look very odd if they did!” the irrepressible Charlotte retorted.

  “To be sure! To be sure, my dear. You are right. However, let us be going.” But as they turned in a body to cross the lane that divided them from the Rectory he fell back and joined Wyke. “Peggy is impulsive,” he said good-humouredly. “A good girl, but she acts before she thinks.”

  “But she acts!” Wyke answered warmly. “And upon my soul I honour her for it. I had a word with the old man before the service, and he’s cast down, terribly cast down, poor chap. He feels this blow, and feels, I think, that it is his fault. It has gone deep with him.”

  But the Rector could not go as far as that. “It ought to,” he said drily. “It ought to, my friend.”

  “Well, maybe you are right. But I think as Miss Peggy does, and I honour her for it, and — and in fact,” Wyke continued, swept away by his enthusiasm, “I can’t be silent any longer, Rector. I want to — to speak to you about her.” And with an ingenuous blush dyeing his candid face he drew his companion a few steps down the lane, until they reached and stood under that very open arch, looking down on the sparkling sea, which had seen other things happen. There, with his hand resting on the sill on which Bligh had leant while he listened to Peggy’s p
leading, Wyke poured out the hopes that the other was well prepared to hear. For two minutes they talked, the young man telling the old, old tale that came so new from his heart. By and by the elder man wrung his hand.

  “God bless you, my boy!” he said. “God bless you! You have made me very happy. There is nothing that I could wish for my girl beyond this — and I shall keep her near me and I am thankful for that. I see the fairest prospect of happiness for you both, and nothing on my part, you may be sure, shall be wanting to fulfil your hopes. But Peggy is young, and I think you will be wise to let me prepare her. She is young, and you know the old adage—’ they flee, and fleeing look behind!’ Ha! Ha! Yes, you had better let me drop a word to her and sound her. But I have no doubt, no doubt at all, my dear fellow, that all will turn out as you wish.”

  Not without reluctance and not without a little opposition Wyke agreed, and the two, after another word or two, went into the house. The upshot was that later in the afternoon the Rector looked into the drawing-room. He found Augusta alone, and with his hand on the door he asked her where her sister was.

  Augusta read his face, and knew in a moment what had happened. “Has Sir Albery spoken?” she asked, with a smile.

  “He has, my dear. And I am not surprised. I have seen it coming for some time.”

  “Of course. But—” Augusta paused on the word. She looked thoughtfully at her father.

  “Well?” The Rector did not understand. “What is it, my dear?”

  “Well, I think,” Augusta said, choosing her words, her tone a little doubtful, “I think I should not speak to her at once, sir — though you know best, no doubt.” The Rector closed the door. He was an arbitrary man but he was no fool and he had a high opinion of his elder daughter’s judgment. “Why !” he asked. “Why do you think so?”

  And still Augusta hesitated. “Well, sir,” she said reluctantly, “if you ask me, I am afraid that — that there is a little prepossession on her side — at present.”

  “Prepossession!” The Rector stared. “Prepossession? What on earth do you mean, Augusta?”

  “I am afraid, sir, there is something,” she replied in a serious tone. “Peggy is young and thoughtless — you know, sir, what she is, and I fear that she has let herself see a little too much of — of young Bligh, to be plain, sir.”

  “Young Bligh!” the Rector ejaculated, his eyes almost starting from his head. And for a moment his anger fell on Augusta. “Impossible! Impossible!” he cried. “You must be dreaming, girl. Young Bligh! A daughter of mine see too much of — I don’t understand you. You cannot be thinking of what you are saying, Augusta!”

  But Augusta was firm. “I fear I am right, sir,” she replied gravely. “I have said nothing to you, for I hoped that it would pass off — and that he would leave. Perhaps I was wrong to — to be silent. No doubt I was wrong. But I am afraid, I am afraid — that there have been meetings, sir.”

  “And you never told me!” The Rector’s brow was very black now. He glowered at Augusta as if she were the one in fault, and any other than Augusta would have trembled before his wrath.

  But Augusta knew where she stood. “I hoped that it would pass off, sir,” she pleaded meekly. “I see that I was wrong.”

  “You were wrong, very wrong!” he said. He strode across the room and returned, his step heavy. “Very wrong! I am appalled, appalled by what you tell me — if indeed you are not mistaken. Bligh? But I cannot believe it! I cannot believe it! How can such a state of things have come about?” He was horror-struck; amazement and wrath battled in him with incredulity. “How, girl? Explain yourself!”

  “Indeed, sir, I hardly know,” Augusta pleaded penitently. “I have found it hard to believe it myself. But Peggy — you know, sir, what she is! She is not like other people.”

  “Like! She is like no decent people if this be true! I never heard of such a thing! Never! But if she has lost her senses, by heaven, I have not! And I shall put an end to it, and an instant end to it — this very hour! Go, Augusta, go to her this moment, and send her to me. Send her to me at once, and I will tell her what I think of her! She shall not disgrace herself under my roof! Bligh? Heaven above us! That scamp, that reprobate, that sot!”

  Augusta rose, knowing well that the critical moment had come, and that to play her part efficiently, though she had more than once rehearsed it in her thoughts, would need all her wits.

  She moved towards the door, but mid-way she paused. She looked at the Rector, and her face expressed just such a measure of doubt as suggested inquiry, and invited a question. “I think, sir,” she said very seriously, “there may be a better way of dealing with this — this folly, if you will forgive me for saying so.”

  “Folly?” he retorted in his anger. “Call it madness! Madness! Disgraceful madness! No, the thing must be stamped out at once! At once!”

  “Still—”

  She broke off, but she looked at him with so much meaning in her face that, angry as he was, the Rector hesitated. He frowned. At length, “Well? Well, girl, what is it you wish to say?”

  She knew then that she had won, but she only threw more humility into her voice. “It is this, sir. I think it may perhaps be wiser — to begin at the other end.”

  He stared. “At the other end? What do you mean?”

  “I think, sir, I should get rid of him — before I spoke to Peggy. She is — I am afraid that she is very wilful. And opposition may not have the effect we desire, sir. But with him gone—”

  “With him — ah!” There was a new note in his voice.

  “With him gone,” Augusta explained, “I think the thing would die away quietly. He is working at Budgen’s, or so I am told. And a word to Budgen—”

  Augusta paused to let the hint sink in. “Then I remember,” she continued, “that you said something about the Cottage, sir? Something might be done about that, might it not? And — and with them both gone” — Augusta spoke on slowly, giving him time to reflect—” that which you wish would come about naturally, and without friction. The fancy would die away and no one be the wiser.”

  The Rector pondered. He saw that in his anger he had lost sight of his habitual prudence. And women were clever in their own concerns. He was impressed.

  “Peggy is impulsive, as you know, sir,” Augusta continued, seeing that all was going as she would have it. “And if she is opposed she will think herself a martyr. Whereas, left to herself, the fancy will die away.”

  “She deserves to be whipped!” he exclaimed, convinced, but unwilling to give way too quickly. “Upon my soul it is incredible! Are you serious, Augusta? I cannot even now believe it. Are you sure of this, girl?”

  “I am afraid I am, sir,” Augusta replied with sorrowful decision.

  “Good heavens! Good heavens! Well, I will think over it,” he said more quietly. “I am too much shocked, I am too deeply shocked to think calmly now. A wretched drink-sodden man working at Budgen’s! That low, disgraceful, sottish scamp and a daughter of mine! It’s — it’s incredible. But if I give way to you, you must have an eye on her. You must watch her, girl. If this be really as you say, she is not to be trusted.”

  Augusta assured him that she would watch; adding that she was certain that there was no immediate danger. Even then he did not say that he would take the course that she suggested, but she knew him, and she was confident that he would. Despotic as he was, the plan consorted better with his usual methods than open and violent measures.

  But the effort had been great, and when he had left her, and then only, Augusta breathed freely. She had succeeded — so far. It remained to be seen if her judgment of her sister’s character was correct; if an attack on one whom she loved would drive Peggy to do that to which no harsh treatment and no pressure applied to herself would compel her.

  CHAPTER V

  DR. PORTNAL chose his time with his usual discretion, and the rattle of the hammers and the caulking-mallets had ceased for the day, when with a gait as measured and stately as the steep
ness of the path permitted, he made his way down to the Cove. He had considered how he would act. In the first heat of passion he had been inclined to re-open with Wyke the question of the elder Bligh’s employment. But on more mature thought he had discarded the notion. He saw that it might lead him further than was prudent. Wyke might refuse, or might press for reasons; and his reasons the Rector was not prepared to state. Budgen, on the other hand, was in his power, and though Dr. Portnal would have preferred to make a clean sweep of the pair, it was the young man whom he had to fear.

  The face of the cliff, with its chequers of golden gorse and its sprinkling of white-harled cottages, was still warm with sunshine when he reached the shore at its foot. The slips and the shed and Budgen’s creeper-clad homestead which stood some way back in the cleft of the Cove lay already in shadow. Peace brooded over the little bay, the cries of the gulls came softened by distance, the lapping of the wavelets on the strand whispered softly of evening and of rest from labour. A boat, putting in to the Beremouth jetty, was gliding past the bluff, the fall of the sails and the voices of the men marking rather than breaking the silence.

  Absorbed in his purpose, the Rector paid little heed to these things, to the lapping of the waves, or the fall of the yard as it struck the deck. Such sounds were commonplaces to him. But as he approached the shed his thoughts and the stillness were interrupted by a sound as unexpected as it was unwelcome — the sound of angry voices. He had chosen his hour with a view to finding Budgen alone, and he paused; and, though he had no wish to hear what was passing in the shed, he heard.

  “Four pound a month? Why should I gi’ you four pound a month?” It was Budgen’s voice, raised in anger, that he heard. “Or three pound, or one pound, you lazy, loafing, good-for-naught? Or a ha’penny for the matter o’ that! Confound your impudence!”