WAITING FOR DINNER.
Dinner at Hartledon had been ordered for seven o'clock. It was beyond
that hour when Dr. Ashton arrived, for he had been detained--a
clergyman's time is not always under his own control. Anne and Arthur
were with him, but not Mrs. Ashton. He came in, ready with an apology for
his tardiness, but found he need not offer it; neither Lord Hartledon nor
his brother having yet appeared.
"Hartledon and that boy Carteret have not returned home yet," said the
countess-dowager, in her fiercest tones, for she liked her dinner more
than any other earthly thing, and could not brook being kept waiting for
it. "And when they do come, they'll keep us another half-hour dressing."
"I beg your ladyship's pardon--they have come," interposed Captain
Dawkes. "Carteret was going into his room as I came out of mine."
"Time they were," grumbled the dowager. "They were not in five minutes
ago, for I sent to ask."
"Which of the two won the race?" inquired Lady Maude of Captain Dawkes.
"I don't think Carteret did," he replied, laughing. "He seemed as sulky
as a bear, and growled out that there had been no race, for Hartledon had
played him a trick."
"What did he mean?"
"Goodness knows."
"I hope Hartledon upset him," charitably interrupted the dowager. "A
ducking would do that boy good; he is too forward by half."
There was more waiting. The countess-dowager flounced about in her pink
satin gown; but it did not bring the loiterers any the sooner. Lady
Maude--perverse still, but beautiful--talked in whispers to the hero of
the day, Mr. Shute; wearing a blue-silk robe and a blue wreath in her
hair. Anne, adhering to the colours of Lord Hartledon, though he had been
defeated, was in a rich, glistening white silk, with natural flowers, red
and purple, on its body, and the same in her hair. Her sweet face was
sunny again, her eyes were sparkling: a word dropped by Dr. Ashton had
given her a hope that, perhaps, Percival Elster might be forgiven
sometime.
He was the first of the culprits to make his appearance. The dowager
attacked him of course. What did he mean by keeping dinner waiting?
Val replied that he was late in coming home; he had been out. As to
keeping dinner waiting, it seemed that Lord Hartledon was doing that:
he didn't suppose they'd have waited for him.
He spoke tartly, as if not on good terms with himself or the world. Anne
Ashton, near to whom he had drawn, looked up at him with a charming
smile.
"Things may brighten, Percival," she softly breathed.
"It's to be hoped they will," gloomily returned Val. "They look dark
enough just now."
"What have you done to your face?" she whispered.
"To my face? Nothing that I know of."
"The forehead is red, as if it had been bruised, or slightly grazed."
Val put his hand up to his forehead. "I did feel something when I washed
just now," he remarked slowly, as though doubting whether anything was
wrong or not. "It must have been done--when I--struck against that tree,"
he added, apparently taxing his recollection.
"How was that?"
"I was running in the dusk, and did not notice the branch of a tree in my
way. It's nothing, Anne, and will soon go off."
Mr. Carteret came in, looking just as Val Elster had done--out of sorts.
Questions were showered upon him as to the fate of the race; but the
dowager's voice was heard above all.
"This is a pretty time to make your appearance, sir! Where's Lord
Hartledon?"
"In his room, I suppose. Hartledon never came," he added in sulky tones,
as he turned from her to the rest. "I rowed on, and on, thinking how
nicely I was distancing him, and got down, the mischief knows where.
Miles, nearly, I must have gone."
"But why did you pass the turning-point?" asked one.
"There was no turning-point," returned Mr. Carteret; "some confounded
meddler must have unmoored the boat as soon as the first race was over,
and I, like an idiot, rowed on, looking for it. All at once it came into
my mind what a way I must have gone, and I turned and waited. And might
have waited till now," he added, "for Hart never came."
"Then his arm must have failed him," exclaimed Captain Dawkes. "I thought
it was all wrong."
"It wasn't right, for I soon shot past him," returned young Carteret.
"But Hart knew the spot where the boat ought to have been, though I
didn't; what he did, I suppose, was to clear round it just as though it
had been there, and come in home again. It will be an awful shame if he
takes an unfair advantage of it, and claims the race."
"Hartledon never took an unfair advantage in his life," spoke up Val
Elster, in clear, decisive tones. "You need not be afraid, Carteret.
I dare say his arm failed him."
"Well, he might have hallooed when he found it failing, and not have
suffered me to row all that way for nothing," retorted young Carteret.
"Not a trace could I see of him as I came back; he had hastened home,
I expect, to shut himself up in his room with his damaged arm and foot."
"I'll see what he's doing there," said Val.
He went out; but returned immediately.
"We are all under a mistake," was his greeting. "Hartledon has not
returned yet. His servant is in his room waiting for him."
"Then what do you mean by telling stories?" demanded the
countess-dowager, turning sharply on Mr. Carteret.
"Good Heavens, ma'am! you need not begin upon me!" returned young
Carteret. "I have told no stories. I said Hart let me go on, and never
came on himself; if that's a story, I'll swallow Dawkes's skiff and the
sculls too."
"You said he was in his room. You know you did."
"I said I supposed so. It's usual for a man to go there, I believe, to
get ready for dinner," added young Carteret, always ripe for a wordy war,
in his antipathy to the countess-dowager.
"_You_ said he had come in;" and the angry woman faced round on Captain
Dawkes. "You saw them going into their rooms, you said. Which was it--you
did, or you didn't?"
"I did see Carteret make his appearance; and assumed that Lord Hartledon
had gone on to his room," replied the captain, suppressing a laugh. "I am
sorry to have misled your ladyship. I dare say Hart was about the house
somewhere."
"Then why doesn't he appear?" stormed the dowager. "Pretty behaviour
this, to keep us all waiting dinner. I shall tell him so. Val Elster,
ring for Hedges."
Val rang the bell. "Has Lord Hartledon come in?" he asked, when the
butler appeared.
"No, sir."
"And dinner's spoiling, isn't it, Hedges?" broke in the dowager.
"It won't be any the better for waiting, my lady."
"No. I must exercise my privilege and order it served. At once, Hedges,
do you hear? If Hartledon grumbles, I shall tell him it serves him
right."
"But where can Hartledon be?" cried Captain Dawkes.
"That's what I am wondering," said Val. "He can't be on the river all
this time; Carteret would have seen him in coming home."
A strangely grave shade, looking almost like a prevision of evil, arose
to Dr. Ashton's face. "I trust nothing has happened to him," he
exclaimed. "Where did you part company with him, Mr. Carteret?"
"That's more than I can tell you, sir. You must have seen--at least--no,
you were not there; but those looking on must have seen me get ahead of
him within view of the starting-point; soon after that I lost sight of
him. The river winds, you know; and of course I thought he was coming on
behind me. Very daft of me, not to divine that the boat had been
removed!"
"Do you think he passed the mill?"
"The mill?"
"That place where the river forms what might almost be called a miniature
harbour. A mill is built there which the stream serves. You could not
fail to see it."
"I remember now. Yes, I saw the mill. What of it?"
"Did Lord Hartledon pass it?"
"How should I know!" cried the boy. "I had lost sight of him ages before
that."
"The current is extremely rapid there," observed Dr. Ashton. "If he found
his arm failing, he might strike down to the mill and land there; and his
ankle may be keeping him a prisoner."
"And that's what it is!" exclaimed Val.
They were crossing the hall to the dining-room. Without the slightest
ceremony, the countess-dowager pushed herself foremost and advanced to
the head of the table.
"I shall occupy this seat in my nephew's absence," said she. "Dr. Ashton,
will you be so good as to take the foot? There's no one else."
"Nay, madam; though Lord Hartledon may not be here, Mr. Elster is."
She had actually forgotten Val; and would have liked to ignore him now
that he was recalled to remembrance; but that might not be. As much
contempt as could be expressed in her face was there, as she turned her
snub nose and small round eyes defiantly upon that unoffending younger
brother.
"I was going to request you to take it, sir," said Percival, in low
tones, to Dr. Ashton. "I shall go off in the pony-carriage for Edward.
He must think we are neglecting him."
"Very well. I hate these rowing matches," heartily added the Rector.
"What a curious old fish that parson must be!" ejaculated young Carteret
to his next neighbour. "He says he doesn't like boating."
It happened to be Arthur Ashton, and the lad's brow lowered. "You are
speaking of my father," he said. "But I'll tell you why he does not like
it. He had a brother once, a good deal older than himself; they had no
father, and Arthur--that was the elder--was very fond of him: there were
only those two. He took him out in a boat one day, and there was an
accident: the eldest was drowned, the little one saved. Do you wonder
that my father has dreaded boating ever since? He seems to have the same
sort of dread of it that a child who has been frightened by its nurse has
of the dark."
"By Jove! that was a go, though!" was the sympathising comment of Mr.
Carteret.
The doctor said grace, and dinner proceeded. It was not half over when
Mr. Elster came in, in his light overcoat. Walking straight up to the
table, he stood by it, his face wearing a blank, perplexed look. A
momentary silence of expectation, and then many tongues spoke together.
"Where's your brother? Where's Lord Hartledon? Has he not come?"
"I don't know where he is," answered Val. "I was in hopes he had reached
home before me, but I find he has not. I can't make it out at all."
"Did he land at the mill?" asked Dr. Ashton.
"Yes, he must have done so, for the skiff is moored there."
"Then he's all right," cried the doctor; and there was a strangely-marked
sound of relief in his tones.
"Oh, he is all right," confidently asserted Percival. "The only question
is, where he can be. The miller was out this afternoon, and left his
place locked up; so that Hartledon could not get in, and had nothing for
it but to start home with his lameness, or sit down on the bank until
some one found him."
"He must have set off to walk."
"I should think so. But where has he walked to?" added Val. "I drove
slowly home, looking on either side of the road, but could see nothing of
him."
"What should bring him on the side of the road?" demanded the dowager.
"Do you think he would turn tramp, and take his seat on a heap of stones?
Where do you get your ideas from?"
"From common sense, ma'am. If he set out to walk, and his foot failed him
half-way, there'd be nothing for it but to sit down and wait. But he is
_not_ on the road: that is the curious part of the business."
"Would he come the other way?"
"Hardly. It is so much further by the river than by the road."
"You may depend upon it that is what he has done," said Dr. Ashton. "He
might think he should meet some of you that way, and get an arm to help
him."
"I declare I never thought of that," exclaimed Val, his face brightening.
"There he is, no doubt; perched somewhere between this and the mill, like
patience on a monument, unable to put foot to the ground."
He turned away. Some of the men offered to accompany him: but he declined
their help, and begged them to go on with their dinner, saying he would
take sufficient servants with him, even though they had to carry
Hartledon.
So Mr. Elster went, taking servants and lanterns; for in some parts of
this road the trees overhung, and rendered it dark. But they could not
find Lord Hartledon. They searched, and shouted, and waved their
lanterns: all in vain. Very much perplexed indeed did Val Elster look
when he got back again.
"Where in the world can he have gone to?" angrily questioned the
countess-dowager; and she glared from her seat at the head of the table
on the offender Val, as she asked it. "I must say all this is most
unseemly, and Hartledon ought to be brought to his senses for causing it.
I suppose he has taken himself off to a surgeon's."
It was possible, but unlikely, as none knew better than Val Elster. To
get to the surgeon's he would have to pass his own house, and would be
more likely to go in, and send for Mr. Hillary, than walk on with a
disabled foot. Besides, if he had gone to the surgeon's, he would not
stay there all this time. "I don't know what to do," said Percival
Elster; and there was the same blank, perplexed look on his face that was
observed the first time he came in. "I don't much like the appearance of
things."
"Why, you don't think anything's wrong with him!" exclaimed young
Carteret, starting-up with an alarmed face. "He's safe to turn up, isn't
he?"
"Of course he will turn up," answered Val, in a dreamy tone. "Only this
uncertainty, as to where to look for him, is not pleasant."
Dr. Ashton motioned Val to his side. "Are you fearing an accident?" he
asked in low tones.
"No, sir."
"I am. That current by the mill is so fearfully strong; and if your
brother had not the use of his one arm--and the boat was drawn onwards,
beyond his control--and upset--"
Dr. Ashton paused. Val Elster looked rather surprised.
"How could it upset, sir? The skiffs are as safe as this floor. I don't
fear that in the least: what I do fear is that Edward may be in some
out-of-the-way nook, insensible from pain, and won't be found until
daylight. Fancy, a whole night out of doors, in that state! He might be
half-dead with cold by the morning."
Dr. Ashton shook his head in dissent. His dislike of boating seemed just
now to be rising into horror.
"What are you going to do now, Elster?" inquired Captain Dawkes.
"Go to the mill again, I think, and find out if any one saw Hartledon
leave the skiff, and which way he took. One of the servants can run down
to Hillary's the while."
Dr. Ashton rose, bowing for permission to Lady Kirton; and the gentlemen
with one accord rose with him, the same purpose in the mind of all--that
of more effectually scouring the ground between the mill and Hartledon.
The countess-dowager felt that she should like to box the ears of every
one of them. The idea of danger in connection with Lord Hartledon had
not yet penetrated to her brain.
At this moment, before they had left the room, there arose a strange wild
sound from without--almost an unearthly sound--that seemed to come from
several voices, and to be bearing round the house from the river-path.
Mrs. O'Moore put down her knife and fork, and rose up with a startled
cry.
"There's nothing to be alarmed at," said the dowager. "It is those Irish
harvesters. I know their horrid voices, and dare say they are riotously
drunk. Hartledon ought to put them in prison for it."
The sounds died away into silence. Mrs. O'Moore took her hands from her
eyes, where they had been pressed. "Don't you know what it is, Lady
Kirton? It is the Irish death-wail!"
It rose again, louder than before, for those from whom it came were
nearing the house--a horribly wailing sound, ringing out in the silence
of the night. Mrs. O'Moore crouched into her chair again, and hid her
terrified face. She was not Irish, and had never heard that sound but
once, and that was when her child died.
"She is right," cried her husband, the O'Moore; "that is the death-wail.
Hark! it is for a chieftain; they mourn the loss of one high in the land.
And--they are coming here! Oh, Elster! can DEATH have overtaken your
brother?"
The gentlemen had stood spell-bound, listening to the sound, their faces
a mixture of surprise and credulity. At the words they rushed out with
one accord, and the women stole after them with trembling steps and
blanched lips.
"If ever I saw such behaviour in all my existence!" irascibly spoke the
countess-dowager, who was left alone in her glory. "The death-wail,
indeed! The woman's a fool. I'll get those Irishmen transported, if
I can."
In the hall the servants were gathered, cowering almost as the ladies
did. Their master had flown down the hall-steps, and the labourers were
coming steadily up to it, bearing something in procession. Dr. Ashton
came back as quickly as he had gone out, extending his arms before him.
"Ladies, I pray you go in," he urged, in strange agitation. "You must not
meet these--these Irishmen. Go back to the dining-room, I entreat you,
and remain in it."
But the curiosity of women--who can suppress it? They were as though they
heard not, and were pressing on to the door, when Val Elster dashed in
with a white face.
"Back, all of you! You must not stay here. This is no place or sight for
you. Anne," he added, seizing Miss Ashton's hand in peremptory entreaty,
"you at least know how to be calm. Get them away, and keep them out of
the hall."
"Tell me the worst," she implored. "I will indeed try to be calm. Who is
it those men are bringing here?"
"My dear brother--my dead brother. Madam," he continued to the
countess-dowager, who had now come out, dinner-napkin in hand, her curls
all awry, "you must not come here. Go back to the dining-room, all of
you."
"Not come here! Go back to the dining-room!" echoed the outraged dowager.
"Don't take quite so much upon yourself, Val Elster. The house is Lord
Hartledon's, and I am a free agent in it."
A shriek--an agonized shriek--broke from Lady Maude. In her suspense she
had stolen out unperceived, and lifted the covering of the rude bier, now
resting on the steps. The rays of the hall-lamp fell on the face, and
Maude, in her anguish, with a succession of hysterical sobs, came
shivering back to sink down at her mother's feet.
"Oh, my love--my love! Dead! dead!"
The only one who heard the words was Anne Ashton. The countess-dowager
caught the last.
"Who is dead? What is this mystery?" she asked, unceremoniously lifting
her satin dress, with the intention of going out to see, and her head
began to nod--perhaps with apprehension--as if she had the palsy. "You
want to force us away. No, thank you; not until I've come to the bottom
of this."
"Let us tell them," cried young Carteret, in his boyish impulse, "and
then perhaps they will go. An accident has happened to Lord Hartledon,
ma'am, and these men have brought him home."
"He--_he's_ not dead?" asked the old woman, in changed tones.
Alas! poor Lord Hartledon was indeed dead. The Irish labourers, in
passing near the mill, had detected the body in the water; rescued it,
and brought it home.
The countess-dowager's grief commenced rather turbulently. She talked and
shrieked, and danced round, exactly as if she had been a wild Indian. It
was so intensely ludicrous, that the occupants of the hall gazed in
silence.
"Here to-day, and gone to-morrow!" she sobbed. "Oh--o--o--o--o--o--oh!"
"Nay," cried young Carteret, "here to-day, and gone _now_. Poor fellow!
it is awful."
"And you have done it!" she cried, turning her grief upon the astonished
boy. "You! What business had you to allure him off again in that
miserable boat, once he had got home?"
"Don't trample me down, please," he indignantly returned; "I am as cut up
as you can be. Hedges, hadn't you better get Lady Kirton's maid here? I
think she is going mad."
"And now the house is without a master," she bemoaned, returning to her
own griefs and troubles, "and I have all the arrangements thrown upon
myself."
"The house is not without a master," said young Carteret, who seemed
inclined to have the last word. "If one master has gone from it, poor
fellow! there's another to replace him; and he is at your elbow now."
He at her elbow was Val Elster. Lady Kirton gathered in the sense of the
words, and gave a cry; a prolonged cry of absolute dismay.
"_He_ can't be its master."
"I should say he _is_, ma'am. At any rate he is now Lord Hartledon."
She looked from one to the other in helpless doubt. It was a contingency
that had never so much as occurred to her. Had she wanted confirmation,
the next moment brought it to her from the lips of the butler.
"Hedges," called out Percival sternly, in his embarrassment and grief,
"open the dining-room door. We _must_ get the hall cleared."
"The door is open, my lord."
"_He_ Lord Hartledon!" shrieked the countess-dowager, "why, I was going
to recommend his brother to ship him off to Canada for life."
It was altogether an unseemly scene at such a time. But almost everything
the Countess-Dowager of Kirton did was unseemly.