THE PURSUIT
Cicely had not been missed from home until the evening. At tea-time she
was supposed to be at the dower-house, or else at the Rectory. It was
only when she had not returned at a quarter to eight, that the maid who
waited upon her and her mother told Mrs. Clinton that she was not in her
room.
"Where on earth can she be?" exclaimed Mrs. Clinton. Punctuality at
meals being so rigidly observed it was unprecedented that Cicely should
not have begun to dress at a quarter to eight. At ten minutes to eight
Mrs. Clinton was convinced that some accident had befallen her. At five
minutes to, she tapped at the door of the Squire's dressing-room.
"Edward," she called, "Cicely has not come home yet."
"Come in! Come in!" called the Squire. He was in his shirt sleeves,
paring his nails.
"I am afraid something has happened to her," said Mrs. Clinton
anxiously.
"Now, Nina, don't fuss," said the Squire. "What can possibly have
happened to her? She must be at the dower-house, though, of course, she
ought to be home by this time. Nobody in this house is ever punctual but
myself. I am always speaking about it. You _must_ see that the children
are in time for meals. If nobody is punctual the whole house goes to
pieces."
Mrs. Clinton went downstairs into the morning-room, where they were wont
to assemble for dinner. Dick was there already, reading a paper. "Cicely
has not come home yet," she said to him.
"By Jove, she'll catch it," said Dick, and went on reading his paper.
Mrs. Clinton went to the window and drew the curtain aside. It was not
yet quite dark and she could see across the park the footpath by which
Cicely would come from the dower-house. But there was no one there. Mrs.
Clinton's heart sank. She knew that something _had_ happened. Cicely
would never have stayed out as late as this if she could have helped it.
She came back into the room and rang the bell. "I must send down," she
said.
Dick put his paper aside and looked up at her. "It _is_ rather odd," he
said.
The butler came into the room, and the Squire immediately behind him.
"Edward, I want some one to go down to the dower-house and see if Cicely
has been there," Mrs. Clinton said. "I am anxious about her."
The Squire looked at her for a moment. "Send a man down to the
dower-house to ask if Miss Clinton has been there this afternoon," he
said, "and if she hasn't, tell him to go to the Rectory."
The butler left the room, but returned immediately with Cicely's
telegram. It was one minute to eight o'clock. He hung on his heel after
handing the salver to Mrs. Clinton and then left the room to carry out
his previous instructions. It was not his place to draw conclusions, but
to do as he was told.
Mrs. Clinton read the telegram and handed it to the Squire, searching
his face as he read it. "What, the devil!" exclaimed the Squire, and
handed it to Dick.
The big clock in the hall began to strike. Porter threw open the door
again. "Dinner is served, ma'am," he said.
"You needn't send down to the dower-house," Dick said, raising his eyes
from the paper. "Miss Clinton has gone up to stay with Mrs. Walter."
Then he offered his arm to his mother to lead her out of the room.
"Shut the door," shouted the Squire, and the door was shut. "What on
earth does it mean?" he asked, in angry amazement.
"Better have gone in to dinner," said Dick. "I don't know."
Mrs. Clinton was white, and said nothing. The Squire turned to her.
"What does it mean, Nina?" he asked again. "Did you know anything about
this?"
"Of course mother didn't know," said Dick. "There's something queer.
It's too late to send a wire. I'll go up by the eleven o'clock train and
find out all about it. Better go in now." He laid the telegram
carelessly on a table.
"Don't leave it about," said the Squire.
"Better leave it there," said Dick, and offered his arm to his mother
again.
They went into the dining-room, only a minute late.
"Tell Higgs to pack me a bag for two nights," said Dick when the Squire
had mumbled a grace, "and order my cart for ten o'clock. I'm going up to
London. I shan't want anybody."
Then, as long as the servants were in the room they talked as usual. At
least Dick did, with frequent mention of Walter and Muriel and some of
Cicely. The Squire responded to him as well as he was able, and Mrs.
Clinton said nothing at all. But that was nothing unusual.
When they were alone at last, the Squire burst out, but in a low voice,
"What on earth does it mean? Tell me what it means, Dick."
"She hasn't had a row with any one, has she, mother?" asked Dick,
cracking a walnut.
Mrs. Clinton moistened her lips. "With whom?" she asked.
"I know it's very unlikely. I suppose she's got some maggot in her head.
Misunderstood, or something. You never know what girls are going to do
next. She _has_ been rather mopy lately. I've noticed it."
"She has not seen Muriel since she was married," said Mrs. Clinton. "She
has missed her."
"Pah!" spluttered the Squire. "How dare she go off like that without a
word? What on earth can you have been thinking of to let her, Nina? And
what was Miles doing? Miles must have packed her boxes. And who drove
her to the station? When did she go? Here we are, sitting calmly here
and nobody thinks of asking any of these questions."
"It was Miles who told me she had not come back," said Mrs. Clinton.
"She was as surprised as I was."
"Ring the bell, Dick," said the Squire.
"I think you had better go up, mother, and see what she took with her,"
said Dick. "Don't say anything to anybody but Miles, and tell her to
keep quiet."
Mrs. Clinton went out of the room. Dick closed the door which he had
opened for her, came back to the table, and lit a cigarette. "There's
something queer, father," he said, "but we had better make it seem as
natural as possible. I shouldn't worry if I were you. I'll find out all
about it and bring her back."
"Worry!" snorted the Squire. "It's Cicely who is going to worry. If she
thinks she is going to behave like that in this house she is very much
mistaken."
Dick drove into Bathgate at twenty minutes to eleven. He always liked to
give himself plenty of time to catch a train, but hated waiting about on
the platform. So he stopped at the George Hotel and went into the hall
for a whisky-and-soda.
"Oh, good evening, Captain," said the landlord, who was behind the bar.
"If you are going back to Kencote you can save me sending over. This
letter has just come down by train." He handed Dick a square envelope
which he had just opened. On it was his name and address in Cicely's
writing, and an underlined inscription, "Please send the enclosed letter
to Kencote by special messenger as early as possible to-morrow morning."
Dick took out the inner envelope which was addressed to his mother, and
looked at it. "All right," he said, "I'll take it over," and slipped it
into the pocket of his light overcoat. He ordered his whisky-and-soda
and drank it, talking to the landlord as he did so. Only a corner of the
bar faced the hall, which was otherwise empty, and as he went out he
took the letter from his pocket and opened it.
"The devil you will!" he said, as he read the few words Cicely had
written. Then he went out and stood for a second beside his cart,
thinking.
"I'm going to Mountfield," he said as he swung the horse round and the
groom jumped up behind. The groom would wonder at his change of plan and
when he got back he would talk. If he told him not to he would talk all
the more. Wisest to say nothing at present. So Dick drove along the five
miles of dark road at an easy pace, for he could catch no train now
until seven o'clock in the morning and there was no use in hurrying, and
thought and thought, as he drove. If he failed in stopping this
astonishing and iniquitous proceeding it would not be for want of
thinking.
Mountfield was an early house. Jim himself unbarred and unlocked the
front door to the groom's ring. The chains and bolts to be undone seemed
endless. "Take out my bag," said Dick, as he waited, sitting in the
cart. "I'm going to stay here for the night. There'll be a note to take
back to Mrs. Clinton. See that it goes up to her to-night."
He spoke so evenly that the groom wondered if, after all, there was
anything going on under the surface at all.
"Hullo, old chap," Dick called out, directly Jim's astonished face
appeared in the doorway. "Cicely has bolted off to see Muriel, and the
governor has sent me to fetch her back. I was going up by the eleven
o'clock train, but I thought I'd come here for to-night, and take you up
with me in the morning. There's nothing to hurry for."
Then he got down from the cart and gave the reins to the groom. "I just
want to send a note to the mater so that she won't worry," he said, as
he went into the house.
He went across the hall into Jim's room, and Jim, who had not spoken,
followed him. "Read that," he said, putting the letter into his hand.
Jim read it and looked up at him. There was no expression on his face
but one of bewilderment.
"You think it over," said Dick, a little impatiently, and went to the
writing-table and scribbled a note.
"Dear Mother,--I thought I would come on here first on the chance
of hearing something, and glad I did so. There is a letter from
Cicely. It is all right. Jim and I are going up to-morrow morning.
Don't worry.
"Dick."
Then, without taking any notice of Jim, still standing gazing at the
letter in his hand with the same puzzled expression on his face, he went
out and despatched the groom, closing the hall door after him.
He went back into the room and shut that door too. "Well!" he said
sharply. "What the devil does it mean?"
Jim's expression had changed. It was now angry as well as puzzled. "It
was when he went after her on Sunday," he said. "_Damn_ him! I
thought----"
"Never mind what you thought," said Dick. "When did he see her alone?"
"I was going to tell you. When we came over yesterday afternoon he saw
her over the wall, and directly we got to the house he bolted off after
her. He said he had promised to show her some sketches."
"But he didn't find her. He said so at tea-time--when she came out."
Jim was silent. "Perhaps that was a blind," said Dick. "How long was it
before he came back and said he couldn't find her?"
"About half an hour, I should think. Not so much."
"He _must_ have found her. But, good heavens! he can't have persuaded
her to run away with him in half an hour! He had never been alone with
her before."
"No."
"And he didn't see her alone afterwards."
Jim's face suddenly went dark. "He--he--went out after we went up to
bed," he said.
"What?"
"He asked me to leave the door unlocked. He said he might not sleep, and
if he didn't he should go out."
The two men looked at one another. "That's a nice thing to hear of your
sister," said Dick bitterly.
"It's a nice thing to hear of a man you've treated as a friend," said
Jim.
"How long have you known the fellow?"
"Oh, I told you. I met him when I was travelling, and asked him to look
me up. I haven't seen him since until he wrote and said he wanted to
come for a quiet Sunday."
"Why did he want to come? I'll tell you what it is, Jim. She must have
met him in London, and you were the blind. Yes, that's it. She's been
different since she came back. I've noticed it. We've all noticed it."
"I don't believe they met before," said Jim slowly.
"Why not?"
"I don't believe they did. Dick, do you think they can be married
already? Is there time to stop it?"
"Yes, there's time. I've thought it out. We'll go up by the seven
o'clock train. Where does the fellow live?"
Jim thought a moment. "I don't know. He wrote from the Royal Societies
Club."
"Well, we'll find him. I'm not going to talk about it any more now. I'm
too angry. Cicely! She ought to be whipped. If it _is_ too late, she
shall never come to Kencote again, if I have any say in the matter, and
I don't think my say will be needed. Let's go to bed. We shall have
plenty of time to talk in the train."
"I'll go and get hold of Grove," said Jim. "He must get a room ready,
and see that we get to the station in the morning," and he went out of
the room.
Dick walked up and down, and then poured himself out whisky-and-soda
from a table standing ready. He lit a cigarette and threw the match
violently into the fireplace. When Jim returned he said, "I've managed
to keep it pretty dark so far. The governor would have blurted
everything out--everything that he knew. I'm glad I intercepted that
letter to the mater. I haven't any sort of feeling about opening it.
_I'm_ going to see to this. If we can get hold of her before it's too
late, she must go to Muriel for a bit; I must keep it from the governor
as long as I can--until I get back and can tackle him. He'll be so
furious that he'll give it away all round. He wouldn't think about the
scandal."
"Pray God we shan't be too late," said Jim. "What a fool I've been,
Dick! I took it all for granted. I never thought that she wasn't just as
fond of me as I was of her."
Dick looked at him. "Well, I suppose that's all over now," he said, "a
girl who behaves like that!"
Jim turned away, and said nothing, and by and by they went up to bed.
They drove over to Bathgate the next morning and caught the seven
o'clock train to Ganton, where they picked up the London express. Alone
in a first-class smoking-carriage they laid their plans. "I have an idea
that is worth trying before we do anything else," said Jim. "When we
were travelling together that fellow told me of some rooms in Bloomsbury
he always went to when he could get them."
"Do you know the address?"
"Yes," said Jim, and gave it. "He said they were the best rooms in
London, and made me write down the address. I found it last night."
"Why on earth didn't you say so before?"
"I had forgotten. I didn't suppose I should ever want to take rooms in
Bloomsbury."
"It's a chance. We'll go there first. If we draw blank, we will go to
his club, and then to the Geographical Society. We'll find him
somewhere."
"We can't do anything to him," said Jim.
"I'm not thinking much of him," Dick confessed. "It would be a comfort
to bruise him a bit--though I dare say he'd be just as likely to bruise
me. He's got an amazing cheek; but, after all, a man plays his own hand.
If she had behaved herself properly he couldn't have done anything."
He flicked the ash of his cigar on to the carpet and looked carelessly
out of the window, but turned his head sharply at the tone in which Jim
said, "If I could get him alone, and it couldn't do her any harm
afterwards, I'd kill him." And he cursed Mackenzie with a deliberate,
blasphemous oath.
Dick said nothing, but looked out of the window again with an expression
that was not careless.
Jim spoke again in the same low voice of suppressed passion. "I told him
about her when I was travelling. I don't know why, but I did. And after
you dined on Friday we spoke about her. He praised her. I didn't say
much, but he knew what I felt. And he had got this in his mind then. He
must have had. He was my friend, staying in my house. He's a liar and a
scoundrel. For all he's done, and the name he's made, he's not fit
company for decent men. Dick, I'd give up everything I possess for the
chance of handling him."
"I'd back you up," said Dick. "But the chief thing is to get her away
from him."
"I know that. It's the only thing. We can't do anything. I was thinking
of it nearly all night long. And supposing we don't find him, or don't
find him till too late."
"We won't think of that," said Dick coolly. "One thing at a time. And
we'll shut his mouth, at any rate. I feel equal to that."
They were silent for a time, and then Jim said, "Dick, I'd like to say
one thing. She may not care about seeing me. I suppose she can't care
for me much--now--or she wouldn't have let him take her away. But I'm
going to fight for her--see that? I'm going to fight for her, if it's
not too late."
Dick looked uncomfortable in face of his earnestness. "If you want her,"
he began hesitatingly, "after----"
"Want her!" echoed Jim. "Haven't I always wanted her? I suppose I
haven't shown it. It isn't my way to show much. But I thought it was all
settled and I rested on that. Good God, I've wanted her every day of my
life--ever since we fixed it up together--years ago. I wish I'd taken
her, now, and let the beastly finance right itself. It wouldn't have
made much difference, after all. But I wanted to give her everything she
ought to have. If I've seemed contented to wait, I can tell you I
haven't been. I didn't want to worry her. I--I--thought she understood."
"She's behaved very badly," said Dick, too polite to show his surprise
at this revelation. Jim had always been rather a queer fellow. "If you
want her still, she ought to be precious thankful. The whole thing
puzzles me. I can't see her doing it."
"I couldn't, last night," said Jim, more quietly. "I can now. She's got
pluck. I never gave her any chance to show it."
They were mostly silent after this. Every now and then one of them said
a word or two that showed that their thoughts were busy in what lay
before them. The last thing Jim said before the train drew up at the
same platform at which Cicely had alighted the day before was, "I can't
do anything to him."
They drove straight to the house in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Fletcher opened the
door to them. "Mr. Mackenzie is expecting us, I think," said Dick
suavely, and made as if to enter.
Mrs. Fletcher looked at them suspiciously, more because it was her way
than because, in face of Dick's assumption, she had any doubts of their
right of entrance. "He didn't say that he expected anybody," she said.
"I can take your names up to him."
"Oh, thanks, we won't trouble you," said Dick. "We will go straight up.
First floor, as usual, I suppose?"
It was a slip, and Mrs. Fletcher planted herself in the middle of the
passage at once.
"Wait a moment," she said. "What do you mean by 'as usual'? Neither of
you have been in the house before. You won't go up to Mr. Mackenzie
without I know he wants to see you."
"Now, look here," said Dick, at once. "We are going up to Mr. Mackenzie,
and I expect you know why. If you try to stop us, one of us will stay
here and the other will fetch the policeman. You can make up your mind
at once which it shall be, because we've no time to waste."
"Nobody has ever talked to me about a policeman before; you'll do it at
your peril," she said angrily, still standing in the passage, but Dick
saw her cast an eye towards the door on her left.
"I'm quite ready to take the consequences," said Dick, "but whatever
they are it won't do you any good with other people in your house to
have the police summoned at half-past ten in the morning. Now will you
let us pass?"
She suddenly turned and made way for them. Dick went upstairs and Jim
followed him. The door of the drawing-room was opposite to them. "I'll
do the talking," said Dick, and opened the door and went in.