THE November afternoon was drawing towards its close when Bernard
Appleby stood with a gun on his shoulder in an English country lane. It
was a costly hammerless gun, but it had been lent to him, and the fact
that his right shoulder was sore and there was a raw place on one of his
fingers was not without its significance. Appleby, indeed, seldom
enjoyed an opportunity of shooting pheasants, and had been stationed at
what proved to be a particularly warm corner of the big beech wood. Here
he had, however, acquitted himself considerably better than might have
been expected, for he had a steady eye and the faculty of making a quick
and usually accurate decision, as well as a curious coolness in action,
which was otherwise somewhat at variance with an impulsive disposition.
These qualities are useful in more serious affairs than game shooting,
and it was fortunate for Appleby, who was a poor man, that he possessed
them, because they comprised his whole worldly advantages.
A little farther up the lane his kinsman, Anthony Palliser, was talking
to a keeper, and though Appleby could not hear what they said, there was
something in the man's manner which puzzled him. It was certainly not
respectful, and Appleby could almost have fancied that he was
threatening his companion. This, however, appeared improbable, for
Anthony Palliser was a man of some little importance in that part of the
country, and endowed with an indolent good humor which had gained him
the good will of everybody. Still, Appleby had seen that complaisance
can be carried too far, and knowing rather better than most people how
little stiffness there was in Palliser's character, watched him somewhat
curiously until the keeper moved away.
Then Palliser came up and joined him, and they turned homewards down the
lane. They were not unlike in appearance, and of much the same age--
Appleby twenty-six, Palliser a year younger. Both were healthy young
Englishmen, but there was an indefinite something in the poise of
Appleby's head, and the very way he put his feet down, which suggested
who possessed the most character. He had clear blue eyes which met one
fearlessly, and into which there crept at times a little reckless
twinkle, crisp brown hair, and lips which could set firmly together,
while he held himself well, considering that he labored for the most
part at a desk.
"What do you think of keeper Davidson?" asked Palliser.
"A surly brute!" said Appleby. "Ill-conditioned, but tenacious. Have you
any reason for asking?"
He fancied for a moment that Palliser had something to tell him, but the
younger man smiled somewhat mirthlessly. "I don't like the fellow, and
wonder why my respected uncle tolerates him," he said. "He is certainly
tenacious. You have a trick of weighing up folks correctly, Bernard."
"It is fortunate I have some qualification for my profession, and it's
about the only one," said Appleby dryly. "Still, it did not need much
penetration to see that you and he held different opinions."
Palliser appeared irresolute. "The fact is, he would have the netting
put up in the wrong place, and spoiled what should have been our best
drive," he said. "It was by his bad management they had to put two of
the game hampers in the dog-cart, which sent us home on foot. I hope you
don't mind that. It's a pleasant evening for walking, and you know you
don't get much exercise."
"Not in the least!" said Appleby. "Don't make excuses, Tony. It isn't
everybody who would have walked home with me, and it was very good of
you to persuade Godfrey Palliser to have me down at all. It is the only
taste I get of this kind of thing--one fortnight in the year, you see--and
I'm considerably fonder of it than is good for me."
Palliser flushed a trifle, for he was sympathetic and somewhat
sensitive, though his comrade had intended to express no bitterness. By
and by he stopped where the lane wound over the crest of a hill, and it
was possible that each guessed the other's thoughts as they looked down
into the valley.
A beech wood with silver firs in it rolled down the face of the hill,
and the maze of leafless twigs and dusky spires cut sharp against the
soft blueness of the evening sky, though warm hues of russet and crimson
still chequered the dusky green below. Beyond it, belts of thin white
mist streaked the brown plough land in the hollow where Appleby could
see the pale shining of a winding river. Across that in turn, meadow and
coppice rolled away past the white walls of a village bowered in
orchards, and faded into the creeping night beyond a dim church tower
and the dusky outline of Northrop Hall. As they watched, its long row of
windows twinkled into brilliancy, and the sound of running water came up
with the faint astringent smell of withered leaves out of the hollow.
Appleby drew in a deep breath, and his face grew a trifle grim.
"And all that will be yours some day, Tony!" he said. "You ought to feel
yourself a lucky man."
Palliser did not appear enthusiastic. "There are," he said, "always
drawbacks, and when there are none one generally makes them. The place
is over head and heels in debt, and setting anything straight,
especially if it entailed retrenchment, was never a favorite occupation
of mine. Besides, a good deal depends upon my pleasing Godfrey Palliser,
and there are times when it's a trifle difficult to get on with him."
"Still, your wife will have plenty of money."
Appleby almost fancied that Palliser winced as they turned away. "Yes,"
he said. "Violet and I are, however, not married yet, and we'll talk of
something else. Are you liking the business any better?"
Appleby laughed. "I never liked it in the least, but Godfrey Palliser
gave me my education, which was rather more than anybody could have
expected of him, and I had the sense to see that if I was ever able to
practise for myself the business he could influence would be a good
thing for me. My worthy employer, however, evidently intends holding on
forever, and the sordid, monotonous drudgery has been getting
insupportable lately. You may be able to understand that, though you
haven't spent six years in a country solicitor's office."
"No," said Palliser sympathetically. "I never go into such places except
when I want money, as I frequently do. Still, is there anything else
open to you?"
Appleby straightened his shoulders with a little resolute gesture, and--
for they were heading west--pointed vaguely towards the pale evening
star.
"There are still lands out there where they want men who can ride and
shoot, and take their chances as they come; while if I was born to be
anything in particular it was either a jockey or a soldier."
Palliser nodded. "Yes," he said, "you got it from both sides, and it was
rather a grim joke to make you a solicitor. Still, it's a risky thing to
throw one's living over, and I have a fancy that my uncle likes you. You
are a connection, anyway, and one never knows what may happen."
"Godfrey Palliser has done all he means to do for me, and even if there
were nobody else, your children would have a prior claim, Tony."
Palliser looked up sharply, and though the light was very dim there was
something in his face that once more puzzled his companion. "I think
that is a little personal--and I wouldn't make too sure," he said.
They said nothing further, but tramped on in the growing darkness, past
farm steadings where the sleek cattle flocked about the byres, into the
little village where the smell of wood smoke was in the frosty air,
through the silent churchyard where generations of the Pallisers lay,
and up the beech avenue that led to Northrop Hall. It would, as Appleby
had said, all be his comrade's some day. They parted at the head of the
great stairway where the long corridors branched off, and Appleby looked
at Palliser steadily as he said--
"One could fancy there was something on your mind tonight, Tony."
Palliser did not answer, and Appleby went to his room to dress for
dinner, which was a somewhat unusual proceeding for him. Nothing of
moment occurred during the meal, and it was nobody's fault that he felt
not quite at home, as he had done at other functions of the kind. The
gayeties of the Metropolis were unknown, except by hearsay, to him, and
it was but once a year he met Tony's friends at Northrop Hall. It was,
however, not quite by coincidence, as he at first fancied, that he
afterwards found Miss Violet Wayne, Tony's fiancee, sitting a little
apart from the rest in the drawing-room. He did not think that either of
them suggested it, but presently she was walking by his side in the
conservatory, and when they passed a seat almost hidden under the fronds
of a tree fern she sat down in it. The place was dimly lighted, but they
could see each other, and Appleby had realized already that Violet Wayne
was distinctly good to look upon.
Her face was almost severely regular in outline and feature, with but
the faintest warmth in its creamy tinting; but this was atoned for by
the rich coloring of her hair, which gleamed with the hues of gold and
burnished copper. There was also a curious reposefulness about her, and
Appleby had wondered why a young woman of her distinction had displayed
the kindliness she had more than once done to him. He was grateful for
it, but what he had seen of men and women during his legal training had
made him shrewd.
"This place is pleasantly cool and green, but I am not sure that is why
we are here," he said. "In any case, I am glad, because I am going away
to-morrow, and wished to thank you for your graciousness to me. I am,
as, of course, you know, an outsider here, and you have in several
tactful ways made my stay pleasant to me."
Violet Wayne looked at him with big calm eyes, but made no disclaimer.
"You are a relative of Godfrey Palliser!"
"A distant one; but my mother married a penniless army captain, and a
ranker. He had won his commission by worth and valor, but that was no
reason why the Pallisers should hold out a hand to him."
Violet Wayne nodded gravely. "Still, Godfrey Palliser sent you to school
with Tony. You were always good friends, though I think he told me you
were born abroad?"
"Yes," said Appleby, "he was my first English friend. My father died at
Gibraltar, and my mother stayed on there until she followed him. She did
not want to forget him, and living is cheap in Spain. Tony and I fought
our way through three schools together."
"I think it was you who fought for him," said Miss Wayne, with a little
smile. "He has, I may mention, told me a good deal about you, and that
is one reason why I feel that I could trust you. You would, I believe,
respect any confidence a woman reposed in you."
Appleby flushed a trifle. "I fancy I told you I was grateful," he said.
"The little kindnesses you have shown me mean so much to a man whose
life is what mine has been. One gets very few of them, you see."
"Still," the girl said quietly, "when we first met you were not quite
sure of me."
The color showed a trifle plainer in Appleby's forehead, for he had not
had the advantages of his companion's training, but he looked at her
with steady eyes. "You can set that down as due to the pride of the
class I sprang from on one side--I feared a rebuff which would have hurt
me. I was, you will remember, Tony's friend long before he met you!"
"And now?"
Appleby made her a little inclination. "Tony," he said, "is a very good
fellow, as men go, but I do not know that he is good enough for you."
Violet Wayne smiled and then sat still, looking at him with a curious
softness in her eyes. "He is in trouble," she said simply, "and I am
fond of him. That is why I have led you on."
Appleby rose, and there was a suggestion of resolute alertness in his
attitude, though his head was bent. "Don't ask me for any help that I
can give. Let me offer it," he said. "I don't know that I am expressing
myself fittingly, but it is not only because you will be Tony's wife
that you can command whatever little I can do."
The girl saw his lips set and the glint in his eyes, and knew he meant
what he said. She also saw his chivalrous respect for herself, and,
being a young woman of keen perceptions, also surmised that the son of
the ranker possessed certain qualities which were lacking in the man she
was to marry. She was, as she had admitted, fond of Tony, but most of
those who knew and liked him guessed that he was unstable and weak as
water. Violet Wayne had, however, in spite of occasional misgivings, not
quite realized that fact yet.
"I want you to help him because you are his friend--and mine, but it
would hurt him if you told him that I had asked you to; and I do not
even know what the trouble is," she said.
"I have pledged myself; but if you have failed to discover it how can I
expect to succeed?"
Violet Wayne did not look at him this time. "There are some difficulties
a man would rather tell his comrade than the woman who is to be his
wife."
"I think, if I understand you aright, that you are completely and wholly
mistaken. If Tony is in any difficulty, it will be his usual one, the
want of money."
A tinge of color crept into the girl's face. "Then you will lend it him
and come to me. I have plenty."
She rose as she spoke, and Appleby long afterwards remembered the
picture she made as she stood amidst the tall ferns with the faint
warmth in her face and the vague anxiety in her eyes. She was tall, and
held herself well, and once more he bent his head a trifle.
"I will do what I can," he said simply.
Violet Wayne left him, but she had seen his face, and felt that whatever
it cost him the man would redeem his pledge; while Appleby, who went
outside to smoke, paced thoughtfully up and down the terrace.
"If Tony has gone off the line in the usual direction he deserves to be
shot," he said.
He went in by and by, and watched his comrade in the billiard room. Tony
was good at most games, but that night he bungled over some of the
simplest cannons, though Appleby remembered that he had shot remarkably
well during the afternoon. Still, he expected no opportunity of speaking
to him alone until the morning, and when the rest took up their candles
retired to his room. He lay in a big chair thinking, when Tony came in
and flung himself into another. Appleby noticed that his face was almost
haggard.
"Can you lend me ten pounds?" he said.
"No," said Appleby dryly. "I had to venture an odd stake now and then,
and do not play billiards well, while I am now in possession of about
three sovereigns over my railway fare home to-morrow. What do you want
the money for?"
"I only want it until the bank at Darsley opens to-morrow. This is my
uncle's house, of course, but I am, so to speak, running it for him, and
I couldn't well go round borrowing from the men I asked to stay with
me."
"It seems to me that you have not answered my question."
Tony showed more than a trace of embarrassment. He was, though a
personable man, somewhat youthful in appearance and manner, and a little
color crept into his forehead. Appleby, who remembered his promise, saw
his discomposure, and decided that as the bank would be open at ten on
the morrow Tony wanted the money urgently that night.
"Is there any reason why I should?" said the latter.
Appleby nodded. "I think there is," he said. "We have been friends a
long while, and it seems to me quite reasonable that I should want to
help you. You are in a hole, Tony."
Palliser had not meant to make a confession, but he was afraid and weak,
and Appleby was strong. "I am. It's a devilishly deep one, and I can't
get out," he said. "Well, I'll tell you. I'm in that condemned Davidson
the keeper's hands, and he is squeezing the life out of me. You will
remember his daughter Lucy, who lived at the lodge?"
"Blackmail!" said Appleby dryly. "Go on."
Tony took out and played with a cigar. "She was pretty, and you know I
was always a trifle soft. Now and then I stopped as I passed, and talked
to her. I don't think she disliked it. Well, I don't remember exactly
how it came about, but I made her a trifling wager, and, of course, I
lost it; while some fiend put it into my head to send her a little
brooch, with a note, instead of the forfeit agreed on--I think it was a
box of chocolate. I was away for a week or two, and when I came back she
told me she didn't think she ought to take anything of that kind from
me. There was nobody about the lodge--at least so I fancied--and I
insisted upon putting the condemned thing on. I think I told you she was
pretty."
"I have seen it for myself," said Appleby, whose face was a picture of
disgust. "Go on!"
"Well," said Tony, "why the devil are you looking like that at me? I
wasn't engaged to Violet then, and I kissed her--and went away
immediately. It is necessary that you should know this, you see."
Perhaps it was relief, for his comrade was more truthful than weak men
usually are, but Appleby lapsed into a great burst of laughter. Tony,
however, looked at him lugubriously.
"It really isn't in the least amusing--to me," he said. "It's an
especially risky business kissing that kind of young woman, especially
when anybody sees you. Still, I'd seen something in the girl's face that
warned me, and on my word of honor the affair ended there; but in a week
or two, when I didn't answer the note she sent, Davidson came and
worried me. Talked about his feelings and a motherless girl's
reputation, showed me the note I'd written her, and said a good deal
about witnesses. Well--you know I'm careless--I gave him five pounds, a
note, and then saw he had one of his men hanging about. 'Go down to the
"Black Bull," and get this fiver Mr. Palliser has given me changed,' he
said."
"Clever!" said Appleby. "I begin to understand the thing."
"Well," said Tony, "I never went near his place since then, and the girl
went away, but soon after I was engaged to Violet, Davidson turned up
again. This time it was a more serious tale--the usual one--but you have
got to believe what I told you."
"Yes," said Appleby, "I think I can. You were often a fool, Tony, but
that contented you."
"I gave him twenty pounds. If I'd had any sense I would have knocked him
down instead; but it was an unpleasant story, and I was engaged to
Violet. Godfrey Palliser was bent on the match too, though it wasn't
that which influenced me. Then Davidson commenced to come for money
regularly, and I can't get out of the fact that I've been subsidizing
him without perjury; while it's evident that if I told the truth now
nobody would believe me. I tell you, Bernard, the thing has been
worrying the life out of me."
This was apparent from his strained voice and the dejection in his face,
but Appleby smiled reassuringly. "You should have gone to a lawyer long
ago, Tony; but you can leave it to me," he said. "Davidson expects you
to give him money to-night?"
"Yes. He makes me come out at midnight and meet him to show he holds the
whip over me. Thirty pounds--and I can only raise twenty--at half-past
eleven by the fir spinny! Have you the slightest hope of doing anything
with him?"
Appleby nodded as he took out his watch. "I shouldn't wonder if I bring
you good news to-morrow. Remember, you are to say nothing to anybody.
Give me what money you have and then go to sleep. You look as if you
needed it."
He took the notes Palliser handed him, and when he went away hung about
the head of the stairway until Violet Wayne came up with a white-haired
lady. He contrived to catch her eye, and though she passed on with her
companion within five minutes she came back again.
"Well?" she said expectantly.
Appleby smiled. "If you can let me have ten pounds and ask no questions
I think it will be an excellent investment, though it is quite possible
that I shall be able to hand you them back to-morrow," he said. "If I
were a richer man I would not ask you."
The girl made a little gesture of impatience and flitted away, but in a
few minutes she once more stood beside him, a trifle breathless, and
there was a crisp rustle, as she slipped something into his hand.
"Thank you ever so much! When you can you will tell me," she said.
Appleby only nodded, and went down the stairway. He took a riding crop
from the rack in the hall, and then passed through the drawing-room into
the conservatory, the outer door of which was not fastened yet. He
opened it noiselessly and slipped out into the night, taking the key
with him; but, though he did not know this, a man who afterwards
remembered it saw him and noticed that he carried the riding crop.