_AN ADVENTUROUS DRIVE._
"Oh, Tom, do look! What carriage is that coming up the drive? I
don't know it."
Jem craned up from her couch to peer through the window, whilst Tom,
who was writing letters at the table, gave a good look and replied
over his shoulder--
"I don't know the turn-out. But it looks like Mrs. St. Claire
driving. She is still at Mrs. Vanborough's, is she not?"
"Yes; I wonder if it is she. Oh, I hope it is! It's such a long
time since I saw her! Oh, I do believe it is! I wonder what she has
come for so early. It is not quite eleven, is it? There is the
bell. I hope they will show her in here."
Jem occupied her favourite place, curled up on a corner of the big,
battered, dining-room sofa, with a pile of books beside her. She was
an omniverous reader, and her studies took the form of unlimited
reading, as her weak back prevented much writing or any attendance at
classes. At this hour she was generally alone, for Mrs. Ritchie had
her household duties to attend to, Cissy was a good deal occupied by
giving music lessons to some of the children of the neighbourhood,
whilst the doctor and one or both of his sons would be out in the
interest of patients. Occasionally Tom took possession of the
writing-table in the bay window, and gave a qualified attention to
Jem's talk, when she was not engrossed by her books.
The carriage had swept round the corner out of Jem's range of vision;
but Tom craned his head round as it turned, and remarked--
"It certainly is Mrs. St. Claire, and she is going to get out. I
think I shall slope. This smoking jacket isn't fit to face the
county in!"
But before the young man could escape the door was thrown open, and
Odeyne came forward, with flushed and smiling face and outstretched
hands, and bent over Jem and kissed her warmly, quite like an old
friend. Tom suddenly forgot all about the shabby old jacket, and
decided not to make a bolt.
"I came to ask Jem if she would like a drive this morning," said
Odeyne, looking from one to the other; "it is such a bright,
exhilarating sort of day, and the hounds are to meet on Hackwell's
Down. I am to drive over and see them. I thought perhaps it would
be a treat to this little girl to go with me."
Jem's eyes were alight in a moment.
"Oh, I should love it! It would be heavenly! I haven't had a drive
for such an age; for one horse has been lame, and daddy has had to
spare the other all he could. You are a darling, Mrs. St. Claire!
Do let me run and ask mother; and then I'll be ready in a
twinkling--you'll see!"
There was not much run in poor little Jem, but she was away with all
possible speed, and Tom said, gratefully, to Odeyne--
"It is awfully kind of you, Mrs. St. Claire. It will be a real
charity, for poor Jem sees almost nothing of what goes on outside
these walls, and she has the almost morbid craving after sensations
and experiences which goes with her temperament."
Mrs. Ritchie came in almost immediately, with a happy face and words
of gratitude on her lips. Hitherto none of their friends had taken
special notice of poor little Jem. Her weakness, her rather
abnormally sharp powers of observation, and her too free and ready
tongue had been somewhat against her. Some people thought her
spoiled and forward, children were half afraid of her, and she had
been shut up within herself, and within the family circle, almost
more than was good for her.
To be noticed and taken out by Mrs. St. Claire of the Chase was a
novel and delightful experience. Odeyne had driven mother and both
daughters out once in the luxurious landau, and all had enjoyed it
greatly; but this special invitation to see the meet of the hounds
was something altogether more delightful and wonderful.
"Oh, what a lovely carriage!--what beautiful little horses!"
exclaimed the excited girl, as she stood looking at the handsome
pair, pawing their dainty hoofs on the gravel, as the smart-looking
lad stood at their heads awaiting his mistress.
"Yes, Desmond gave me the whole turn-out a week ago," answered
Odeyne, with a little smile of pleasure on her face. "He has taken
me out every day since, and taught me how to manage a pair, for at
home we had only a nice old pony to drive, and there was never any
trouble with him. These little fellows are spirited, but they are
very gentle too. You will not be afraid, Jem dear?"
Jem laughed to scorn the idea of feeling afraid. It was not a
sensation with which she had much acquaintance.
"I should like to have an adventure--I really should!" she answered
as they arranged the great fur carriage-rug cosily round their feet.
"Nothing of that sort ever comes in my way. When I read about heroes
and heroines having such thrilling and delightful squeaks for their
lives, and always coming safe through in the end, I always wish that
something like that would happen to me! It must be so interesting to
think about afterwards, even if one did not enjoy it at the time--and
I think I should do that!"
Mrs. Ritchie smiled and half shook her head as she kissed her child
before the carriage drove away.
"You are a sad little madcap at heart, Jem; you will shock Mrs. St.
Claire! She will be quite content to bring you homo without any
startling adventure, I am sure."
Odeyne smiled and nodded; the horses shook their handsome heads and
went off at a fine pace. Tom and his mother stood looking at the
vanishing carriage, and then the young man said--
"I've half a mind to take the short cut and make for Hackwell Down
myself. I've nothing very pressing on hand, and I should like to see
Jem's pleasure over the sight of the field, and all the horses and
dogs. I'll get a bit of a run myself, I daresay. I know the line
the foxes generally take hereabouts. I'll just finish the letter I
have in hand and be off."
"Yes, do, dear," answered Mrs. Ritchie; "I shall be more comfortable
if you are there. Those horses looked to me very spirited. But of
course Desmond would not give anything to his wife to drive without
being sure it was safe."
"Desmond is a bit of a feather-brain," muttered Tom under his breath,
as he strode back to finish the letter he was writing.
Meantime Jem was enjoying herself immensely. She had never had such
a delightful drive in all her life. She fell over head and ears in
love with the horses; the carriage went so easily on its springs that
she felt no vibration. The sun shone, and the keen feel of the
autumnal morning was bracing and exciting. She chattered away in
great style, telling all the news of the place in a racy and
entertaining fashion, nodding gaily at all the cottagers as she
passed them by, and feeling very grand and elated at her position as
Odeyne's companion.
"I hope you are soon coming home again," she said. "It is so much
nicer when you are at the Chase, and there is a chance of seeing you
any day. Rotherham Park is such a long way off, and you seem quite
out of our world when you go there. And, oh, I wanted to ask you
what you are doing to the lodge by the queer old gate that isn't much
used? Cuthbert says the old cottage is being quite altered, and such
a pretty sort of picturesque house going up, with timber and gables
and ever so many nice things. I've been wondering ever since what
you were doing it for, because the road and the gate are hardly ever
used. Nobody goes down Water Lane if they can help it--not with a
carriage, you know."
"Yes, I know. We are not thinking of using the lodge as a lodge
exactly; as you say, since the new road was made through the place,
Water Lane hardly counts. But we want a nice cottage near the house
for Desmond's confidential clerk to live in. He is going to marry my
maid, and, as she comes from my old home, I want if possible to keep
her near me. She is a very pretty and refined sort of girl. I think
perhaps it will be a good thing for her to be married and settled.
She is a good deal noticed and admired when she goes about to strange
houses. And Desmond is making the house rather larger than
necessary, for he thinks we may sometimes want an extra bedroom or
two in the summer or the shooting season, if our house were to
overflow. One or two of the rooms will be kept for that purpose.
The Chase is not really a large house--not so large as it looks. The
hall and corridors take up more space than you would think, and we
have not a great many bedrooms."
"I wish you'd take me on in Alice's place when she marries," laughed
Jem; "I should like to live in a big house, and see all that goes on
there, and hear how the servants gossip behind their master's back.
Don't you think I should look the part very well, dressed up in cap
and apron? And I'd report to you quite faithfully all that went on.
I think I should make rather a good spy."
"I don't know that I particularly want a spy, dear," answered Odeyne,
"but you shall come to the Chase one of these days as my little
friend and companion. When the winter comes, and you and I are both
rather shut up, we will keep each other company; for the days are
often long when Desmond is away; and I want to overhaul the library
books as one of my tasks, and I think you could help me at that sort
of thing."
Jem's eyes sparkled brilliantly at the bare thought.
"You are a darling!" she cried in her frank, free way. "I am glad
that Desmond didn't marry a cut-and-dried creature like Maud, or a
fine fashionable madam like Beatrice! Oh, I beg your pardon!
Perhaps I should not have spoken like that of your sisters-in-law.
But I don't think you can be so very fond of them!"
"I want them to be sisters-in-love, not sisters-in-law," replied
Odeyne with a sweet gravity in her smile. "Desmond and I are one
now, and everything that is his belongs to me."
For once Jem found nothing to reply. Her over-ready tongue had
betrayed her, as she felt, into remarks she was scarcely justified in
making. Odeyne had not taken them amiss; yet the girl felt that she
had been unconsciously rebuked.
But all such thoughts were quickly driven away by the gay scene that
met her eager gaze as they approached Hackwell Down. Jemima had
never seen anything so pretty before, and exclaimed with delight as
her eye roved over the wide expanse of level turf.
Upon the crest of the green ridge stood a knot of huntsmen in their
scarlet coats, with the whippers-in keeping in order the pack of fine
hounds, whose waving tails looked like a forest of tiny saplings in a
high wind. Scattered about the level plateau were horsemen and
footmen, a motley assembly all on pleasure bent. Grooms led up and
down handsome hunters whose masters were driving across; ladies were
leaving their carriages and mounting their horses; bold little
fellows on small ponies were prancing round, in a mighty hurry to be
off. The field was dotted with men in the pink, some already
mounted, others talking to each other or to the ladies in the
carriages. Some of these approached Odeyne and exchanged greetings
with her. Jem took stock of them with her sharp glances, and summed
them up for Odeyne's benefit when they had bowed themselves off. She
was much more delighted with the horses than with the riders.
"They are dear things! I should like to kiss them all, and the dogs
too. I think the world would be a much nicer place if the horses and
dogs and nice animals were left, and about three-quarters of the
people killed off! I'm sure we could spare most of them--and have a
much nicer time without them!"
Odeyne did not try to bring her carriage very close up to the others
assembled there, partly because the horses were restless and excited,
partly because Jem was visibly anxious not to be made to face
Beatrice and all her fine friends. The girl was not shy, but she
appeared to feel a sort of instinctive antagonism to fashionable
society, and when Desmond rode up to his wife's carriage, looking
very handsome and gallant in his faultless get-up, he was much amused
by Jem's sallies and retorts, and persisted in introducing several of
his friends for the entertainment of hearing her snub them, which she
was not slow to do.
But before long the field began to move; Desmond waved his hand to
his wife, and rode off. He had instructed her how to drive, so as to
see as much as possible of the run; and Odeyne was not sorry when she
could give her restless little horses their heads, and set them in
motion along the road in a parallel direction to that taken by the
hunt.
For a time all went well; the road was wide and smooth; they passed
all the other carriages, to Jem's great satisfaction--skimmed by them
at a delightfully rapid pace, and left them far behind. Odeyne
fancied that Beatrice and her coachman had both of them called out
something to her as she trotted by; but she could not hear what was
said, and Jem had rather urgently begged her not to pull up to listen.
"They will want us to stay by them," she cried pleadingly, "and that
will spoil all our fun. Do go on!--do go on! It is lovely racing
along like this!"
Odeyne was willing to gratify the girl, the more so because she was
herself enjoying the exhilaration of the rapid movement, and because
she was conscious that the horses would not be easy to pull up in
their present excited mood. They seemed to know that the hunt was
sweeping on in advance, and to be resolved not to be left far behind.
The road trended upwards for a considerable distance, and then the
descent commenced. For some distance it was only gentle in
character, and the road continued firm and good. But towards the
foot of the hill there were several steep pitches, and as Jem had
heard from report, the water channelled down it in the winter, and
there were always loose stones which sometimes caused accidents to
horses and riders. So as they flew down the hill she said to Odeyne,
half regretfully--
"I think you had better pull them in a little now. It will be
steeper soon, and there is a nasty turn farther on I know, besides
the road gets bad too."
Odeyne made no reply, and the carriage continued its rather
perilously rapid descent. Jem looked at her and saw that she was
straining rather hard at the horses; but they appeared to take no
manner of notice of her efforts to check them. They were only going
at a very rapid trot as yet. They could not be said to be exactly
bolting, but there was a stubborn look in the way in which their
heads were bent down, as though they had made up their minds as to
their course of action, and intended to have their own way.
"Jem, dear," said Odeyne, still quite quietly, "the horses are
pulling rather hard. Just tell the groom to lean forward and help me
to check them. My arms are growing tired."
Jem spoke to the groom, who was a smart-looking youth, but only a lad
himself. He was looking a little scared himself, for the awkward
descent was very near now, and the horses appeared on the verge of
breaking into a gallop.
It is always rather a risky thing for two persons to try and pull
upon one pair of reins. The moment the horses felt the jerk of the
new hands brought to bear upon them, they broke simultaneously into a
hard gallop, shaking their heads as though to seek to free themselves
from the pressure on their mouths, but too excited now to be checked
by it.
Jem's face grew rather pale as she felt the sudden swaying movement
as the carriage oscillated from side to side.
"Sit still, dear," said Odeyne quietly; "perhaps it is really safer
for them to canter down the hill than trot. There is nothing in the
way, and if we reach the bottom safely there is a good road beyond
us."
Jem sat very upright, her eyes taking in everything, every faculty on
the alert. She was having her wish with a vengeance now, and even in
the midst of her fears for the safety of the whole party, there was a
certain dim sense of elation in the thought that here she was
actually in the midst of a coveted adventure!
Down the hill plunged the carriage, bumping and swaying in a fashion
that made Jem cling tightly to the seat, but maintaining its
position, even though the road was rough and rutty and the pitch of
the hill steep. Now they had all but reached the bottom. They saw
the wider, better road lying before them. Jem gave a gasp of relief,
and the groom muttered something that sounded like a rude exclamation
of thankfulness. In another minute, and Jem believed that all peril
would be past, when suddenly across the road swept some half-dozen
belated huntsmen, hot on the track of the field, dashing in front of
the excited horses without so much as a glance in their direction,
and frightening the already startled creatures almost out of their
senses.
Plunging and snorting with terror, they instinctively paused for a
moment, one of them backing almost upon its haunches, the other
rearing till he looked as though he would have fallen backwards upon
the carriage, and then, with a simultaneous bound, they sprang
forward at redoubled speed, swerved from the road, dashed through the
gate after the retreating riders, and commenced a wild gallop across
the meadow in the wake of the hunt.
At that moment the groom lost his head, loosed his grasp upon the
reins, and threw himself out of the carriage.
Jem and Odeyne were left alone, unable even to cast back a look and
ascertain whether or not the lad was hurt. Odeyne still retained her
grasp of the reins, but all control of the horses had been lost. Her
face was very set and white, but her voice was still calm and
controlled.
"Would you rather try the jump, dear?" she asked; "I am afraid we
shall have an accident. I can do nothing with the horses. And
something might break any minute; or they may take up against a
gate-post and dash the carriage to pieces."
"I have no jump in me," said Jem, still looking straight ahead. "I
think I should do for my back if I were to try. Perhaps they will
run into a hedge and stick fast, and we can get out before they kick
the carriage to pieces. Oh, there is Tom! Look! He is racing
towards us! But what can he do?"
Odeyne looked and saw. Tom Ritchie was undoubtedly scudding towards
them diagonally over the field. The rough nature of the ground was
beginning to tell upon the cobs. They were panting and straining,
but the pace had slackened. They could not make the same running
here as over the hard road. But still they were resolutely running
away. The reins dragged hopelessly against them. They seemed to
have mouths of iron. Odeyne's strength was deserting her. She felt
a strange dimness of vision, and knew that her grasp on the reins was
relaxing.
Jem's eyes took everything in: Odeyne's sudden faintness, the rapid
approach of Tom, the exhaustion but stubborn determination of the
horses. What would happen next? What could Tom do to save them?
Tom was a trained athlete. In feats of agility and daring he had
always excelled. He was not gifted with any very remarkable muscular
strength, but he was lithe and active as a cat.
Measuring his distance, and coolly biding his time, he made a quick,
sharp rush, and vaulted cleverly upon the back of the nearest cob,
clutched the reins of the pair, and by throwing his whole weight and
strength upon them succeeded bit by bit and inch by inch in checking
their mad career. The horse upon which he had sprung, encumbered by
this heavy and unexpected weight, checked its course to plunge and
try to dislodge the unwelcome burden. The other, thus left to pull
alone, quickly felt its exhaustion and the drag of its companion, and
began to think better of the matter. Tom sat like a centaur, and
tugged manfully at the reins. The boundary hedges of the extensive
field were nearly reached. This obstacle seemed to bring the
runaways to their scattered senses. To rush themselves into a trap
would be painful and humiliating. They appeared to take this view of
the case themselves, and with only a small show of resistance
permitted Tom to bring them to a standstill.
Then Tom leaped down, and still holding the reins in his hands,
approached the carriage. Jem was sitting white, but wide-eyed and
erect. Odeyne, with an ashy face, was leaning back against the
cushions almost, though not quite, unconscious. She strove to make a
sign of gratitude to Tom, but pressed her hand to her side and gave a
little gasp. The groom was running up in a great fright, unhurt,
though a good deal torn and battered from his fall.
"Don't leave us with him, Tom; don't let him have the horses!"
pleaded Jem in sudden alarm; and Tom gave the shame-faced youth a
cool and stern glance.
"A pretty sort of fellow you are, to be sent out in charge of
ladies!" he remarked. "However, that is your master's business, not
mine. Go straight to Mrs. St. Claire's house, just across that gap,
and tell her that Mrs. Desmond St. Claire has been very near a bad
accident, and is coming to her house for shelter till she is well
enough to go home. Go quickly. I will stay with the ladies, and
bring the carriage there as soon as possible."
The youth slunk away feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself, and Tom,
with another look into Odeyne's face, took possession of the horses,
turned them round, and led them back over the meadow, now in a very
meek and subdued state.
He hardly spoke a word till they were upon the road again, when he
turned Jem into the groom's dickey behind, and himself took the reins
and seated himself beside Odeyne.
"You will not be afraid to let me drive you, Mrs. St. Claire? I
think there is no fear of any farther misbehaviour on the part of
your horses."
Odeyne roused herself to give a faint smile and say--
"You are very kind. I am not at all afraid. I have been just a
little tired and shaken. I hope Jem is none the worse for it."
"Jem will be all right," answered Tom briefly; and putting the horses
into a rapid trot, he quickly drove them up to the door of Mrs. St.
Claire's house.
It was evident that the battered appearance of the groom, together
with his agitated and confused story, had spread consternation and
dismay in the household. Servants were standing about in the hall;
and as the carriage drove up, Maud appeared with a very pale
frightened face, and on seeing Odeyne's state of pallor and
exhaustion, uttered a little exclamation of anxious grief.
"Mrs. St. Claire has been a good deal frightened and shaken," said
Tom, as he helped her to alight and assisted her into the hall.
"Take good care of her, and I will try and find Desmond and let him
know. He will be certain to come immediately. If you want my
father, he will be at Holler's Farm about two o'clock; but I think
rest and care will be all that are needed to put you all right again."
Odeyne had felt like one in a dream for some time. Now she seemed to
wake up to find herself lying upon a sofa in Maud's own private
little room, which she had only once penetrated to before, whilst her
sister-in-law, ordinarily so cold and unsympathetic, was hanging over
her with tears in her eyes, seeking to restore her, not by cordials
and essences alone, but by tender caresses, loving words, and kisses
that came so strangely from those lips.
Odeyne sat up, and laid her head against her sister's shoulder.
"Oh, Maud, how good you are!" she cried, taking her hand and carrying
it to her lips; and Maud's tears suddenly ran over as she kissed
Odeyne again and again, saying--
"Oh, my darling, let us be sisters always now. I shall never forget
the terrible thought that came over me when for one moment I thought
they said that Desmond's wife had been killed; and I knew I had never
spoken one loving word to her all the time she had been my sister!"