A DISASTROUS BONFIRE.
The return journey, as return journeys after a day's pleasuring often
are, was a much quieter affair than the drive on the way out. Even
Horatia was rather silent as she sat between her host and hostess, and Mr
William Howroyd seemed lost in thought.
It was the millionaire who broke the silence with one of the hoarse
laughs with which he generally prefaced his boastful remarks. 'See that
speck yonder? That's Balmoral, on t' hill; you can see it for twenty
miles round on a clear day like this. There's not another property in the
country that comes nigh it, though I say it as shouldn't.'
'Is that really Balmoral? Oh yes, of course I see it; they are making a
bonfire of weeds in the park,' exclaimed Horatia.
Mr Clay leant forward. 'Bonfire of weeds? I don't see any bonfire. Your
eyes must be sharper than mine,' he remarked; and then turning to Tom
Fox, he said, 'Can you see aught, Tom?'
'No, sir; leastways, not at Balmoral. That fire's far enough from us,'
replied the chauffeur.
'Fire?' cried Mrs Clay, starting nervously.
'Pshaw! Fire! It's a bonfire,' said Mr Clay very decidedly; adding, 'Put
on steam, Tom; we're crawling. I don't go in a motor to crawl, man.' But
he looked anxiously and uneasily in the direction of Balmoral, for he,
too, could now see a bonfire or something.
Mr William Howroyd had said never a word; but his face grew stern and
grave as he leaned forward.
Sarah looked at him, then towards Balmoral, and then she turned to him
again. 'It's not near the house, Uncle Howroyd; it's only a
bonfire.--What are you all so upset about?' she demanded; for Tom, who
was noted for his cautious driving, seemed to have caught the excitement,
and was driving faster than Sarah had ever known him do.
Mr Howroyd took field-glasses from his pocket, and fixing them to his
eyes, gazed earnestly in front of him; then he muttered something under
his breath. When he took the glasses away, he had an expression in his
eyes Sarah had never seen there before; but he did not answer her
question, and his niece could not imagine what had come to her cheery,
good-humoured uncle.
The car was going pretty fast, and Mr Clay seemed satisfied with the
progress they were making for the next few minutes, as well he might, for
it was above legal speed.
'Uncle Howroyd, we shall be fined, if we don't get killed first,'
observed Sarah, who was surprised that her uncle did not make some
protest against what she considered reckless speed.
Mr Howroyd did not seem to hear what she said, and she gave his arm a
tug; but at that moment a red tongue of fire shot up high above the trees
in Balmoral park; and now that they were nearer, all--including Mark Clay
himself, whose eyesight was not very good--could see that this was no
bonfire.
'Put on speed!' he roared to the frightened Tom Fox.
'We're at thirty-five now, sir,' said the man.
'Put on the highest you can,' again shouted Mr Clay, with a muttered
imprecation.
But Mr Howroyd leant forward, and putting his hand on his brother's arm,
said kindly but firmly, 'Nay, lad, we'll be there in a short time now.
Think of the wife and these two lasses. You've no right to put their
lives in danger, even if you think your property's in danger.'
'They're in no danger,' he answered brusquely, as he threw off the
other's restraining arm.
Horatia, who did not know what fear was, and was rather enjoying the rate
at which they were going, happened to glance at Mrs Clay, who was really
fainting with fright. 'Oh, Mrs Clay's ill!' she cried in alarm.
'Stop--pray stop!'
Whether Mr Clay would have taken any notice of her or not is doubtful;
but Tom Fox, who had reluctantly put on speed at his master's repeated
commands, took advantage of this excuse to slow down a little, which was
just as well; for, springing up out of nowhere, as they seem to reckless
drivers to do, appeared a policeman, who commanded them to stop.
'Confound you, man! can't you see my place is burning?' Mr Clay roared
out to him.
'What! Mr Mark Clay is it?' exclaimed the man in surprise, and in no
friendly tone. 'You've no right to endanger the public in this way,
whatever trouble you may be in.'
But Mr Howroyd interfered. 'And you've no right to stop us longer than to
take the name when it's an urgent matter, Marmaduke,' he said.
The man touched his hat. 'Beg pardon, Mr Howroyd, I didn't know you were
of this party. We reap as we sow in this world, and Mr Clay's fond enough
of the law when it's on his side and against others.--Go on, Tom Fox;
only mind, if there's an accident I'm witness that you were warned,' he
said, as he moved back and let them pass.
'Shall we be fined?' asked Sarah of her uncle.
'I don't know. No; I shouldn't think so in a case like this, especially
as we had luckily slowed down a bit,' he replied. But he did not seem to
care much, which surprised Sarah, who knew that he did not care for
motoring at all, and was always severe on wild driving.
'I think we shall. You can't go scorching along just because some trees
have caught fire. People's lives are more important than a few hundred
pounds. You don't seem to care about us at all,' she protested.
'Don't be so silly and childish, Sarah; and mind you go straight into the
house and stay there,' he replied.
They were now near enough to see that some trees were burning; but as
they were nowhere near the house, Sarah could not quite understand her
uncle's 'fidgetiness,' as she called it.
'How on earth did that tree catch fire,' Horatia suddenly ejaculated as a
tall poplar was seen blazing, 'and after such a wet day as yesterday?'
'I can tell you how it caught fire. It was set on fire by some of your
friends of yesterday; that's how it's caught fire, and that's their way
of saying "Thank you" to me for giving in to them; but they've taught me
a lesson, and one I sha'n't forget, and I hope it'll satisfy you too,
young lady,' replied Mark Clay grimly.
'I don't believe it. It would be too silly of them, to begin with; and,
besides, why should they burn the trees? If they wanted to be wicked like
that they'd burn the house,' declared Horatia.
'Ay, so they would have done before now if they'd had half a chance; but
it's too well protected. Why, there's police in it day and night, and
they know it!' he declared.
'All the same, I agree with Horatia, it does seem funny after yesterday,'
chimed in Sarah from the back-seat. 'And I can't think how those top
branches caught.'
'No, because you don't know your home as well as you might,' said her
father.
'What does he mean?' asked Sarah of her uncle.
'I suppose he means that the granaries are on fire, and that they've set
the trees alight,' explained Mr Howroyd, whose face was very white and
set, but with a different look of determination from his brother's.
They were in the park now.
'Turn off to the right, Tom,' said his master.
'Take the women-folk to the house first, Mark,' pleaded his brother.
'To the fire, Tom. I'll catch the rascals red-handed!' roared Mr Clay.
'Don't get out; go on in the car,' said Mr Howroyd to his niece in an
undertone; but his advice fell on deaf ears.
Sarah was excited enough now, for they had turned a sharp corner at an
angle, which made Mrs Clay give a sharp cry, and there in front of them
were the blazing remains of two huge barns and some charred trunks of
trees, while others were still burning.
In the roar and crackle of the flames and the crash of falling timber,
the approach of the motor had not been heard by the excited and
interested crowd who were watching the progress of the flames.
'Watching! Not one of them raising a hand to stop it!' muttered Mr
Howroyd between his teeth.
Mrs Clay clasped her hands in despair.
The millionaire bounded from the car and was among them before any one
saw him. 'You cowardly curs, that'll take my money and burn my property!
Off my land, I say! I'll pay you for this! You shall all be in prison
before the week's out! I see you all, and know you too well, curse you!'
'We haven't done aught to your property. You can't say we have. We saw
the flames in Ousebank oop o' top o' t' hill, and we ran to see. There's
no harm in that, and you can't have the law on us for't,' said a big,
burly man.
'You're trespassing on my land, every one of you, and I'll prosecute you
for that, if I can't for aught else. There's plenty of boards to warn
you,' said Mr Clay.
The crowd melted away as if by magic, and they saw the gardeners trying
feebly to check the progress of the flames.
Their master stood and watched them in grim silence for a little time.
His presence and the disappearance of the crowd seemed to give them
increased vigour, for they worked with a will now, and crash came down a
tree which had just caught and would have carried on the flames to
another plantation.
'That's right; rather late in the day. If you'd done that earlier it
might ha' been better. And where's the rest of you? There's twenty men in
the grounds somewhere, let alone the house; you could have had thirty at
this, and worsted those scoundrels if you'd chosen; but you didn't, and
I'll not forget it--I'll not forget it!'
'The others are guarding t' house, master' said the head-gardener. 'Sykes
wouldn't let a man leave; he's there--armed, and swore he'd shoot the
first hand that came nigh the house, let his business be what it might.'
A grim smile relaxed the millionaire's features for a moment as he heard
this news; but they grew grim again as he asked bitterly, 'And weren't
the garage and stable men enough to guard the house without the rest of
you, whose business is to keep my ground in order?'
The man turned back to his work of chopping off smouldering branches, as
he said in a surly tone, 'I'm here, sir, doing my best, and so's these
lads, seven on 'em, and it's no use blaming them that has tried to help
when your property is being destroyed for the fault of them that hasn't
had the courage to do it.'
'Courage to do your work!' said Mark Clay in a tone of contempt. 'And
where's the police?'
They were there, too, now, though where they had been up to this moment
did not seem certain.
'You can stand here now; the harm's done and the robbers gone,' he said
when they came to him. 'Bah! you're all in the same box.'
'Excuse me, Mr Clay, you mustn't bring charges like that against us,'
said one of them.
But Mark Clay took no notice of him or his protest, but walked back to
the motor, where Mrs Clay and Horatia still sat. 'Home, Tom, as long as
I've got one,' he muttered, as he got in and sat moodily looking before
him, and taking no notice of his white and shivering wife, or of Horatia,
who sat there looking the picture of misery; nor did he notice,
apparently, that neither Sarah nor Mr Howroyd was of the party.
Tom Fox drove up to the front-door, and Sykes, irreproachable as usual,
came down the steps and helped his master and mistress out of the car. He
gave no sign of anything at all unusual being amiss, for he was always
very grave, till his master said in a grim tone, 'Had any visitors,
Sykes?'
'No, sir; but we were ready for them if they'd come,' he then replied
significantly.
'Ay, you're true Yorkshire grit,' said his master, as he passed on into
the house in front of his wife, who, indeed, would hardly have got up the
steps but for Horatia's help and support.
'Oh Sykes! Oh, w'at a dreadful affair this is!' moaned Mrs Clay.
'We'll have to get rid of them southerners; they wouldn't face the crowd,
and are skulking in the stable-yard. I told the master what it 'u'd be,
but he wouldn't hearken to me. I'd got my men all ready, and not one
would have disobeyed me. Even Naomi came home to help, and offered to use
a gun if I'd show her how,' related Sykes, hoping by this tale of
devotion to please his mistress and distract her thoughts from a sad
subject.
But the effect was disastrous, for Mrs Clay gave a cry of horror and
burst into tears. 'Shoot! W'y should Naomi want a gun to shoot wi'? 'Oo's
she goin' to shoot? Oh, 'ow dreadful it all is! Shoot, indeed! 'Oo do you
want to shoot, Sykes?' she asked wildly.
'I don't want to shoot any one, ma'am; no more don't Naomi. And as the
danger's all over now we'd best say no more about it,' replied Sykes.
'Are you sure the danger's over?' demanded his mistress. And Horatia
asked the same question with her eyes.
Sykes made her a sign, which she did not understand, and replied to Mrs
Clay by saying in a soothing tone, 'Yes, ma'am, yes; the danger's quite
over, if there ever was any. There's not a soul inside these park-gates
except those that have a right to be; and, after all, the master can
afford a little loss like this afternoon.'
Mrs Clay gave a little sigh, and said, 'I think, my dear, I'll lie down a
bit, if you'll stop by me. I don't fancy bein' alone.'
And Horatia willingly went with her hostess.