The Castle Inn

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  IN THE CARRIAGE

  Mr. Thomasson was mistaken in supposing that it was the jerk, caused bythe horses' start, which drew from Julia the scream he heard as thecarriage bounded forward and whirled into the night. The girl, indeed,was in no mood to be lightly scared; she had gone through too much. Butas, believing herself alone, she sank back on the seat--at the momentthat the horses plunged forward--her hand, extended to save herself,touched another hand: and the sudden contact in the dark, conveying toher the certainty that she had a companion, with all the possibilitiesthe fact conjured up, more than excused an involuntary cry.

  The answer, as she recoiled, expecting the worst, was a sound between asigh and a grunt; followed by silence. The coachman had got the horsesin hand again, and was driving slowly; perhaps he expected to bestopped. She sat as far into her corner as she could, listening andstaring, enraged rather than frightened. The lamps shed no light intothe interior of the carriage, she had to trust entirely to her ears;and, gradually, while she sat shuddering, awaiting she knew not what,there stole on her senses, mingling with the roll of the wheels, a soundthe least expected in the world--a snore!

  Irritated, puzzled, she stretched out a hand and touched a sleeve, aman's sleeve; and at that, remembering how she had sat and wasted fearson Mr. Thomasson before she knew who he was, she gave herself entirelyto anger. 'Who is it?' she cried sharply. 'What are you doing here?'

  The snoring ceased, the man turned himself in his corner. 'Are wethere?' he murmured drowsily; and, before she could answer, wasasleep again.

  The absurdity of the position pricked her. Was she always to betravelling in dark carriages beside men who mocked her? In herimpatience she shook the man violently. 'Who are you? What are you doinghere?' she cried again.

  The unseen roused himself. 'Eh?' he exclaimed. 'Who--who spoke? I--oh,dear, dear, I must have been dreaming. I thought I heard--'

  'Mr. Fishwick!' she cried; her voice breaking between tears andlaughter. 'Mr. Fishwick!' And she stretched out her hands, and foundhis, and shook and held them in her joy.

  The lawyer heard and felt; but, newly roused from sleep, unable to seeher, unable to understand how she came to be by his side in thepost-chaise, he shrank from her. He was dumbfounded. His mind ran onghosts and voices; and he was not to be satisfied until he had stoppedthe carriage, and with trembling fingers brought a lamp, that he mightsee her with his eyes. That done, the little attorney fairly weptfor joy.

  'That I should be the one to find you!' he cried. 'That I should be theone to bring you back! Even now I can hardly believe that you are here!Where have you been, child? Lord bless us, we have seen strange things!'

  'It was Mr. Dunborough!' she cried with indignation.

  'I know, I know,' he said. 'He is behind with Sir George Soane. SirGeorge and I followed you. We met him, and Sir George compelled him toaccompany us.'

  'Compelled him?' she said.

  'Ay, with a pistol to his head,' the lawyer answered; and chuckled andleapt in his seat--for he had re-entered the carriage--at theremembrance. 'Oh, Lord, I declare I have lived a year in the last twodays. And to think that I should be the one to bring you back!' herepeated. 'To bring you back! But there, what happened to you? I knowthat they set you down in the road. We learned that at Bristol thisafternoon from the villains who carried you off.'

  She told him how they had found. Mr. Pomeroy's house, and taken shelterthere, and--

  'You have been there until now?' he said in amazement. 'At a gentleman'shouse? But did you not think, child, that we should be anxious? Werethere no horses? No servants? Didn't you think of sending word toMarlborough?'

  'He was a villain,' she answered, shuddering. Brave as she was, Mr.Pomeroy had succeeded in frightening her. 'He would not let me go. Andif Mr. Thomasson had not stolen the key of the room and released me, andbrought me to the gate to-night, and put me in with you--'

  'But how did he know that I was passing?' Mr. Fishwick cried, thrustingback his wig and rubbing his head in perplexity. He could not yetbelieve that it was chance and only chance had brought them together.

  And she was equally ignorant. 'I don't know,' she said. 'He only toldme--that he would have a carriage waiting at the gate.'

  'And why did he not come with you?'

  'He said--I think he said he was under obligations to Mr. Pomeroy.'

  'Pomeroy? Pomeroy?' the lawyer repeated slowly. 'But sure, my dear, ifhe was a villain, still, having the clergyman with you you should havebeen safe. This Mr. Pomeroy was not in the same case as Mr. Dunborough.He could not have been deep in love after knowing you a dozen hours.'

  'I think,' she said, but mechanically, as if her mind ran on somethingelse, 'that he knew who I was, and wished to make me marry him.'

  'Who you were!' Mr. Fishwick repeated; and--and he groaned.

  The sudden check was strange, and Julia should have remarked it. But shedid not; and after a short silence, 'How could he know?' Mr. Fishwickasked faintly.

  'I don't know,' she answered, in the same absent manner. Then with aneffort which was apparent in her tone, 'Lord Almeric Doyley was there,'she said. 'He was there too.'

  'Ah!' the lawyer replied, accepting the fact with remarkable apathy.Perhaps his thoughts also were far away. 'He was there, was he?'

  'Yes,' she said. 'He was there, and he--' then, in a changed tone, 'Didyou say that Sir George was behind us?'

  'He should be,' he answered; and, occupied as she was with her owntrouble, she was struck with the gloom of the attorney's tone. 'Wesettled,' he continued, 'as soon as we learned where the men had leftyou, that I should start for Calne and make inquiries there, and theyshould start an hour later for Chippenham and do the same there. Whichreminds me that we should be nearing Calne. You would like torest there?'

  'I would rather go forward to Marlborough,' she answered feverishly, 'ifyou could send to Chippenham to tell them I am safe? I would rather goback at once, and quietly.'

  'To be sure,' he said, patting her hand. 'To be sure, to be sure,' herepeated, his voice shaking as if he wrestled with some emotion.'You'll he glad to be with--with your mother.'

  Julia wondered a little at his tone, but in the main he had describedher feelings. She had gone through so many things that, courageous asshe was, she longed for rest and a little time to think. She assented insilence therefore, and, wonderful to relate, he fell silent too, andremained so until they reached Calne. There the inn was roused; amessenger was despatched to Chippenham; and while a relay of horses wasprepared he made her enter the house and eat and drink. Had he stayed atthat, and preserved when he re-entered the carriage the discreet silencehe had maintained before, it is probable that she would have fallenasleep in sheer weariness, and deferred to the calmer hours of themorning the problem that occupied her. But as they settled themselves intheir corners, and the carriage rolled out of the town, the attorneymuttered that he did not doubt Sir George would be at Marlborough tobreakfast. This set the girl's mind running. She moved restlessly, andpresently, 'When did you hear what had happened to me?' she asked.

  'A few minutes after you were carried off,' he answered; 'but until SirGeorge appeared, a quarter of an hour later, nothing was done.'

  'And he started in pursuit?' To hear it gave her a delicious thrillbetween pain and pleasure.

  'Well, at first, to confess the truth,' Mr. Fishwick answered humbly, 'Ithought it was his doing, and--'

  'You did?' she cried in surprise.

  'Yes, I did; even I did. And until we met Mr. Dunborough, and Sir Georgegot the truth from him--I had no certainty. More shame to me!'

  She bit her lips to keep back the confession that rose to them, and fora little while was silent. Then, to his astonishment, 'Will he everforgive me?' she cried, her voice tremulous. 'How shall I tell him? Iwas mad--I must have been mad.'

  'My dear child,' the attorney answered in alarm, 'compose yourself. Whatis it? What is the matter?'

  'I, too thought it was he! I,
even I. I thought that he wanted to ridhimself of me,' she cried, pouring forth her confession in shame andabasement. 'There! I can hardly bear to tell you in the dark, and howshall I tell him in the light?'

  'Tut-tut!' Mr. Fishwick answered. 'What need to tell any one? Thoughtsare free.'

  'Oh, but'--she laughed hysterically--'I was not free, and I--what do youthink I did?' She was growing more and more excited.

  'Tut-tut!' the lawyer said. 'What matter?'

  'I promised--to marry some one else.'

  'Good Lord!' he said. The words were forced from him.

  'Some one else!' she repeated. 'I was asked to be my lady, and ittempted me! Think! It tempted me,' she continued with a second laugh,bitterly contemptuous. 'Oh, what a worm--what a thing I am! It temptedme. To be my lady, and to have my jewels, and to go to Ranelagh and themasquerades! To have my box at the King's House and my frolic in thepit! And my woman as ugly as I liked--if he might have my lips! Think ofit, think of it! That anyone should be so low! Or no, no, no!' she criedin a different tone. 'Don't believe me! I am not that! I am not so vile!But I thought he had tricked me, I thought he had cheated me, I thoughtthat this was his work, and I was mad! I think I was mad!'

  'Dear, dear,' Mr. Fishwick said rubbing his head. His tone wassympathetic; yet, strange to relate, there was no real smack of sorrowin it. Nay, an acute ear might have caught a note of relief, of hope,almost of eagerness. 'Dear, dear, to be sure!' he continued; 'Isuppose--it was Lord Almeric Doyley, the nobleman I saw at Oxford?'

  'Yes!'

  'And you don't know what to do, child?'

  'To do?' she exclaimed.

  'Which--I mean which you shall accept. Really,' Mr. Fishwick continued,his brain succumbing to a kind of vertigo as he caught himself balancingthe pretensions of Sir George and Lord Almeric, 'it is a very remarkableposition for any young lady to enjoy, however born. Such a choice--'

  'Choice!' she cried fiercely, out of the darkness. 'There is no choice.Don't you understand? I told him No, no, no, a thousand times No!'

  Mr. Fishwick sighed. 'But I understood you to say,' he answered meekly,'that you did not know what to do.'

  'How to tell Sir George! How to tell him.'

  Mr. Fishwick was silent a moment. Then he said earnestly, 'I would nottell him. Take my advice, child. No harm has been done. You said No tothe other.'

  'I said Yes,' she retorted.

  'But I thought--'

  'And then I said No,' she cried, between tears and foolish laughter.'Cannot you understand?'

  Mr. Fishwick could not; but, 'Anyway, do not tell him,' he said. 'Thereis no need, and before marriage men think much of that at which theylaugh afterwards.'

  'And much of a woman of whom they think nothing afterwards,' sheanswered.

  'Yet do not tell him,' he pleaded. From the sound of his voice she knewthat he was leaning forward. 'Or at least wait. Take the advice of oneolder than you, who knows the world, and wait.'

  'And talk to him, listen to him, smile on his suit with a lie in myheart? Never?' she cried. Then with a new strange pride, a faint touchof stateliness in her tone, 'You forget who I am, Mr. Fishwick,' shesaid. 'I am as much a Soane as he is, and it becomes me to--to rememberthat. Believe me, I would far rather resign all hope of entering hishouse, though I love him, than enter it with a secret in my heart.'

  Mr. Fishwick groaned. He told himself that this would be the last straw.This would give Sir George the handle he needed. She would never enterthat house.

  'I have not been true to him,' she said. 'But I will be true now.'

  'The truth is--is very costly,' Mr. Fishwick murmured almost under hisbreath. 'I don't know that poor people can always afford it, child.'

  'For shame!' she cried hotly. 'For shame! But there,' she continued, 'Iknow you do not mean it. I know that what you bid me do you would not doyourself. Would you have sold my cause, would you have hidden the truthfor thousands? If Sir George had come to you to bribe you, would youhave taken anything? Any sum, however large? I know you would not. Mylife on it, you would not. You are an honest man,' she cried warmly.

  The honest man was silent awhile. Presently he looked out of thecarriage. The moon had risen over Savernake; by its light he saw thatthey were passing Manton village. In the vale on the right the tower ofPreshute Church, lifting its head from a dark bower of trees, spoke asolemn language, seconding hers. 'God bless you!' he said in a lowvoice. 'God bless you.'

  A minute later the horses swerved to the right, and half a dozen lightskeeping vigil in the Castle Inn gleamed out along the dark front. Thepost-chaise rolled across the open, and drew up before the door.Julia's strange journey was over. Its stages, sombre in the retrospect,rose before her as she stepped from the carriage: yet, had she knownall, the memories at which she shuddered would have worn a darker hue.But it was not until a late hour of the following morning that even thelawyer heard what had happened at Chippenham.