"Look here, Bell," said Major Rockley, as he stood in his quarters, with
his regimental servant before him; "you were drunk again last night?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you are not ashamed of it?"
"Yes, sir, very much ashamed of it. It's my weakness, sir."
"Weakness, you scoundrel? It's your blackguardly conduct. You have
been under arrest so many times for this disgraceful behaviour, and I
have such a black list against you, that if I lay it before Colonel
Lascelles he will have you flogged."
"But you won't do that, sir."
"Yes, I will, you scoundrel. No: I'll give you another chance."
"Thank you, sir; I was sure you would," said the young man, flushing
slightly, and with a strange look in his face.
"By the way, what time did Mr Denville come back to his quarters?"
"Two o'clock, sir."
"With whom had he been?"
"Sir Matthew Bray, sir. Lady Drelincourt's, I think."
"Humph! Now, look here; can I trust you, Bell?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I'm going to give you a delicate bit of business to do for me."
"Yes, sir."
"If you do it well, I shall give you a clean slate to begin again, and
wipe off that last report."
"Thankye, sir."
"I cannot--at least I do not wish to--be seen in the business
preparations, so I trust to you."
"Yes, sir."
"Go directly then, to Moggridge's, and arrange for a post-chaise and
four to be at Prince's Road to-night at--say eleven--no; half-past ten."
"Yes, sir."
"Pick good fast horses. Pack a light valise with a change; put my
pistols in the pockets of the carriage, and you will be there ready to
see me off. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"There's--well, to be plain with you--a lady in the case."
"I see, sir."
"And, mind this; after we have started, you stay behind, and if there is
any inquiry directly after, you volunteer information, and say we have
taken the London Road. You understand?"
"Quite, sir."
"There's a sovereign for you. No: you'll get drunk if I give it you
now. I'll give you five when I come back."
"Very good, sir."
"And mind, if I am wanted, I am unwell in bed. I want a good start."
"I see, sir. You may depend on me. But what house, sir, in Prince's
Road?"
"You'll see, blockhead. The one that is lighted up. Mrs
Pontardent's."
Major Rockley's regimental servant saluted, turned upon his heel, and
went out muttering "Scoundrel!" between his teeth. "I wonder who the
lady is?"
"I wouldn't change places with you, my fine fellow," he muttered, as he
went across the parade ground; and, turning a corner, he came suddenly
upon Sir Harry Payne, Sir Matthew Bray, and the new cornet, who flushed
scarlet, as he saw the dragoon.
James Bell saluted, and was passing, but Sir Harry Payne stopped him,
and Cornet Denville said hastily:
"I've left my cigar-case. Join you directly."
He went away quickly, and Sir Harry Payne said:
"Where are you going, Bell?"
"Major's washerwoman, sir," said the dragoon promptly.
"Then you can call at River's for me. Half a dozen pairs of white kid
gloves. He knows my size. Shall he get you some, Matt?"
"No; not going."
"Isn't she going?"
"No."
"Never mind; you'd better come. Denville's pretty sister will be
there."
"Phew! Will she?" said Sir Matthew, whistling. "I say, mind what
you're about. There may be a row."
"Not there. I shan't notice her; and if I did, Denville's all right.
We're the best of friends now."
"But are you sure she's coming?"
"Pontardent told me herself. She came round the old man."
"Then I will come. Order me some gloves, Harry. I've no change."
"You never do have any. Here! Tell them to send half a dozen pairs for
Sir Matthew, and put them down to me. What's the matter with your lip?"
"My lip, sir?"
"Yes; it's bleeding."
"Cracked, sir."
"Yes: fevered. Drink too much. That will do. Nines, or tens--the
gloves?"
"No, no: eights," cried Sir Matthew; and the dragoon went on out of the
barrack gates, with his face growing grey.
"This is being a soldier," he muttered. "The scoundrel! If I thrash
him till he can't move, they'll shoot me. But no, it can't be. She's
too good a girl. Impossible. Besides, I shall be there."
He went straight to the livery-stable keeper, and arranged for the best
four horses he had, and gave the man a hint.
"Very private, you know."
"Right, my lad. I know what the Major is. Here's half-a-crown for you
to get a glass."
"Thank ye."
James Bell pocketed the coin, and went off back to pack his master's
valise, and load the case of pistols ready to take to the chaise in the
evening, after which he went to have one half-pint of ale, for he was
suffering from a severe sensation of thirst, one that he often felt come
on.
"Just one glass," he said. "That's all."
James Bell partook of his one glass, but it was not all. Then he went
back to see to the horses in his charge in a stable near the barracks--
two belonging to the Major, and one of the Colonel's.
The helper was there, and as the extra work would fall to his share that
night, there was an excuse for giving him a glass of ale, of which he
partook, nothing loth.
The message of Sir Harry Payne had been given, the clothes were packed
up, the pistols ready. Yes, every thing had been done; and at last,
when it was getting dark, James Bell, looking very stern and determined,
and with a tendency to walk extremely straight, as if he were aiming at
something right ahead, went off to Moggridge's, placed the packed valise
under the seat of the post-chaise, the pistols in the pockets, and then
had a chat with the postboys, and--a glass of ale.
There was an hour yet to the time, so he strolled to the end of the
yard, and thought he would just go as far as the stables to see if the
helper had properly bedded down the horses; and this proving to be the
case, and a shilling still remaining unspent of that half-crown, the
dragoon suggested that a pot of the best ale should be fetched, and that
they should drink it before he went.
The helper was worthy of his title, and fetched the ale, and then, one
seated on a truss of straw, the other upon the corn-bin, the two men
finished the ale between them, and just at the time that James Bell
should have been at Mrs Pontardent's gate, he was fast asleep in the
stable.
That afternoon Mr Barclay was busy with his partner, when a visitor was
announced, and as it was probably a call relating to money matters, Mrs
Barclay left the room.
"Oh, it's you, Moggridge," said Barclay gruffly. "You don't want money,
I'm sure."
"Thank ye, no, Mr Barclay, sir," said the visitor, a closely shaven,
sharp-faced man, with bow legs. "Things is moving, sir. I'm doing
tidy;" and he went on chewing a piece of clover hay, which he had
between his lips.
"What do you want then?"
"Well, you know what you said, sir, after the Hon. Tom Badgley went off
that night, and dodged the sheriff's officers; and you know what I
promised you."
"Who's going now?"
"Major Rockley, sir."
"The deuce! Alone?"
"No, sir. I think there's a lady in the case."
"Who?"
"Don't know, sir. Take up at Mrs Pontardent's party; half arter ten."
"Thank ye, Moggridge. What'll you take?"
"Well, sir, champagne's a thing as don't often come in my way, and--"
"Come along," said Barclay, and Mr Moggridge's desires were satisfied.
"Not a bolt!" said Barclay to himself. "Who's the woman? Well, I don't
want him to go. If he goes off he won't meet my bill. He must be
stopped, but how?"
He stood thinking for a few minutes, and then sat down and wrote a
letter which he took out, and picking a boy from the idlers on the
cliff, sent it to its destination.
Volume Two, Chapter XXI.