"You'll be so glad to hear, my dear," prattled on Mrs Barclay, who was
exceedingly warm and happy. "There's quite a reconciliation, my dear."
"Reconciliation?"
"Yes, dear. Young Cornet Denville has just fetched her to take her
round the grounds, which is just as it should be, you know. I'd have
gone with them, but I'm afraid of the night air, and catching a bad
cold, you see, and so I think it's better not to risk taking a chill,
and--"
"Who fetched her--Cornet Denville?"
"Yes, my dear, her brother; and I've been thinking--"
"Don't talk, Mrs Barclay," cried Cora quickly--"don't talk, pray, only
tell me which way she went."
"Through that door, my dear, and on to the lawn. You'll catch 'em if
you make haste. Bless us and save us, what is the matter with her? Any
one would think poor Claire had run off with her young man. Dear, dear!
what a blessing to be sure," sighed Mrs Barclay complacently, as she
fanned herself, "to have one's own Jo-si-ah, and no troubles of that
kind now."
Cora was gone--out through the window and on to the grass. There were
couples here and there in the dim light, but not those she wished to
see, as she stood passing her large lace scarf over her head.
"What shall I do?" she moaned; and in frantic haste she ran down the
first path she came to, feeling more and more sure that she was wrong;
but directly after she found that this crossed a broad grass path at
right angles; and as she reached it she uttered a gasp, for there was a
couple coming down towards her, and she felt rather than saw that it was
those she sought.
They were close upon her, coming between the bushes, and Morton was
talking loudly, with the thick utterance of one nearly inebriated, while
Claire was answering in a troubled way.
"Very sorry," he said slowly, "sorry, little sis. Love you too much not
to 'pologise, but--man's position--as officer and a gentleman--"
"Yes, yes, dear, you've said so before."
"And I must say you--Hallo! Who's thish?"
"Claire!" cried Cora, in a low whisper. "Back to the house--quick!"
"Miss Dean!"
"Yes. Quick! For heaven's sake. Go. Your father."
Cora did not know it, but she had touched the right chord.
Claire had seemed startled at first, and had hesitated as they stood
together in the darkness with Morton holding the new-comer's arm; but as
Cora exclaimed, as the place of safety Claire was to seek, "your
father!" the thought flashed through Claire's brain that he had had some
terrible seizure--or, worse, that horror of which he was in dread had
come upon him, and in an instant, she had turned and run back towards
the house.
"Why, what the dickensh--I say, what's matter?" stammered Morton.
"Here, Miss Dean, I know you--you know--bu'ful Miss Dean. Proud of your
company. Officer and a gentleman--and take my--"
It was so cleverly done that Cora was taken by surprise. She was about,
as the simplest way out of the difficulty, to take the lad's arm, and
walk back with him to the house, when there was a slight rustle behind
her, the sound of a blow or fall, and the latter muffled and strange,
for a great cavalry cloak was thrown over her head, twisted tightly
round her, binding her arms to her side, and stifling the cry she
uttered; and as she struggled fiercely for her liberty she was lifted
from her feet and borne away.
It was all done so quickly that she was staggered, and she had not
recovered from her confusion when she felt herself forced into a
carriage--the chaise, evidently, of which she had heard. Then came the
banging of a door as she was held back by two strong arms, the swaying
and jerking of the chaise as it went over rough ground and ruts. Then
she realised that it swayed more than ever as they turned on to a hard
road, and she could hear the dull, smothered rattle of the wheels and
the tramp of horses' feet.
She was a woman of plenty of strength of mind; but, for the time being,
the fact of having fallen into this trap laid for Claire stunned her,
and she felt a depressing dread. But by degrees this gave place to her
returning courage, and she struggled furiously, but found that she was
tightly held, and a deep voice she knew kept on bidding her to be
patient--not to be alarmed--and the like.
In the midst of her excitement she ceased struggling and lay back in the
corner of the chaise thinking, for the adventure had now assumed a
ludicrous aspect. It was dramatic--a scene that might have happened in
a play, and she laughed as she thought of Major Rockley's rage and
disappointment when he realised his mistake.
"I'm not afraid of him," she thought, "and I hate him with all my heart.
It is only waiting till we stop, and then the tables will be turned."
"Ah, that's more sensible," came through the thick cloak. "Promise to
be patient and not call out, and I will take off the cloak."
It was very hot. She could hardly breathe, but she dreaded having it
removed till she recalled how dark it was; that it must be even darker,
shut up in the chaise, and that she had on her large lace mantilla, with
which she could well cover her face.
"Shall I take off the cloak?" was said, after they had stopped and
changed horses; and, feeling that she must have air, she made a gesture
with her hands, passing them up towards her face as she felt the great
cloth-covering partly removed, and, as it was drawn away, carefully
covering her face and neck with the scarf.
"At last!" exclaimed her companion, trying to pass his arm round her,
but she struck at him so fiercely that he desisted, and just then the
chaise slackened speed.
"What is it?" he cried, gripping his prisoner's arm with one hand, as he
leaned forward and let down a front window.
"Like us to go on as fast as this, Captain? Road's getting a bit
hilly."
"Yes, and faster, you fools. On, quick! What's that?"
"Sounds like horses, sir, coming on behind."
"Oh, not after us, but go on as fast as you can."
The chaise rumbled on as the window was drawn up, and the sound of the
horses deadened; but Rockley let down the window on his side of the
vehicle and thrust out his head.
As he did so Cora listened intently, and made out the beating of horses'
hoofs behind, now dying out, now louder, now dying out again, but always
heard; and her heart gave a joyful bound as the thought came that an
alarm might have been given by Morton Denville, and these be friends in
pursuit--Richard Linnell perhaps.
Her heart sank like lead. No; she was not afraid of Major Rockley, and
she did not care a fig for the opinion of Saltinville society. She had
been carried off against her will, and the sneers would be those against
Rockley, not against her.
The chaise might go on for hours--all night, if the Major liked. The
longer it was before he discovered his mistake the greater his rage
would be. What was there to fear? If she shrieked the postboys must
come to her help, or she could command help at the next stopping-place.
And the horsemen coming on?
Yes, they were evidently gaining ground, but it was not to overtake her.
He was trying to save the woman he loved--he, Richard Linnell--and her
heart sank lower and lower still.
Then it gave a bound, for there was the click-click of a pistol, just as
before now she had heard it on the stage, and Rockley said:
"That's right. I'm glad you are quiet. I've got you, and, by Jove,
I'll shoot the man who tries to get you away as I would a dog."
Volume Two, Chapter XXIX.