THE DAWN OF AN EVENTFUL DAY
Rupert's behaviour at home, since his brother's wedding, had been, as
even Molly was bound to admit to herself, beyond reproach in
tactfulness, quiet dignity, and seeming cheerfulness.
He abdicated from his position of trust at once and without the
smallest reservation; wooed Madeleine with so great a discretion that
her dreamy eyes saw in him only a kind relative; and he treated his
sister-in-law, for all her freaks of bearing to him, with a perfect
gentleness and gentility.
At times Sir Adrian would watch him with great eyes. What meant this
change? the guileless philosopher would ask himself, and wonder if he
had judged his brother too harshly all through life; or if it was his
plain speaking in their last quarrel which had put things in their
true light to him, and awakened some innate generosity of feeling; or
yet if--this with misgiving--it was love for pretty Madeleine that was
working the marvel. If so, how would this proud rebellious nature bear
another failure?
Rupert spoke with unaffected regret about leaving Pulwick, at the same
time, in spite of Molly's curling lip, giving it to be understood that
his removal was only a matter of time.
For the ostensible purpose, indeed, of finding himself another home he
made, in the beginning of March, the second month after his brother's
marriage, several absences which lasted a couple of days or more, and
from which he would return with an eager sparkle in his eye, almost a
brightness on his olive cheek, to sit beside Madeleine's embroidery
frame, pulling her silks and snipping with her scissors, and talking
gaily, persistently, with such humour and colour as at last to draw
that young lady's attention from far off musings to his words with
smiles and laughter.
Meanwhile, Molly would sit unoccupied, brooding, watching them, now
fiercely, from under her black brows, now scornfully, now
abstractedly; the while she nibbled at her delicate finger-nails, or
ruthlessly dragged them along the velvet arms of her chair with the
gesture of a charming, yet distracted, cat.
Sir Adrian would first tramp the rooms with unwitting restlessness,
halting, it might be, beside his wife to strive to engage her into
speech with him; and, failing, would betake himself at length with a
heavy sigh to solitude; or, yet, he would sit down to his organ--the
new one in the great hall which had been put up since his marriage, at
Molly's own gay suggestion, during their brief betrothal--and music
would peal out upon them till Lady Landale's stormy heart could bear
it no longer, and she would rise in her turn, fly to the shelter of
her room and roll her head in the pillows to stifle the sound of sobs,
crying from the depths of her soul against heaven's injustice; anon
railing in a frenzy of impotent anger against the musician, who had
such passion in him and gave it to his music alone.
During Rupert's absences that curious intimacy which Molly had
contemptuously noted between her sister and sister-in-law displayed
itself in more conspicuous manner.
Miss Landale's long sallow visage sported its airs of mystery and
importance, its languishing leers undisguisedly, so long as her
brother Rupert's place was empty; and though her visits to the
rector's grave were now almost quotidian, she departed upon them with
looks of wrapt importance, and, returning, sought Madeleine's chamber
(when that maiden did not herself stroll out to meet her in the
woods), her countenance invariably wreathed with suppressed, yet
triumphant smiles, instead of the old self-assertive dejection.
* * * * *
The 15th of March of that year was to be a memorable day in the lives
of so many of those who then either dwelt in Pulwick, or had dealings
on that wide estate.
Miss Landale, who had passed the midnight hour in poring over the
delightful wickedness of Lara, and, upon at length retiring to her
pillow, had had a sentimental objection to shutting out the romantic
light of the moon by curtain or shutter, was roused into wakefulness
soon after dawn by a glorious white burst of early sunshine. As a
rule, the excellent soul liked to lie abed till the last available
moment; but that morning she was up with the sun. When dressed she
drew a letter from a secret casket with manifold precautions as though
she were surrounded with prying eyes, and, placing it in her reticule,
hastened forth to seek the little lonely disused churchyard by the
shore. She afterwards remarked that she could never forget in what
agitation of spirits and with what strange presentiment of evil she
was led to this activity at so unwonted an hour. The truth was,
however, that Miss Landale tripped along through the damp wooded path
as gaily as if she were going to visit her living lover instead of his
granite tomb; and that in lieu of evil omens a hundred fantastically
sentimental thoughts floated through her brain, as merrily and
irresponsibly as the motes in the long shafts of brilliancy that
cleaved, sword-like through the mists, upon her from out the east.
Visions of Madeleine's face when she would learn before breakfast that
Sophia had actually been to the churchyard already; visions of whom
she might meet there; rehearsals of a romantic scene upon that
hallowed spot, of her own blushes, her knowing looks, her playful
remonstrances, with touching allusions to one who had loved and lost,
herself, and who thus, &c. &c.
Miss Landale tossed her long faded ringlets quite coquettishly, turned
one slim bony hand with coy gesture before her approving eyes. Then
she patted her reticule and hurried on with fresh zest, enjoying the
tart whisper of the wind against her well bonneted face, the exquisite
virginal beauty of the earth in the early spring of the day and of the
year.
As she stepped out of the shadow of the trees, her heart leaped and
then almost stood still as she perceived in the churchyard lying below
her, beside the great slab of granite which lay over the remains of
her long-departed beloved one, the figure of a man, whose back was
turned towards her, and whose erect outline was darkly silhouetted
against the low, dazzling light.
Then a simper of exceeding archness crept upon Miss Landale's lips;
and with as genteel an amble as the somewhat precipitate nature of the
small piece of ground that yet divided her from the graveyard would
allow, she proceeded on her way.
At the click of the lych-gate under her hand the man turned sharply
round and looked at her without moving further. An open letter
fluttered in his hand.
His face was still against the light, and Miss Landale's eyes had wept
so many tears by day and night that her sight was none of the best.
She dropped a very elegant curtsey, simpered, drew nearer, and threw a
fetching glance upwards. Then her shrill scream rang through the still
morning air and frightened the birds in the ruined church.
"You are early this morning, Sophia," said Mr. Landale.
Sophia sank upon the tombstone. To say that she was green or yellow
would ill describe the ghastliness of the tint that suffused her
naturally bilious countenance; still speechless, she made a frantic
plunge towards the great urn that adorned the head of the grave. Mr.
Landale looked up from his reading again with a quiet smile.
"I shall have done in one minute," he remarked, "It is a fine
production, egad! full of noble protestations and really high-sounding
words. And then, my dear Sophia, you can take charge of it, and I
shall be quite ready for the other, which I presume you have as usual
with you--ah, in your bag! Thanks."
"Rupert?" ejaculated the unfortunate lady, first in agonised query,
and next in agonised reproach, clasping her hands over the precious
reticule--"Rupert!"
Mr. Landale neatly folded the sheet he had been reading, moistened
with his tongue a fresh wafer which he drew from his waistcoat pocket,
and, deftly placing it upon the exact spot from which the original one
had been removed, handed the letter to his sister with a little bow.
But, as with a gesture of horror the latter refused to take it, he
shrugged his shoulders and tossed it carelessly into the urn.
"Now give me Madeleine's," he said, peremptorily.
Rolling upwards eyes of appeal the unhappy Iris called upon heaven to
witness that she would die a thousand deaths rather than betray her
solemn trust. But even as she spoke the fictitious flame of courage
withered away in her shrinking frame; and at the mere touch of her
brother's finger and thumb upon her wrist, the mere sight of his face
bending masterfully over her with white teeth just gleaming between
his twisting smile and half-veiled eyes of insolent determination, she
allowed him, unresisting, to take the bag from her side; protesting
against the breach of faith only by her moans and the inept wringing
of her hands.
Mr. Landale opened the bag, tossed with cynical contempt upon the flat
tombstone, sundry precious relics of the mouldering bones within, and
discovered at length in an inner pocket a dainty flower-scented note.
Then he flung down the bag and proceeded with the same deliberation to
open the letter and peruse its delicate flowing handwriting.
"Upon my word," he vowed, "I think this is the prettiest she has
written yet! What a sweet soul it is! Listen, Sophia: 'You praise me
for my trust in you--but, Jack, dear love, my trust is so much a part
of my love that the one would not exist without the other. Therefore,
do not give me any credit, for you know I could not help loving you.'
Poor heart! poor confiding child! Oh!" ejaculated Mr. Landale as if to
himself, carefully proceeding the while with his former manoeuvres
to end by placing the violated missive, to all appearance intact,
beside its fellow, "we have here a rank fellow, a foul traitor to deal
with!"
Then, wheeling round to his sister, and fixing her with piercing eyes:
"Sophia," he exclaimed, in tones of sternest rebuke, "I am surprised
at you. I am, indeed!"
Miss Landale raised mesmerised, horror-stricken eyes upon him; his
dark utterances had already filled her foolish soul with blind dread.
He sat down beside her, and once more enclosed the thin arm in his
light but warning grasp.
"Sophia," he said solemnly, "you little guess the magnitude of the
harm you have been doing; the frightful fate you have been preparing
for an innocent and trusting girl; the depth of the villainy you are
aiding and abetting. You have been acting, as I say, in ignorance,
without realising the awful consequences of your folly and duplicity.
But that you should have chosen _this_ sacred place for such illicit
and reprehensible behaviour; that by the grave of this worthy man who
loved you, by the stones chosen and paid for by my fraternal
affection, you should plot and scheme to deceive your family, and
help to lead a confiding and beautiful creature to ruin, I should
never have expected from _you_, Sophia--Sophia!"
Miss Landale collapsed into copious weeping.
"I am sure, brother," she sobbed, "I never meant any harm. I am sure
nobody loves the dear girl better than I do. I am sure I never wished
to hide anything from you!--Only--they told me--they trusted me--they
made me promise--Oh brother, what terrible things you have been
saying! I cannot believe that so handsome a young gentleman can mean
anything wrong--I only wish you could have seen him with her, he is so
devoted--it is quite beautiful."
"Alas--the tempter always makes himself beautiful in the eyes of the
tempted! Sophia, we can yet save this unhappy child, but who knows how
soon it may be too late!--You can still repair some of the wrong you
have done, but you can only do so by the most absolute obedience to
me.... Believe me, I know the truth about this vile adventurer, this
Captain Jack Smith."
"Good Heavens!" cried Sophia, "Rupert, do not tell me, lest I swoon
away, that he is married already?"
"The man, my dear, whose plots to compromise and entangle a lovely
girl you have favoured, is a villain of the deepest dye--a pirate."
"Oh!" shivered Sophia with fascinated misery--thrilling recollections
of last night's reading shooting through her frame.
"A smuggler, a criminal, an outlaw in point of fact," pursued Mr.
Landale. "He merely seeks Madeleine for her money--has a wife in every
port, no doubt--"
Miss Landale did not swoon; but her brother's watchful eye was
satisfied with the effect produced, and he went on in a well modulated
tone of suppressed emotion:
"And after breaking her heart, ruining her body and soul, dragging her
to the foulest depths he would have cast her away like a dead
weed--perhaps murdered her! Sophia, what would your feelings be then?"
A hard red spot had risen to each of Miss Landale's cheek bones; her
tears had dried up under the fevered glow.
"We believed," she said trembling in every limb, "that he was working
on a mission to the French court--"
"Faugh--" cried Mr. Landale, contemptuously, "smuggling French brandy
for our English drunkards and traitorous intelligence for our French
enemies!"
"Such a handsome young man, so gentlemanly, such an air!" maundered
the miserable woman between her chattering teeth. "It was quite
accidental that we met, Rupert, quite accidental, I assure you.
Madeleine--poor dear girl--came down with me here, I wanted to show
her the g-grave----" here Sophia gurgled convulsively, remembering her
brother's cruel reproaches.
"Well?"
"She came here with me, and as I was kneeling down, planting crocuses
just here, Rupert, and she was standing _there_, a young man suddenly
leaped over the wall, and fell at her feet. He had not seen
_me_--Alas, it reminded me of my own happiness! And he was so
well-dressed, so courteous--and seemed such a perfect gentleman--and
he took off his hat so gracefully I am sure I never could have
believed it of him. And they confided in me and I promised
by--by--those sacred ashes to keep their secret. I remembered of
course what Tanty had said in her letter, and quite understood he was
the young gentleman in question--but they explained to me how she was
under a wrong impression altogether. He said that the instant he laid
eyes upon me, he saw I had a feeling heart, and he knew they could
trust me. He spoke so nobly, Rupert, and said: What better place could
they have for their meetings than one consecrated to such faithful
love as this? It was so beautiful--and oh dear! I can't but think
there is some mistake." And Miss Landale again wrung her hands.
"But I have proof!" thundered her brother, "convincing proof, of what
I have told you. At this very moment the man who would marry
Madeleine, forsooth, runs the risk of imprisonment--nay, of the
gallows! You may have thought it strange that I should have opened and
read letters not addressed to me, but with misfortune hanging over a
beloved object I did not pause to consider myself. My only thought was
to save her."
Here Mr. Landale looked very magnanimous, and thrust his fingers as he
spoke through the upper buttons of his waistcoat with the gesture
which traditionally accompanies such sentiments: these cheap effects
proved generally irresistible with Sophia. But his personality had
paled before the tremendous drama into which the poor romance-loving
soul was so suddenly plunged, and in which in spite of all her woe she
found an awful kind of fascination. Failing to read any depth of
admiration in her roving eye, Rupert promptly abandoned
grandiloquence, and resuming his usual voice and manner, he dropped
his orders upon her heat of agitation like a cool relentless stream
under which her last protest fizzed, sputtered, and went out.
"I mean to unmask the gay lover at my own time and in my own way;
never fear, I shall deal gently with _her_. You will now take this
letter of his and put it in your bag, leaving hers in that curious
post-office of yours."
"Yes, Rupert."
"And you will give his letter to her at once when you go in without
one word of having met me."
"Y ... yes, Rupert."
"As you are too great a fool to be trusted if you once begin to talk,
you will have a headache for the rest of the day and go to bed in a
dark room."
"Y ... yes, Rupert."
"You will moreover swear to me, now, that you will not speak of our
interview here till I give you leave; say I swear I will not."
"I swear I will not."
"So help me God!"
"Oh, Rupert."
"_So help me God_, you fool!"
Sophia's lips murmured an inaudible something; but there was such
complete submission in every line and curve of her figure, in the very
droop of her ringlets and the helpless appeal of her gaze that Rupert
was satisfied. He assisted her to arise from her tombstone, bundled
the clerical love-tokens back into the bag, duly placed Captain Jack's
letter in the inner pocket, and was about to present her with his arm
to conduct her homewards, when he caught sight of a little ragged
urchin peeping through the bars of the gate, and seemingly in the very
act of making a mysterious signal in the direction of Miss Landale's
unconscious figure.
Rupert stared hard at the ruddy, impudent face, which instantly
assumed an appearance of the most defiant unconcern, while its owner
began to devote his energies to shying stones at an invisible rook
upon the old church tower with great nicety of aim.
"Sophia," said her brother in a low tone, "go to the gate: that boy
wants to speak to you. Go and see what he wants and return to me."
Miss Landale gasped, gazed at her brother as if she thought him mad,
looked round at the little boy, coloured violently, then meeting
Rupert's eye again staggered off without a word of protest.
Rupert, shaken with silent laughter, humming a little song to himself,
stooped to pick a couple of tender spring flowers from the border
beside the grave, and after slipping them into a button-hole of his
many caped overcoat, stood looking out over the stretch of land and
sea, where Scarthey rose like a dream against the sparkle of the water
and the exquisite blue of the sky.
Presently rapid panting breaths and a shuffling rustle of petticoats
behind him informed him of his sister's return.
"So you are there, my dear," he said loudly. "One of your little
fishing friends from the village, I suppose--a Shearman, unless I am
mistaken. Yes, a Shearman; I thought so. Well, shall we return home
now? They will be wondering what has become of us. Pray take my arm."
Then beneath his breath, seeing that words were struggling to Sophia's
lips, "Hold your tongue."
The small ragged boy watched their departure with a derisive grin, and
set off at a brisk canter down to the shore, jingling some silver coin
in his pocket with relish as he went.
When Rupert and Sophia had reached the wood the former paused.
"Letter or message?"
"Oh, Rupert, it was a letter; had I not better destroy it?"
"Give it to me."
* * * * *
A hasty scrawl, it seemed, folded anyhow. Only two or three lines, yet
Rupert conned them for a curiously long time.
"My darling," it ran, "meet me to-day in the ruins at noon. A
misfortune has happened to me, but if you trust me, all will still be
well.--Your Jack." Mr. Landale at length handed it back to Sophia.
"You will give it to Madeleine with the other," he said briefly.
"Mention the fact of the messenger having brought it." And then in a
terrible bass he added, "And remember your oath!"
She trembled; but as he walked onwards through the wood, his lips were
smiling, and his eyes were alight with triumph.