THE RIDE HOME
Sir Giles was in a decidedly evil temper as he rode home from the hunt in
the soaking rain that afternoon. The second fox had led them miles out of
the way, and they had not been rewarded by a kill. The brute had eluded
them, profiting by the downpour that had washed away the scent. So Sir
Giles, having solaced himself several times with neat brandy from the
large silver flask without which he never rode abroad, was in anything
but a contented mood with the world in general and his own luck in
particular. Dusk had long descended when at length he turned in at his
own gates. He had given up urging his jaded animal, being too jaded
himself for the effort. But, hearing a clatter of hoofs on the drive
before him, he did rouse himself to holler into the darkness, supposing
that his wife was ahead of him. If it were she, she was later in
returning than was her wont, but no answer came back to him, and he did
not repeat his call. After all, why should he hail her? He did not want
her company, Heaven knew. That stately demeanour of hers which once had
attracted him generally inspired in him a savage sense of resentment
nowadays. There were times when he even suspected her of despising
him--him, the lord of the Manor, who had given her all she possessed in
the world!
He swore a furious oath under his breath as he rode. The darkness ahead
of him was all pricked by tiny red sparks, that glanced and flashed like
fireflies whichever way he looked. He rubbed his eyes and they departed,
only to swarm again a little farther on. The rain had soaked him to the
skin. He shivered and swore again as he fumbled for his flask.
The fiery gleams faded wholly away as the raw spirit warmed his blood and
revived his brain. He drew a breath of relief. Again he heard the sound
of a horse's feet some distance in front. They seemed to fall unevenly,
as though the animal were lame. Could it be the grey, he asked himself?
If so, why had Anne not answered his call? She must have heard him. He
ground his teeth. It was like her habitual impudence to ignore him thus.
He gathered himself together and sent a furious bellow into the darkness.
But there came back no reply. The hoofs ahead seemed to quicken into a
shambling trot, that was all. And after a little he heard them no more.
She had reached the house then, and gone within into light and comfort,
and again feverishly he execrated her for not waiting for him, the cold
and the rain and the dark notwithstanding. Again fitfully he began to
see those leaping points of light; but it was only here and there.
Whenever he focussed his attention upon them they eluded him. For these
also he held his wife in some fashion responsible. What did she mean by
leaving him thus? How dared she enter the house that was his while he
was still groping without? He believed that she would shut his own door
against him if she dared. He was sure she hated him, as he hated her--as
he hated her!
And then--suddenly a strange thing happened. Suddenly, clear-cut as a
cameo before his fevered vision, there arose against the dripping
darkness his wife's face. Pale and pure as the face of a saint, it shone
before him like a star. There was no reproach in the level eyes; there
was no contempt. But they looked through him, they looked beyond him, and
saw him not.
A violent tremor went through him, a nameless, unspeakable dread. The
curses died upon his lips. He stared and stared again.
And while he stared, the vision faded before his eyes into nothingness.
He was alone once more in the darkness and the drenching rain; alone with
a little gibing voice that seemed to come from within and yet was surely
the voice of a devil jeering a devil's tattoo in time to his horse's
hoof-beats, telling him he was mad, mad, mad!
Three minutes later he rode heavily into his own stable-yard.
A group of servants scattered dumbly before him as he appeared. The glare
of lights dazzled him, but he fancied they looked at him strangely. He
flung an oath at the groom who stepped forward to take his horse.
"What are you staring at? What's the matter?"
The man murmured something unintelligible.
Sir Giles dismounted and scowled around. His limbs were stiff and not
over steady.
"What's the matter with you all?" he growled. "You look like a crowd of
death's heads. Hullo! What's this?"
He had caught sight of something he had not seen before, something that
sent him striding furiously forward. For there in the centre of the
yard, standing huddled on three legs, was the grey horse his wife had
ridden. Limp and draggled, plastered with mud and foam, with a great
streaming gash on the shoulder, and head hanging down in utter
exhaustion, stood the grey.
"What's this?" demanded Sir Giles again. "Where's her ladyship?"
A shudder seemed to run through the assembled men. There was a moment's
silence. Then old Dimsdale, the butler, who was standing in the doorway
that led to the servants' quarters, stumped forward and made reply.
"The animal's come home alone, Sir Giles."
"What?" thundered his master.
The old man faced him with respectful firmness. No one had ever seen
Dimsdale agitated.
"As I said, Sir Giles," he answered, with a certain deferential
obstinacy. "The animal's come back alone."
"Only just come in, sir," chimed in a groom. "We was just beginning to
wonder when he came limping in in this state. Looks as if her ladyship
had met with a accident."
Sir Giles rounded upon him with a violence that brought his surmisings to
an abrupt end. Then, having worked off the first heat of his fury, he
turned again to Dimsdale.
"What the devil is to be done? I never saw her after the first kill."
"And where might that be, Sir Giles?" questioned Dimsdale.
"Up Baronmead way. It was hours ago."
Dimsdale considered. "Shall we send and make inquiries at Baronmead,
Sir Giles?"
"No, I'm damned if I do!" said Sir Giles.
Dimsdale considered again. "Was her ladyship riding with anyone in
particular?" he asked next.
"No, I don't think so. Stay! I believe I saw that Errol bounder talking
to her--the one who was here the other day. But I forget when.
Anyhow"--his voice rising again--"I won't have any traffic with them.
I've said I won't, and I won't!"
Dimsdale grunted. "Seems to me the only thing to do, Sir Giles. You can't
leave her lady ship to die under a hedge maybe, and not do anything to
find her."
He spoke very deliberately, looking straight into his master's bloodshot
eyes as he did so.
"It wouldn't be hardly right, Sir Giles," he pointed out gravely. "It's
likely that young Mr. Errol will be able to give us a clue, and we can't
leave any stone unturned, being such a serious matter. I'll send on my
own responsibility if you like, Sir Giles. But send we must."
The bystanders glanced uneasily at one another in the silence that
followed this bold speech. The old butler's temerity was unheard of. Not
one among them would have dared thus to withstand the master to his face.
They waited, nervously expectant, for the vials of wrath to descend.
Old Dimsdale waited too, still firmly watching Sir Giles. If he felt any
anxiety on his own account, however, it was not apparent. Nor did he
display any relief when the unpleasant tension passed and Sir Giles with
a shrug turned away from him.
"Oh, go your own way, and be damned to you! I don't care what you do.
Don't stand gaping there, you fools! Get to your work! Better send for
the vet. Can't afford to have a valuable animal spoilt. Dimsdale, take
some brandy and hot water up to my room at once, before you do anything
else. Do you hear?"
And with that he tramped within, leaving an atmosphere of mingled relief
and indignation behind him.
But if his words were callous, the soul of the man was far from easy as
he mounted to his room. He flung himself into the nearest chair when he
arrived there and sat with eyes fixed sullenly before him. He ought to go
in search of her, of course, but he was powerless. His brain was a
smouldering furnace in which anxiety and anger strove luridly for the
mastery. But through it all he sat there torpidly staring. His body felt
as though it were weighted with leaden fetters.
He heard a step in the passage, but did not turn his head. Someone
knocked discreetly. He heard, but he took no notice. The door opened
softly, and old Dimsdale entered.
"We have news, Sir Giles."
Sir Giles neither looked at him nor spoke. He continued to glare heavily
into space.
Dimsdale paused beside him. "A messenger has just come from Baronmead in
their motor, Sir Giles," he said, speaking very distinctly. "Her ladyship
has had a fall, and has been taken there. Mr. Errol begs that you will go
back in the motor, as her ladyship's condition is considered serious."
He stopped. Sir Giles said nothing whatever.
"The messenger is waiting, Sir Giles."
Still no response of any sort.
Dimsdale waited a moment, then very respectfully he bent and touched his
master's shoulder.
"Sir Giles!"
Sir Giles turned slowly at last, with immense effort it seemed. He
glowered at Dimsdale for a space. Then, "Bring some brandy and water," he
said, "hot!"
"But the messenger, Sir Giles!"
"What?" Sir Giles glared a moment longer, then as anger came uppermost,
the smouldering furnace leapt into sudden seething flame. "Tell him to go
to the devil!" he thundered. "And when you've done that, bring me some
brandy and water--hot!"
As Dimsdale departed upon his double errand he dropped back into his
former position, staring dully before him, under scowling brows.
When Dimsdale returned he was sunk in the chair asleep.