QUICKSANDS
Quicksands
By
B. M. CROKER
Author of “The Cat’s Paw,” etc.
[Illustration]
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
1. THE BRIDGE OF DREAMS 1
2. BEKE 13
3. A MEETING ON THE MARSHES 24
4. A DANCE AT “THE PLOUGH” 31
5. THE GREAT INVASION 45
6. IN AUNT MINA’S SHOES 61
7. THE FAMILY SKELETON 79
8. “AN OPEN DOOR” 85
9. OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN 100
10. THE “ASPHODEL” 107
11. A HILL STATION 119
12. THE NOTORIOUS MRS. DE LACY 137
13. A FRESH START 148
14. THE CLUB 157
15. A RENEWED FRIENDSHIP 170
16. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 185
17. A COMPROMISE 195
18. THE RESIDENCY BALL 203
19. “YES--OR NO?” 221
20. CLOUDS 229
21. RONNIE’S CONFESSION 242
22. PUNISHMENT 253
23. A HAVEN 266
24. THE FLIGHT 279
25. AT BANGALORE 288
26. WITHIN THE PRECINCTS 296
27. DARK DAYS 310
28. HYDER ALI’S GARDEN 326
29. THE ORDER OF RELEASE 335
QUICKSANDS
CHAPTER I
THE BRIDGE OF DREAMS
One sultry September afternoon, some years ago, my brother Ronald
and I, being tired and dusty, found a temporary resting-place on the
parapet of a little old bridge that spanned a sleepy stream. Through a
thin silk blouse a comforting sun beat upon my back, and I was serenely
conscious of an unusual sense of happiness and well-being--though I
owed little to my surroundings. In all England it would have been
difficult to find a more featureless and monotonous outlook than the
prospect that lay stretched before us. A series of flat, marshy fields,
exhibiting here a space of willowy green, and there a patch of black
soil, enclosed by ragged hedges or deep, dark dykes. Occasionally a few
lonely and distorted trees, or a humped-up cluster of red roofs, varied
the scene, which gradually faded until sky and horizon seemed to melt
away into one pale blur.
“What a region!” exclaimed Ronnie, as he tossed away the stump of a
cigarette. “The back of beyond, the Land of Never Never! Never again,
so far as I am concerned! Who discovered it?”
“It was discovered by the Danes, I believe,” I answered; “they say it
was once under the sea.”
“A pity it did not stay there!”
“It’s rather cheerful now, and the air is splendid; but you should see
it in winter, when it has a grey, weird, starving sort of look, and the
face of the country is like a dead thing.”
“Well, thank goodness, I am spared that,” rejoined Ronnie. “I shall be
out in the nice sultry East, sunning myself among the big red boulders
that are scattered round Secunderabad.”
“And you start on Friday? Oh, Ronnie, I believe you are _glad_ to go
back!”
“Yes; I am jolly glad, only for leaving you, old girl--and in such a
hole as Beke. My leave has gone like a flash; just a month at home. I
must say it is a beastly shame they did not ask you to Torrington when
I was there.”
“Aunt Mina sees as little of me as possible--she does not like me, and
is at no pains to conceal the fact. The girls and I have never what you
call ‘got on’; we have nothing in common. You see I am much younger
than they are.”
“And so much better looking,” supplemented my brother.
Waving aside his compliment, I continued:
“You know, when I first went to Torrington I was a small child, and by
all accounts dreadfully spoiled; later on, in the holidays, I was too
young to appear in company, and was generally hustled out of sight.
My goodness, but it was dull, all alone, in the old nursery! Coming
down to lunch as a treat, cross-examined and snubbed by the girls, and
overawed by Aunt Mina--she had a way of looking at me that made me feel
as if I had no clothes on!”
“My dear Eva, don’t be improper!”
“You see,” I resumed--now comfortably embarked on a flowing tide of
talk, and eager to impart my confidence to a sympathetic ear--“I can
realise what a nuisance I was in those days. The house was full of
grown-ups and smart people, and I was just a lanky girl who slunk in to
lunch or was met roaming about the grounds! Then twice I brought home
infection, and gave most of the establishment mumps and chicken-pox--so
you can’t wonder that I was not popular! After all, I am only Aunt
Mina’s niece by marriage; Uncle is nice to me in his cheery, vague,
irresponsible way, but he has no _say_. Living in the nursery, I
naturally heard a good deal of backstairs talk, and gathered that Aunt
manages everything--even to evicting tenants and arranging the shoots.”
“Oh, come! I don’t think it is as bad as all that,” protested Ronnie;
“though of course a man who marries half a million must pay _some_ sort
of interest. The family were in very deep water, when potted meat came
along and hauled them out. When were you last at Torrington?”
“Two years ago this Christmas.”
Ronnie was about to exclaim, but I put my hand over his mouth.
“Do let _me_ talk,” I pleaded. “I want to tell you things I can’t
write. It was the Christmas before last. I was in long frocks with
my hair up, and had just left Cheltenham. I caught a slight cold on
the journey, but was nevertheless in the wildest spirits, full of
anticipation of the delights that awaited me now that I was officially
fledged.”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Ronnie impatiently; “that is all stale news.”
“The evening after I arrived there was a dinner party, and I happened
by good luck to sit next to a charming man, who was very agreeable, and
no doubt drew me out. A lively girl sat opposite to us; she had a loud
voice, and talked the most ridiculous nonsense, much appreciated by
Beverley, her neighbour.
“‘What is your family disease?’ she asked him; ‘ours is softening of
the bones.’ And Bev replied:
“‘Our hereditary disease is gambling.’
“‘Which leads,’ said the girl, ‘to softening of the _brain_!’”
I paused, turned to my brother, and said:
“Did you ever hear that there was gambling in the Lingard family?”
“There’s a taste for gambling in every family,” he answered evasively.
“Well, go on about your dinner party. What happened?”
“I am afraid I allowed my spirits to get the better of me, for I
laughed and chattered incessantly. I know I always talk too much.”
“No doubt of that--when you get the chance,” corroborated my listener.
“I pulled crackers, put on paper caps, exchanged mottoes and poetry,
and in short enjoyed myself enormously. Afterwards, when the men came
into the drawing-room, my dinner friend found me out at once, and at
his suggestion we retired into an obscure corner, in order to cement
our acquaintance. All at once I began to notice that the surrounding
atmosphere was chilly: I saw my cousins whispering together, and I
believe Clara summoned her mother, for presently Aunt Mina swooped
upon us, and told my companion that she had something she particularly
wished to show him, and, in spite of his obvious reluctance, she took
him in charge, and marched him off. A significant glance assured me
that I was in deep disgrace, and when people had settled down to music
or bridge I stole away to bed.”
“Best place for you,” interposed Ronnie.
“I was woke out of my first sleep by Clara, who came into my room,
candle in hand, wearing her most venomous expression; the visit was
on purpose to inform me that she ‘was really _sorry_ I had made such
a dreadful exhibition of myself at dinner, laughing and screaming at
the top of my voice, pulling crackers, sticking things in my hair,
altogether behaving like a shop girl’! I heard no more beyond a murmur,
as I covered up my head with the bed clothes. When at last I was
compelled to emerge from want of air, the room was in darkness, and my
cousin had disappeared. As my cold was pretty bad I was confined to
my old quarters, the nursery, and there I remained for several days.
Beverley, just home from Eton, used to come and sit with me, and bring
me the news. He informed me that Major Halliday, my charming friend,
had been making tender inquiries after me, adding: ‘I suppose you
didn’t happen to know that he is by way of being Clara’s young man--she
had all but landed him!’
“Bev befriended me--supplied me with magazines and chocolates, but when
he began to make love to me--that was another pair of shoes!”
“So I should think--the moon-faced idiot!” commented Ronnie.
“Well, one afternoon he tried to kiss me, and was actually chasing me
round the table, when Aunt Mina entered. She was furious. Bev fled
headlong, and on me she poured all the vials of her wrath. She said
I was a bold, designing minx, a disgrace to the family. For once I
protested, and protested with fury--assured her that I loathed the
sight of Bev, and never wished to see him again--no, nor anyone at
Torrington! Naturally I was soon squashed. Aunt was too strong for me,
and the scene ended in humiliation and tears. Possibly my prolonged
weeping increased my cold, which presently developed alarmingly. The
local doctor (Aunt Mina’s slave) was summoned. He talked gravely about
pneumonia, and my lungs, and announced that I had a delicate chest, and
must on _no_ account remain at Torrington--the place was too low and
enervating--so I was promptly packed off to Beke, where I have been
ever since!”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Ronnie. “Why, it is a sort of countrified
Bastille. How on earth did Aunt Mina discover it?”
“Quite easily,” I replied. “Miss Puckle was the girls’ governess
when I was small. I remember her well; so trim and punctual, and
authoritative, with a trick of pulling down her belt if she was going
to be disagreeable, but always indulgent to me. When I was in trouble I
used to sit on her lap and just sob and sob.”
“I wonder you don’t do it now,” said Ronnie.
“I am afraid I am a size too large. As for Beke, some years ago an old
relation died and left a fine legacy and ‘The Roost’ between Lizzie and
her uncle the professor, so they retired together, and are now in what
is called ‘easy circumstances.’ I contribute a hundred a year.”
“You are humbugging! Why, they ought to pay _you_ as companion--and
lady help.”
“Aunt arranged everything; she declared I could not be better off
than at ‘The Roost.’ The doctor particularly recommended this marshy
air, with a dash of sea, she said, and I might continue my music and
sketching with Lizzie--who would finish me properly.”
“_Finish_ you indeed!” cried Ronnie, “I wonder Beke has not finished
you long ago. Hallo, I say, who are the riders coming down the road?
Shall I put my arm round your neck and pretend I am your sweetheart,
and give the poor natives a fresh piece of gossip?”
“Put your arm round my neck if you like, but all the village knows that
you are my brother, my only near relation. Clarice has a cousin at ‘The
Beetle,’ which is our newsagency.”
“Clarice,” repeated Ronnie, “is that the shuffling parlour-maid with
the cock eye?”
“She is a capital servant,” I replied, “and sees as much as three. Here
come the Soadys.”
“Who are they?--tell me quickly,” urged Ronnie.
“Sam Soady and his daughter. She is the only girl I know in these
parts, and has been my great stand-by. He is a rich farmer, sells
cattle and horses, and lives in an old manor house the other side of
Beke.”
Almost before I concluded, the Soadys were upon us, a fine, solid,
up-sitting pair, with the same open countenances, ruddy cheeks and blue
eyes. As they halted, Tossie cried out:
“Hallo, Eva, fancy seeing you roosting beside the road!”
“Yes, my brother says I have walked him off his legs. Let me introduce
him to you. Mr. Lingard, Miss Soady, and Mr. Soady.”
The latter touched his cap and said in his loud, hoarse voice:
“Not much to see in these parts, sir!”
“No, I have not come across anything to touch your two gees; fine
weight-carriers,” walking over to his side as he spoke--horses always
attracted Ronnie.
“Aye, they are good ’uns,” assented the farmer, “and rarely bred. My
girl and I have been giving them a bit of a gallop in the fields yonder
now the crops are in, getting them fit for the cub-hunting. I will be
pleased to do a deal, sir,” he added jocosely.
“Thanks, awfully, but I ride ten stone, and I’m off to India on Friday.
I should have thought you would only have had otter hunting in this
part of the country.”
“Round here there is naught but water rats, but on our side of Beke
there is rare fine going, and two good packs within reach.”
During this conversation Tossie was considering Ronnie with an air
of fascinated attention; her eyes resembled two blue glass balls,
and her gaze expressed undisguised approval. Ronnie and I were the
same height--that is to say, five-foot-eight. He was slight, well
set up, and remarkably good looking. From his earliest childhood he
had been excessively particular about his personal appearance, had
never objected to having his hair brushed and his hands washed, and,
as he stood on the road before Miss Soady, he presented a picture of
a thoroughly well turned out and admirably groomed young man. Tweed
suit, boots and shirt, were precisely what they should be; his glossy
hair was delicately scented; socks, tie and handkerchief were all in
sympathy; and yet there was nothing remarkable in his get-up--it was
subdued, simple, and absolutely “the right thing.” What a contrast
to my own countrified appearance in a home-made serge skirt, a baggy
blouse, sunburnt sailor hat, and bare hands--we rarely wore gloves at
Beke.
Ronnie now turned to Tossie’s horse, patted its damp neck, and looking
up at the rider, said:
“So I hear you and my sister are great pals; she tells me you have been
awfully kind to her.”
“Not a little bit of it, it’s the other way on,” she protested in her
loud, far-reaching contralto.
“Eva keeps us all alive, she plays tennis like a professional, and her
singing is just a treat. Are you making a stay?”
“No, I am off to-morrow.”
“A little of the professor goes a long way?” she suggested archly.
“I did not come to see him, but my sister,” he answered stiffly.
“Aye, I expect you came home to look up missie,” put in Sam. “There be
only the two of you.”
“Partly, and partly business; it is bad luck I can’t wait on and have a
shot at the partridge.”
“Aye, and I could give you a rare day’s sport. Well, maybe another
time,” said the farmer. “Now Tossie, these horses be too warm to be
kept standing. Good-day, sir, and good luck. Good-day, missie--see you
soon,” and he moved off.
Tossie, I observed, was not disposed to follow, but inclined to linger
and improve her acquaintance with Ronnie.
“I think your sister _might_ have brought you up to see us, Mr.
Lingard; I do, indeed,” she said emphatically.
“We have only had a short time together, Miss Soady, and Eva had such
a lot of talking to get through,” he replied with his charming smile;
“better luck next time.”
“I hope so,” agreed Tossie, as she wrung his hand, and, with obvious
reluctance, followed her parent. As they departed at a walking pace
Ronnie declaimed:
“‘I saw them go: one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.’
“All the same, those are fine weight carriers, and have lots of bone.
That girl must ride thirteen stone, if she weighs an ounce. I think she
seemed a little sniffy because you did not take me there to pay a visit
of ceremony.”
“Oh, Ronnie, I have only had you for two days, and the day we spent
together in London.”
“Well then, let’s make the most of our time,” he said, seating himself
once more on the bridge, “and continue to talk of our joys and sorrows.”
“_Your_ joys and _my_ sorrows,” I corrected.
“Yes, there is something in that. I have, ten to one, the best of
it. Here am I at six-and-twenty, on the point of getting my company,
returning to a life that suits me down to the ground, strong and
healthy, with lots of pals, and a fat balance at Cox’s. Oh, Sis, I
tell you, it’s jolly to be alive!” and he thumped me violently on
the back. “This old world is a grand place; I have a feeling in my
bones that in some way my name will ring through it--my subconscious
what-you-may-call-it tells me that I am going to have a ripping
career--I shall make the race of Lingard famous!”
“I hope you will, with all my heart,” I answered with enthusiasm. “And
I shall play the part of proud sister to the manner born.”
“Yes, you have always been my backer,” said Ronnie, “and no end of a
brick.”
“What happens to you in a way affects me; your good luck will be my
good luck. Perhaps this old bridge may be uncanny, for I too have my
premonitions, and I believe that in some unexpected way our fortunes
will be bound together.”
“I’m afraid there’s not much chance of that,” said Ronnie, “but who
knows?” Then, starting to his feet, “Oh, Lord, here are the professor
and Lizzie coming to look for us! We can finish our jaw in the garden,
after our so-called dinner. Let us advance to meet them, it saves time,
and looks _empressé_. Call up that dog, he is hunting water rats. Well,
good-bye, old bridge,” he went on, slapping the grey stone parapet as
he spoke, “I don’t expect we shall ever meet again, but I jolly well
hope those visions will come true!”