A DARK CONSPIRACY.
Now, when Harry Trelyon drove up to the Hall after leaving Wenna
Rosewarne in the road he could not tell why he was vexed with her. He
imagined somehow that she should not have allowed Mr. Roscorla to come
home; and to come home just at this moment, when he, Trelyon, had stolen
down for a couple of days to have a shy look at the sweet-heart who was
so far out of his reach! She ought to have been alone. Then she ought
not to have looked so calm and complacent on going away to meet Mr.
Roscorla: she ought to have been afraid. She ought to have--In short,
everything was wrong, and Wenna was largely to blame.
"Well, grandmother," said he as they drove through the avenue, "don't
you expect every minute to flush a covey of parsons?"
He was angry with Wenna, and so he broke out once more in his old vein.
"There are worse men than the parsons, Harry," the old lady said.
"I'll bet you a sovereign there are two on the doorstep."
He would have lost. There was not a clergyman of any sort in or about
the house.
"Isn't Mr. Barnes here?" said he to his mother.
Mrs. Trelyon flushed slightly as she said, "No, Harry, Mr. Barnes is not
here, nor is he likely to visit here again."
Now, Mr. Roscorla would at once have perceived that a strange little
story lay behind that simple speech, but Mr. Harry, paying no attention
to it, merely said he was heartily glad to hear of it, and showed his
gratitude by being unusually polite to his mother during the rest of his
stay.
"And so Mr. Roscorla has come back?" his mother said. "General Weekes
was asking about him only yesterday. We must see if he will come up to
dinner the night after to-morrow; and Miss Rosewarne also."
"You may ask her--you ought to ask her--but she won't come," said he.
"How do you know?" Mrs. Trelyon said with a gentle wonder. "She has been
here very often of late."
"Have you let her walk up?"
"No, I have generally driven down for her when I wanted to see her; and
the way she has been working for these people is extraordinary--never
tired, always cheerful, ready to be bothered by anybody, and patient
with their suspicions and simplicity beyond belief. I am sure Mr.
Roscorla will have an excellent wife."
"I am not at all sure that he will," said her son, goaded past
endurance.
"Why, Harry," said his mother, with her eyes wide open, "I thought you
had a great respect for Miss Rosewarne."
"I have," he said abruptly--"far too great a respect to like the notion
of her marrying that old fool."
"Would you rather not have him to dinner?"
"Oh, I should like to have him to dinner."
For one evening, at least, this young man considered, these two would be
separated. He was pretty sure that Roscorla would come to meet General
Weekes: he was positive that Wenna would not come to the house while he
himself was in it.
But the notion that, except during this one evening, his rival would
have free access to the inn, and would spend pleasant hours there, and
would take Wenna with him for walks along the coast, maddened him. He
dared not go down to the village for fear of seeing these two together.
He walked about the grounds or went away over to the cliffs, torturing
his heart with imagining Roscorla's opportunities. And once or twice he
was on the point of going straight down to Eglosilyan, and calling on
Wenna, before Roscorla's face, to be true to her own heart, and declare
herself free from this old and hateful entanglement.
In these circumstances his grandmother was not a good companion for him.
In her continual glorification of the self-will of the Trelyons, and her
stories of the wild deeds they had done, she was unconsciously driving
him to some desperate thing against his better judgment.
"Why, grandmother," he said one day, "you hint that I am a nincompoop
because I don't go and carry off that girl and marry her against her
will. Is that what you mean by telling me of what the men did in former
days? Well, I can tell you this, that it would be a deal easier for me
to try that than not to try it. The difficulty is in holding your hand.
But what good would you do, after all? The time has gone by for that
sort of thing. I shouldn't like to have on my hands a woman sulking
because she was married by force. Besides, you can't do these mad freaks
now: there are too many police-courts about."
"By force? No," the old lady said. "The girls I speak of were as glad to
run away as the men, I can tell you, and they did it, too, when their
relations were against the match."
"Of course, if both he and she are agreed, the way is as smooth now as
it was then: you don't need to care much for relations."
"But, Harry, you don't know what a girl thinks," this dangerous old lady
said. "She has her notions of duty, and her respect for her parents, and
all that; and if the man only went and reasoned with her he would never
carry the day; but just as she comes out of a ball-room some night, when
she is all aglow with fun and pleasure, and ready to become romantic
with the stars, you see, and the darkness, then just show her a
carriage, a pair of horses, a marriage license, and her own maid to
accompany her, and see what will happen! Why, she'll hop into the
carriage like a dicky-bird: then she'll have a bit of a cry, and then
she'll recover, and be mad with the delight of escaping from those
behind her. That's how to win a girl, man! The sweet-hearts of these
days think too much, that's about it: it's all done by argument between
them."
"You're a wicked old woman, grandmother," said Trelyon with a laugh.
"You oughtn't to put such notions into the head of a well-conducted
young man like me."
"Well, you're not such a booby as you used to be, Harry," the old lady
admitted. "Your manners are considerably improved, and there was much
room for improvement. You're growing a good deal like your grandfather."
"But there's no Gretna Green now-a-days," said Trelyon as he went
outside, "so you can't expect me to be perfect, grandmother."
On the first night of his arrival at Eglosilyan he stole away in the
darkness down to the inn. There were no lamps in the steep road, which
was rendered all the darker by the high rocky bank with its rough masses
of foliage: he feared that by accident some one might be out and meet
him. But in the absolute silence under the stars he made his way down
until he was near the inn, and there in the black shadow of the road he
stood and looked at the lighted windows. Roscorla was doubtless
within--lying in an easy-chair, probably, by the fire, while Wenna sang
her old-fashioned songs to him. He would assume the air of being one of
the family now, only holding himself a little above the family. Perhaps
he was talking of the house he meant to take when he and Wenna married.
That was no wholesome food for reflection on which this young man's mind
was now feeding. He stood there in the darkness, himself white as a
ghost, while all the vague imaginings of what might be going on within
the house seemed to be eating at his heart. This, then, was the comfort
he had found by secretly stealing away from London for a day or two! He
had arrived just in time to find his rival triumphant.
The private door of the inn was at this moment opened: a warm glow of
yellow streamed out into the darkness.
"Good-night," said some one: was it Wenna?
"Good-night," was the answer; and then the figure of a man passed down
the road.
Trelyon breathed more freely: at last his rival was out of the house.
Wenna was now alone: would she go up into her own room and think over
all the events of the day? And would she remember that he had come to
Eglosilyan, and that she could, if any such feeling arose in her heart,
summon him at need?
It was very late that night before Trelyon returned: he had gone all
round by the harbor and the cliffs and the high-lying church on the
hill. All in the house had gone to bed, but there was a fire burning in
his study, and there were biscuits and wine on the table. A box of
cigars stood on the mantelpiece. Apparently, he was in no mood for the
indolent comfort thus suggested. He stood for a minute or two before the
fire, staring into it, and seeing other things than the flaming coals
there; then he moved about the room in an impatient and excited fashion;
finally, with his hand trembling a little bit, he sat down and wrote
this note:
"DEAR MOTHER: The horses and carriage will be at Launceston Station by
the first train on Saturday morning. Will you please send Jakes over for
them? And bid him take the horses up to Mr. ----'s stables, and have
them fed, watered and properly rested before he drives them over. Your
affectionate son, HARRY TRELYON."
Next morning, as Mabyn Rosewarne was coming briskly up the Trevenna
road, carrying in her arms a pretty big parcel, she was startled by the
appearance of a young man, who suddenly showed himself overhead, and
then scrambled down the rocky bank until he stood beside her.
"I've been watching for you all the morning, Mabyn," said Trelyon.
"I--I want to speak to you. Where are you going?"
"Up to Mr. Trewhella's. You know his granddaughter is very nearly quite
well again, and there is to be a great gathering of children there
to-night to celebrate her recovery. This is a cake I am carrying that
Wenna has made herself."
"Is Wenna to be there?" Trelyon said eagerly.
"Why, of course," said Mabyn petulantly. "What do you think the children
could do without her?"
"Look here, Mabyn," he said. "I want to speak to you very particularly.
Couldn't you just as well go round by the farm-road? Let me carry your
cake for you."
Mabyn guessed what he wanted to speak about, and willingly made the
circuit by a more private road leading by one of the upland farms. At a
certain point they came to a stile, and here they rested. So far,
Trelyon had said nothing of consequence.
"Oh, do you know, Mr. Trelyon," Mabyn remarked quite innocently, "I have
been reading such a nice book--all about Jamaica."
"So you're interested about Jamaica too?" said he rather bitterly.
"Yes, much. Do you know that it is the most fearful place for storms in
the whole world--the most awful hurricanes that come smashing down
everything and killing people? You can't escape if you're in the way of
the hurricane. It whirls the roofs off the houses and twists out the
plantain trees just like straws. The rivers wash away whole acres of
canes and swamp the farms. Sometimes the sea rages so that boats are
carried right up into the streets of Kingston. There!"
"But why does that please you?"
"Why," she said with proud indignation, "the notion of people talking as
if they could go out to Jamaica and live for ever, and come back just
when they please--it is too ridiculous! Many accidents may happen. And
isn't November a very bad time for storms? Ships often get wrecked going
out to the West Indies, don't they?"
At another time Trelyon would have laughed at this bloodthirsty young
woman: at this moment he was too serious. "Mabyn," said he, "I can't
bear this any longer--standing by like a fool and looking on while
another man is doing his best to marry Wenna: I can't go on like this
any longer. Mabyn, when did you say she would leave Mr. Trewhella's
house to-night?"
"I did not say anything about it. I suppose we shall leave about
ten--the young ones leave at nine."
"You will be there?"
"Yes, Wenna and I are to keep order."
"Nobody else with you?"
"No."
He looked at her rather hesitatingly. "And supposing, Mabyn," he said
slowly--"supposing you and Wenna were to leave at ten, and that it is a
beautiful clear night, you might walk down by the wood instead of the
road; and then, supposing that you came out on the road down at the
foot, and you found there a carriage and pair of horses--"
Mabyn began to look alarmed.
"And if I was there," he continued more rapidly, "and I said to Wenna
suddenly, 'Now, Wenna, think nothing, but come and save yourself from
this marriage. There is your sister will come with you; and I will drive
you to Plymouth.'"
"Oh, Mr. Trelyon!" Mabyn cried with a sudden joy in her face, "she would
do it! she would do it!"
"And you, would you come too?" he demanded.
"Yes!" the girl cried, full of excitement. "And then, Mr. Trelyon, and
then?"
"Why," he cried boldly, "up to London at once--twenty-four hours' start
of everybody--and in London we are safe. Then, you know, Mabyn--"
"Yes, yes, Mr. Trelyon!"
"Don't you think now that we two could persuade her to a quick
marriage--with a special license, you know? You could persuade her, I am
sure, Mabyn."
In the gladness of her heart Mabyn felt herself at this moment ready to
fall on the young man's neck and kiss him. But she was a properly
conducted young person, and so she rose from the big block of slate on
which she had been sitting and managed to suppress any great intimation
of her abounding joy. But she was very proud, all the same, and there
was a great firmness about her lips as she said, "We will do it, Mr.
Trelyon--we will do it. Do you know why Wenna submits to this
engagement? Because she reasons with her conscience and persuades
herself that it is right. When you meet her like that, she will have no
time to consider."
"That is what my grandmother says," Trelyon said with a triumphant
laugh.
"Yes, she was a girl once," Mabyn replied sagely. "Well, well, tell me
all about it. What arrangements have you made? You haven't got the
special license?"
"No," said he, "I didn't make up my mind to try this on till last night.
But the difference of a day is nothing when you are with her. We shall
be able to hide ourselves away pretty well in London, don't you think?"
"Of course," cried Mabyn, confidently. "But tell me more, Mr. Trelyon.
What have you arranged? What have you done?"
"What could I do until I knew whether you'd help me?"
"You must bring a fearful amount of wraps with you."
"Certainly--more than you'll want, I know. And I sha'n't light the lamps
until I hear you coming along, for they would attract attention down in
the valley. I should like to wait for you elsewhere, but if I did that
you couldn't get Wenna to come with you. Do you think you will get her
to come even there?"
"Oh yes," said Mabyn cheerfully: "nothing easier. I shall tell her she's
afraid, and then she would walk down the face of Black Cliff. By the
way, Mr. Trelyon, I must bring something to eat with me, and some
wine--she will be so nervous, and the long journey will tire her."
"You will be at Mr. Trewhella's, Mabyn: you can't go carrying things
about with you."
"I could bring a bit of cake in my pocket," Mabyn suggested, but this
seemed even to her so ludicrous that she blushed and laughed, and agreed
that Mr. Harry should bring the necessary provisions for the wild
night-ride to Plymouth.
"Oh, it does so please me to think of it!" she said with a curious
anxious excitement as well as gladness in her face. "I hope I have not
forgotten to arrange anything. Let me see: we start at ten; then down
through the wood to the road in the hollow--oh, I hope there will be
nobody coming along just then!--then you light the lamps; then you come
forward to persuade Wenna. By the way, Mr. Trelyon, where must I go?
Shall I not be dreadfully in the way?"
"You? You must stand by the horses' heads. I sha'n't have my man with
me. And yet they're not very fiery animals: they'll be less fiery, the
unfortunate wretches! when they get to Plymouth."
"At what time?"
"About half-past three in the morning if we go straight on," said he.
"Do you know a good hotel there?" said the practical Mabyn.
"The best one is by the station; but if you sleep in the front of the
house, you have the whistling of engines all night long, and if you
sleep in the back, you overlook a barracks, and the confounded
trumpeting begins about four o'clock, I believe."
"Wenna and I won't mind that--we shall be too tired," Mabyn said. "Do
you think they could give us a little hot coffee when we arrive?"
"Oh yes. I'll give the night-porter a sovereign a cup: then he'll offer
to bring it to you in buckets. Now, don't you think the whole thing is
beautifully arranged, Mabyn?"
"It is quite lovely!" the girl said joyously, "for we shall be off with
the morning train to London, while Mr. Roscorla is pottering about
Launceston Station at midday. Then we must send a telegram from
Plymouth, a fine dramatic telegram; and my father, he will swear a
little, but be quite content; and my mother--do you know, Mr. Trelyon, I
believe my mother will be as glad as anybody. What shall we say?--'To
Mr. Rosewarne, Eglosilyan: We have fled. Not the least good pursuing us.
May as well make up your mind to the inevitable. Will write to-morrow.'
Is that more than the twenty words for a shilling?"
"We sha'n't grudge the other shilling if it is," the young man said.
"Now you must go on with your cake, Mabyn. I am off to see after the
horses' shoes. Mind, as soon after ten as you can--just where the path
from the wood comes into the main road."
Then she hesitated, and for a minute or two she remained thoughtful and
silent, while he was inwardly hoping that she was not going to draw
back. Suddenly she looked up at him with earnest and anxious eyes. "Oh,
Mr. Trelyon," she said, "this is a very serious thing. You--you will be
kind to our Wenna after she is married to you?"
"You will see, Mabyn," he answered gently.
"You don't know how sensitive she is," she continued, apparently
thinking over all the possibilities of the future in a much graver
fashion than she had done. "If you were unkind to her it would kill her.
Are you quite sure you won't regret it?"
"Yes, I am quite sure of that," said he--"as sure as a man may be. I
don't think you need fear my being unkind to Wenna. Why, what has put
such thoughts into your head?"
"If you were to be cruel to her or indifferent," she said slowly and
absently, "I know that would kill her. But I know more than that: _I
would kill you._"
"Mabyn," he said, quite startled, "whatever has put such thoughts into
your head?"
"Why," she said passionately, "haven't I seen already how a man can
treat her? Haven't I read the insolent letters he has sent her? Haven't
I seen her throw herself on her bed, beside herself with grief?
And--and--these are things I don't forget, Mr. Trelyon. No, I have got a
word to say to Mr. Roscorla yet for his treatment of my sister; and I
will say it. And then--" The proud lips were beginning to quiver.
"Come, come, Mabyn," said Trelyon gently, "don't imagine all men are the
same. And perhaps Roscorla will have been paid out quite sufficiently
when he hears of to-night's work. I sha'n't bear him any malice after
that, I know. Already, I confess, I feel a good deal of compunction as
regards him."
"I don't at all--I don't a bit," said Mabyn, who very quickly recovered
herself whenever Mr. Roscorla's name was mentioned. "If you only can get
her to go away with you, Mr. Trelyon, it will serve him just right.
Indeed, it is on his account that I hope you will be successful. I--I
don't quite like Wenna running away with you, to tell you the truth. I
would rather have her left to a quiet decision, and to a marriage with
everybody approving. But there is no chance of that. This is the only
thing that will save her."
"That is precisely what I said to you," Trelyon said eagerly, for he was
afraid of losing so invaluable an ally.
"And you will be very, very kind to her?"
"I'm not good at fine words, Mabyn. You'll see."
She held out her hand to him and pressed his warmly: "I believe you will
be a good husband to her; and I know you will get the best wife in the
whole world."
She was going away when he suddenly said, "Mabyn!"
She turned.
"Do you know," said he, rather shamefacedly, "how much I am grateful to
you for all your frank, straightforward kindness--and your help--and
your courage?"
"No, no," said the young girl good-humoredly. "You make Wenna happy, and
don't consider me."