FLY-AWAY.
Daisy, in her way, without being in the least intellectual, and without
having the smallest taste for the great and ennobling things of life,
was neverless clever. She had the artfulness of the crooked mind,
and she could carry out her designs with exactitude and promptness.
She pretended to be frightened, but neither she nor Henny knew what
fear was. Henny was, in some ways, the better character--that is, if
stupidity could be called good. She could hate with great vigour; she
never dreamt of love unless, indeed, she loved Daisy. She liked to
listen to Daisy's designs, which were always mischievous and wicked,
but she could not carry them out herself, although she would be
faithful to her sister to the last drop of her blood.
Daisy was the only person who really belonged to her. She had therefore
a certain passion for this queer, crabbed nature. Therefore, she was
led by Daisy, who told her that she must pretend to be fond of father,
and she did pretend. She would have flirted with Dominic if he had
allowed her, but Dominic knew how to keep her at a distance. Try as
she might, try as she would, she could not bridge the gulf which stood
between her and him. That gulf also extended itself between Dominic
and Daisy. The fact was that he was an exceedingly sharp lad; he read
their characters aright and, as far as lay in his power, protected his
dear little cousin Maureen and his sweet baby sister Kitty from their
machinations. But even Dominic could not guess what was passing through
Daisy's mind on that special evening. He only noticed that she was in
particularly good spirits, that she and Henrietta laughed and joked and
whispered, and presently that they became suddenly quiet and sat one
at each side of the Rector on the old Chesterfield sofa. They petted
the Rector a good deal, calling him "father" and "dear father" and
"dearest dad" and "ownest duck," and the poor Rector endured their most
unwelcome embraces and their silly words until finally, in despair, he
asked Maureen to sing for him.
Maureen sat down to the upright Broadwood and sang that most haunting
of all melodies:
"Rich and rare were the gems she wore
And a bright gold ring on her hand she bore;
But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems and snow-white hand.
"'Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,
So lone and lovely thro' this bleak way,
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold
As not to be tempted by woman or gold?'
"'Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm;--
For tho' they love woman and golden store,
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more.'
"On she went and her maiden smile
In safety carried her round the green isle;
And blest forever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride."
The girl's sweet, clear voice ceased. It died away in a soft wave of
most exquisite melody; her brown eyes were full of tears. She raised
them to Dominic's face; he was astonished at those rare tears. He had,
oh! so seldom, seen Maureen cry.
The boy bent towards her with all the true chivalry of a true Irish
knight and gentleman. "What is it, mavourneen?" he whispered.
"It is only that I am glad, oh! so glad, that my father was an Irish
gentleman and soldier," she replied, in a voice as low as his.
By this time the conspirators, as they called themselves, had left the
room.
"There, you saw for yourself," said Henny. "Did you ever come across
such affectation?"
"Never," said Daisy; "never!"
"I'm ready for anything now," said Henny.
"Well," said Daisy. "I think everything is complete. Garry always locks
the stable door at ten o'clock. He sleeps exactly overhead. I do hate
that Garry."
"Well, go on, Daisy. Don't mind about your hates now!"
Daisy laughed spitefully.
"It is at the present moment," she said, "exactly a quarter to ten. I
unlatched one of the windows in the stable to-day, and I secured a dark
lantern, and I want you to come out with me and help to push me through
the window. It is easily done, and I can fasten it, or push it to at
least, when I come out again. I'll crouch in a dark corner, and when
I know Garry has gone to bed I'll light the dark lantern and measure
the drops of laudanum. I have brought mumsie's measuring glass and the
bottle, and I stole the dark lantern to-day when I knew no one was
looking. Then when Fly-away is eating his hot mash, I'll pour in the
laudanum, _eighteen_ drops. I'll give him his quietus, don't you fear!"
"Daisy, you are _not_ to kill him!"
"Henny-penny, don't be such a fool. Of course I won't kill him; is
it likely? You leave everything to your clever little sister, and by
to-morrow morning we'll have that sweet 'Rich and rare' roaring and
squealing and kicking her heels in the drawing-room; and then we must
both pet her like anything and sympathise like anything. The horse will
recover, of course, but he'll be bad for a bit. That's all. Didn't Miss
Duncom tell me about the safe dose. I'm no fool. Only do come along!"
The girls slipped down the back-stairs and out into the yard. They were
wearing dark cloaks, which completely covered their white dresses,
and Daisy had her lantern, medicine glass, and bottle of laudanum all
safely stowed away under her cloak. It was nearly ten o'clock. She
hadn't a minute to spare. Making a desperate effort with the aid of
Henny from behind, she pushed her way into the stable where the Arab
neighed a trifle uneasily.
"I'm all right," she whispered to her sister. "The only thing is
that I have broken the medicine glass. Well, I can easily guess the
drops--sixteen. You get off to the house, Henny, or you'll be caught."
Henny scampered away, her heart palpitating with uneasiness. She saw
a light under the drawing-room door as she sped by. The family had
evidently not yet gone to bed. The Rector was reading some lovely
poetry aloud, and Dominic and Maureen were listening. The Rector could
read poetry like no man in the county. He was now delighting his young
listeners with the "Prisoner of Chillon." His voice rose and swelled.
Dominic stood up in a sort of rapture. As the pathos grew Maureen hid
her little pale face against her uncle's sleeve. Whatever happened, she
could not cry a second time that evening.
Meanwhile Daisy settled herself as comfortably as she could in the
darkest corner of the stable. There was Fly-away's loose box close to
her and a great bundle of hay for him to eat if he felt hungry. But he
was a horse of perfectly regulated habits, and he invariably waited for
his hot mash at ten o'clock.
The stable clock struck the hour, solemnly in great strokes. Fly-away
pricked up his small ears. There came a sound outside--a man's step on
the cobble-stones, then Garry entered with the mash, hot and delicious.
He placed it just before the animal, stroked him affectionately on
his black head and silky, satin-like sides, and said: "Good-night to
ye, Fly-away. Slape well, my blessing." And then he left the stable,
locking the door behind him.
Garry had intended to go into the kitchen for a bit, to have a chat
with Pegeen and Burke, with both of whom he was a prime favourite, but
something prompted him not to do it that night. He could not quite tell
why. He said to himself afterwards that "he was sort of onaisy in his
mind." He went up therefore at once to his bedroom and was preparing to
go to rest when he saw something very peculiar and uncanny. It was no
less than a streak of light, thin and like a shaft, which penetrated up
through the beams of the roof of the stable and entered his room.
"May the Almighty presarve us," muttered the man. "Is it the pixies are
about or what?"
He had not begun to undress. In a moment he had rushed down his
step-ladder, and, going to the stable-door, unlocked it. Yes, he was
in time--but only just in time. He saw a sight which he never forgot
as long as he lived. He saw a girl with flaxen hair lit up to a very
pale gold by means of the lantern. She was hastily uncorking a bottle
of laudanum. She was so absorbed in her task, so much afraid of being
interrupted and of not getting the deed done before Fly-away had
finished his mash that a reckless spirit came over her.
She could not possibly wait to drop the laudanum into the mash, for the
horse was eating rapidly and hungrily. Laying her dark lantern on the
ground, she rushed into the loose box and dashed what she considered
would be sixteen drops but what was in reality much more like three
times that number, into the mash. Then with her dainty finger she
stirred it round and round.
The horse, interrupted in his feed for the moment, was beginning to
resume it when, like a flash, Garry took the basin that contained
the hot mash, and put it outside on the cobble-stones, taking care,
however, not to spill its contents. He then secured the girl's hand,
the bottle of laudanum, which was really almost empty, and the dark
lantern, and saying: "You come along o' me this minute!" he dragged the
reluctant, terrified Daisy out of the place.
"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it!" she began to sob. "I was only
going to give him a few drops. I wouldn't kill him for the world, nor
would Henny. I wouldn't indeed! Oh, please, please, Garry, let me off;
he hasn't touched one drop."
But Garry, though an Irishman, could on occasion be mute as though he
was turned into stone. This was one of those occasions. The Rector had
finished the "Prisoner of Chillon" and was repeating, as only he knew
how,
"Hame, hame, hame, O hame fain wad I be.
Oh, hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree!"
The two children were standing before him spell-bound with the ecstasy
which his recitations of poetry always gave them. Suddenly in the
brightly-lighted room there appeared Garry the groom, accompanied by a
shrunken-up sort of girl, who was too much afraid to speak or look at
any one. She would have rushed to the Rector for refuge, calling him
father, dear father, but Garry had clutched her by her shoulder.
"You stay here," he said. "I ha' got a story to tell. We near lost the
horse; but for the Providence above, we'd ha' done it!"
"What horse?" said Maureen, turning ghastly.
"Your horse, miss--dear, darlin' Fly-away! I don't know what was over
me. I took him his mash as usual, and he began to gobble it up hungry
as ye plaze, and his coat never looked blacker or more like satin.
Well, to be sure, I was satisfied enough with him, and I locked the
stable-door as usual. But it was the Holy Vargin I think--I do believe
it was--for I meant to go as usual to have a bit of a gossip with
Pegeen and Burke, but somehow, your Riverence and Miss Maureen, I felt
mighty quare, and sort of _onaisy_ in me mind, so I went up to bed; and
my room is just over the horse's loose box, as ye know, sir. Well,
that room was made somewhat in a hurry when the Colonel gave the horse
to Miss Maureen, and the planks weren't to say rightly jined--that is,
on the floor, I mean, y'Riverence--and what should I see when about
to lay meself on me bed, but a sthrake of light, sharp and clear and
werry narrer coming up direct from below. Me heart it leeped into me
mouth, and I was down in no time at all, and I unlocked the door, and
the sight that met me----Oh, may I never see a worse! There was this
colleen pouring something out of a bottle into the mash, and the horse
he was just bending his head to go on with his supper, and she, with
her delicate fingers stirrin' the stuff round and round in the mash.
It war then I cotched hold of her. First I lifted the mash and put it
outside, and here's what she was giving to the horse, y'Riverence.
She can't go for to deny it, for she did it herself. She had a dark
lantern--one that belongs to the place, y'Riverence. Oh, my word, but I
have saved my beauty, and don't you fret, colleen asthore, for I'll get
a fresh mash in a clean dish and lay meself down alongside o' Fly-away
for the whole of this blessed night. Good evening to you, sir. Good
evening, colleen asthore. Masther Dominic, perhaps I might have a word
with yez."
Dominic followed the honest fellow out of the room.
"Garry," he said, "is it possible she could be so wicked?"
"I tol't what I seen," said Garry. "I can't tel't no more. Oh, my word,
my word. I'm all trimbling-like!"
"Garry, you are a right down splendid fellow. I'm going to give you a
hot tumbler of punch, for well you deserve it. The horse is safe now."
"I left the bottle with the masther," continued Garry. "I wonder what
was in it, that I do."
But the master and Maureen had read the words on the bottle: "Laudanum.
POISON. Not to be taken internally."
Daisy stood sobbing before them. In her fright and Garry's sudden
appearance she had emptied the greater part of the bottle into the
mash. There was very little of it left.
"Maureen, my darling, will you go to bed?" said her uncle.
"Must I?" said Maureen.
"I would rather, dearest. I will come to you presently to your room.
Your horse is safe, thanks to that good Garry."
The child went away, but she had a queer new sort of look on her face,
a look she had never worn before, that no one had ever seen on the
sweet face of Maureen. As she passed Daisy, she stopped for a minute,
and forced the girl's small, terrified eyes to look at her.
"Do you know," said Maureen, "that for the first time in all my life I
understand what _hatred_ is? I--HATE--YOU!"
She left the room without another word. Daisy shivered. In the moment
of getting her desire--for had she not longed for Maureen to hate
her?--she found it like ashes, and worse than ashes, in her mouth. She
still stood in front of the Rector with her eyes down, her freckled,
colourless face very pale, only the freckles stood out and made a sort
of ghastly relief to the awful pallor.
"Daisy, come here!" said the Rector.
Daisy approached very timidly, one step at a time. She walked
delicately, as Agag of old.
"Daisy, will you explain this to me?"
"Will you listen to me, father?"
"Yes, I am here. I am prepared to listen. But first, I have something
to say before you begin your story. I do not wish you or Henrietta ever
again to call me _father_. I am _not_ your father. Your father was a
different sort of man. I married your mother, but during her lifetime
I never once saw you. You came here, you and Henrietta, and turned
this happy home into Bedlam. You shall address me, whenever you have
occasion to in the future, as _Mister_ O'Brien. You understand?"
"Ye-es. _She_ said she hated me, and she _looked_--_oh_, how she
looked!"
"Can you wonder? Aren't you amazed at her forbearance? Do you know that
this is laudanum?"
He held up the little bottle.
"I happened to see a bottle of laudanum in my room a few days ago and
meant to throw it away. My wife, your poor mother, often suffered from
rheumatic pains and she used to like to rub the affected parts with a
strong opiate. I did not approve the plan. Now please tell me how you
came by this bottle."
"I went into your room when you were out and stole it."
"Then you deliberately meant to kill Maureen's lovely horse, that
creature of life and fire? Could you do it, could you?"
"I did not mean to kill him. Henrietta was in the plan, too, and
she--she said the horse mustn't be killed. I only meant to make him
very, very sick."
"But why?"
"Because I hated Maureen."
"Ah, well," said Mr. O'Brien, "you have spoken the truth at last. Now
understand me clearly--understand me fully. You and your sister go
with me to-morrow to Jane Faithful's. I will arrange with her--I will
tell her exactly what you are both like. Your sister is bad, but you
are fifty times worse. You and Henrietta and I will leave for Jane
Faithful's school by an early train to-morrow. You hated Maureen, the
gentlest, the sweetest little girl in the world. Why have you been
so cruel to her? Has she not tried by every power, every endeavour
to love you--to be good to you; and yet you deliberately turned her
young life into a living hell. You tried to ruin her piano. Did she
answer you back? No. She only did what she could to have the noble
instrument preserved. She asked Colonel Herbert to take care of it for
the present. He asked in astonishment for her reason, but she would
not give him any. Yes--you hated Maureen--you have said the words. You
said also that you did not mean to kill the horse, but you put enough
laudanum into his mash to kill several horses. Your word therefore goes
for nothing.
"Perhaps you understand now what _hatred_ to _you_ feels like. I can
well imagine that Maureen's hatred, when at last it is aroused, will be
a very terrible thing; something like the hatred of an angry God. Come
up with me at once to your room and your sister's room. I shall ask her
if she was aware of what you were about to do. I think she will tell
me the truth. Afterwards I will lock you both up in your bedroom. Your
breakfast will be sent to you at an early hour. You had better pack
to-night. You will both stay in that room until I myself come to fetch
you in the morning. I will send Jane Faithful a wire to expect us.
Come, Daisy--no screaming, please. Come at once."
The Rector hardly touched the little cold hand, but the miserable girl
followed him as meek as a mouse.
When they reached the dismal, untidy room Mr. O'Brien put his question
to Henrietta. She replied that she knew all about it, but had implored
Daisy not to use enough of the medicine to kill the horse.
"That is enough," said the Rector. He locked the door and went away.
The two girls were locked into the ugly north bedroom, and then
and there Daisy screamed and shrieked to her heart's delight, and
Henny-penny bent over her and finally dashed cold water on her head,
and so brought her to her senses.
"You little fool," she said. "I _knew_ you'd make mischief. A nice time
we have before us. Well, at least we can run away."
"Yes, we can run away. Oh, Henny, love me! It was awful when _she_ said
she hated me. She said it with such strange, strong power. Oh, Henny,
I'm afraid of her now."
"Get into bed, gosling, and I'll lie down by your side. No, I don't
quite hate you, but I think you are a poor sort. We can run away from
that female, who I imagine keeps a school; but for the time being we
must pretend to submit."
Meanwhile, the Rector went down to Maureen. She was standing icy-cold
by her window. She had not attempted to undress. There was the same
strange new look in her eyes.
"I don't want to hear the story, uncle," she said. "I'm too wicked,
wicked. I _hate_--I _hate_--I _hate_!"
"My child--my darling. Come and get into my arms."
"No, I couldn't--I couldn't, not while I feel as I do now. Oh, Uncle
Pat, Satan got into me when I said I HATE, and he's in me still."
The Rector saw that the child was terribly excited. He himself helped
her to undress and made her lie down in her little bed, and gave her a
certain soothing draught which he knew would be good for her and would
make her sleep and forget her troubles.
All the time while she was dropping to sleep the Rector was holding her
hand, and all that long time he prayed very hard. He prayed that the
evil spirit might leave the sweetest nature in the world and that the
good spirit of all perfection might return.
At last the child slept, and then Mr. O'Brien went and had a long talk
with Dominic. He told him what his plans were, and put Maureen into his
care whilst he was absent. He suggested that the Colonel and the Doctor
might be sent for if necessary.
"She has got a frightful shock," he said; "a frightful shock."
"I'll manage her, dad," said Dominic; but the first streaks of the
summer morning were illuminating the sky before the boy and his father
lay down to sleep.