High up on the Downs behind the town lay a patch of wood, dwarfed and
stunted in its growth by the sharp breezes that came off the sea. The
soil in which they grew, too, was exceedingly shallow; and, as the chalk
beneath was not very generous in its supply of nutriment, the trees sent
their roots along the surface, and their low-spreading branches inland,
with a few shabby twigs seaward to meet the cutting blasts.
Right through this patch of thick low wood ran the London Road, and
across it the coast road, going west, while a tall finger-post that had
once been painted stood with outstretched arms, bending over a little
old grey milestone, as if it were blessing it for being so humble and so
small.
It was along this road that Richard Linnell, Mellersh, and James Bell
had cantered, and then turned off at the cross, on the night of their
pursuit, and the chalky way looked much the same beneath twinkling stars
on the night succeeding the day when Louis Gravani had had his interview
with Claire, as on that of Mrs Pontardent's party.
The similarity was increased by the presence of a yellow post-chaise;
but it was not drawn up at the back of Mrs Pontardent's garden, but
here on the short turf close up to the trees and opposite the
finger-post.
The chaise, an old yellow weather-beaten affair, seemed to be misty, and
the horses indistinct in the darkness, looking quite the ghost of a
vehicle that might be expected to fade away like a trick of the
imagination, everything was so still. The very horses were asleep,
standing bent of knee and with pendent heads. One of the wheelers,
however, uttered a sigh now and then as if unhappy in its dreams, for it
was suffering not from nightmare, a trouble that might have befallen any
horse, but from the weight of the sleeping postboy on its back. The man
evidently believed in his steed as an old friend, and had lain forward
over the pommel of his saddle, half clasping the horse's neck, and was
sleeping heavily, while his companion, who rode one of the leaders, had
dismounted and seated himself upon the turf where the road was cut down
through the chalk, so that his legs were in the channel and his back
against a steep bank.
They had been asleep quite an hour, when a quick step was heard, a
misty-looking figure in a long grey wrapper, and closely-veiled, came
along the road, stopped short by the postboys, retreated and whispered
softly as the turf opposite was reached:
"Hist! Are you there? Oh, gracious! What a wicked girl I am! He has
not come."
The figure seemed to take courage and approached the chaise again.
"He may be inside," she said softly, and going on tip-toe to the door
her hand was raised to the fastening, when one of the wheelers snorted
and half roused the mounted postboy.
"Hullo, then, old gal," he muttered loudly. "Yo--yo--yo--yo--yo!
Gate--gate."
"What shall I do?" exclaimed the veiled figure, and she seized one of
the spokes of the wheel and clung to it as the other postboy, slightly
roused by his companion, took up his cry and shouted drowsily:
"Yo--yo--yo--yo--yo! Gate--gate!"
The horses sighed, and the men subsided into their nap, a long ride on
the previous evening having made them particularly drowsy.
"Talking in their sleep," said the veiled figure, raising herself and
trying the handle of the chaise door, opening it, and reaching in to
make sure whether it was tenanted or no.
"Not come," she sighed. "He must be late, or else I've missed him. He
is looking for me. Oh, what a wicked girl I am! What's that?"
She turned sharply round, darting behind the chaise and among the trees
as a faint sound was heard; and this directly after took the form of
footsteps, a short slight man approaching on the other side of the road,
stopping to gaze at the chaise and then backing slowly into the low
bush-like trees, which effectually hid him from sight.
There was utter stillness again for a few moments, when the dull sound
of steps was once more heard, and another short slight figure approached
armed with a stout cane.
He kept to the grass and walked straight up to the sleeping postboys,
examined them, and then stood listening.
"Just in time," he said to himself. "Drowsy dogs! Ha--ha--ha! I wish
Dick Linnell were here. I should like the fool to see her go. Hang it!
I'd have given Harry Payne fifty to help him on the road if he had
asked me. Get rid of her for good, curse her! I'm sick of the whole
lot. Eh! What, the devil--"
"What are you doing here, Burnett?" said Richard Linnell, crossing the
road from the Downs in company with Mellersh.
"What am I doing? Taking the air. Did you think I was going to elope
in a post-chaise. Hist! don't speak aloud or you'll wake the boys.
But, I say--hang it all--have I been humbugged? Was it you then who
were going off with Claire, and not Sir Harry Payne?"
"Do you want me to horsewhip you, Burnett?" cried Linnell in a low,
passionate voice.
"Not I. There, don't be cross. I can't help it, if she is going."
Linnell turned from him impatiently, but Burnett followed.
"Let her go, man. What's the good of worrying about her? Better for
both of us."
"Come aside," said Mellersh softly. "Here they are."
Linnell seemed disposed to stand fast, but Mellersh took his arm.
"Look here, my dear boy," he whispered. "You don't want to interfere.
Let her go."
Linnell turned upon him fiercely, but he yielded to his companion's
touch, and they walked on some twenty yards, followed by Burnett, who
was laughing to himself and nibbing his hands.
"Lucky I heard," he said to himself. "I only want to be satisfied."
The steps approaching were not those of a lady and gentleman, but of
Lord Carboro' and Barclay, who, in utter ignorance of anyone but the
postboys being at hand, stood for a few minutes listening.
"Yes, Barclay," said the former. "I could not bear for the poor girl to
go without making a step to save her. I'm an old fool, I know, but not
the first of my kind. I tell you, asking nothing, expecting nothing,
I'd give ten thousand pounds to feel that I had not been deceived in
her."
"Pay up then, my lord, for I tell you that you have been deceived. Once
more: the lady is May Burnett, her sister."
"I'm assured that it is Claire Denville, and if it is, Barclay, I'll
save her, damme, I will, if I shoot the man."
"But, my lord--"
"Don't talk to me, sir. I tell you if I saw her going to the church
with a fellow like young Linnell I'd give her a handsome present; but I
can't bear for such a girl as that to be going wrong."
"Unless it was with you, my lord," said Barclay abruptly.
"You confounded rascal! How dare you!" snarled Lord Carboro'. "Do you
think I have no good feeling in me? There, you wouldn't believe in my
disinterestedness, any more than I would in yours. Don't talk. What
shall we do? Pay the postboys and send them off?"
"No, my lord: stand aside, and make sure that we have made no mistake."
"If _you_ have made no mistake," said his lordship quickly; and he and
his companion had hardly drawn aside into the convenient wood to swell
the circle gathering round the intending evaders, when Richard Linnell
made a step from his concealment and was arrested by Mellersh, as
Burnett whispered:
"What are they here for?"
Just then one of the postboys yawned and stretched himself, making noise
sufficient to awaken his fellow, who rose from the bank and flicked his
whip.
"How long have we been here?" said the man on the horse.
"Hours, and not a soul come. My ticker's been asleep as well," he
muttered, after pulling out his watch. "I believe the 'osses have been
having a nap too. I say, I'm getting sick of this."
"Think they'll come?"
"Hang me if I know. Guv'nor seems to have been about right."
"Why, what did he say?"
"You was there and heard him."
"No: I was in the stable."
"Said two po'chays was ordered, and he'd only horses for one. That it
was certain as it was a 'lopement, that both parties wouldn't come, and
perhaps neither of 'em. If they did, Sir Matthy Bray and Sir Harry
Payne had better fight it out, and the gals go home. Hist! Is that
them?"
The two men listened attentively as steps were heard, and the listeners
in the wood were all on the _qui vive_.
Directly after, Sir Harry Payne came up.
"Seen a lady, my lads?"
"No, sir. Been on the watch ever since we come, and no one's been
near," said the first postboy.
"Humph! Past time. Horses fresh?"
"Fresh as daisies, Sir Harry. Don't you be afraid. No one'll catch
us."
"Are you sure you've both been watching? Not been asleep, have you?"
"Sleep a-top of a horse, Sir Harry? Not we."
"Mount!" cried Sir Harry to the second man. "Here she comes."
What followed was the business of a few moments. A slight little veiled
figure came panting up, and was caught in Sir Harry's arms.
"At last!" he cried. "This way, little pet-curse the woman! What are
you doing here?"
Claire Denville's cloak dropped from her shoulders as, panting and
utterly exhausted with the chase after her sister, she flung her arms
about her and held her fast.
"May!" she panted. "Sister, are you mad?"
"You'll make me in a moment," cried Sir Harry. "Curse you! Why do you
interfere?"
"May!" cried Claire again. "For pity's sake--for the sake of your
husband, do not do this wicked thing. Come back with me; come back. No
one shall know. Sister, dear sister, before it is too late."
"Nay, it is too late," whispered Sir Harry. "Choose; will you go back
to misery and disgrace?"
At the edge of the wood the scene was just visible, but the words were
inaudible. Burnett had not at first recognised his wife; but Claire's
voice rang out clear, and with a sneer he turned to Richard Linnell:
"There!" he said. "What did I say? What are you going to do now?"
"Try and save your foolish wife, idiot, if you are not man enough to
interfere."
He sprang out of the wood as he spoke, but ere he could reach the group,
Sir Harry Payne, by a brutal exercise of his strength, swung Claire away
from her sister; and as she staggered on the turf she would have fallen
but for the quick way in which Richard Linnell caught her in his arms.
She clung to him wildly, as she strove to recover herself.
"Help! Mr Linnell! Quick! my sister!" she panted, as Sir Harry Payne
hurriedly threw open the door of the chaise.
"In with you--no nonsense, now," he cried to May. "Be ready, my lads--
gallop hard. I'll pay!"
He was leaning towards the postboys as he spoke, but as the words left
his lips they were half drowned by a piercing shriek that rang out upon
the night, sending a thrill through every bystander. It was no
hysterical cry, but the agony and dread-born appeal for aid from one in
mortal peril.
Sir Harry held the door open, and stood as if paralysed by the cry, for
as if instantaneously, a dark lithe figure had glided out from beneath
the chaise, caught May's arm, and, as the word "_Perfida_!" seemed
hissed in her ear, there was a flash as of steel, and a sharp blow was
delivered like lightning, twice over.
"Curse you!" cried Sir Harry. "Cowardly dog!" He seized May's
assailant by the throat, but only to utter a low cry of pain, and
stagger back from the effect of the heavy blow he received in the
shoulder.
To the startled spectators at hand it was all like some scene in the
half-light of a drama. No sooner had the dark figure rid himself of
Payne than he glided rapidly beneath the chaise again, and before those
who ran up to arrest him could reach the farther side of the vehicle, he
had darted into the wood and was gone. Just then a voice cried: "Help!
for heaven's sake, or she'll bleed to death."
Volume Three, Chapter VII.
"TOO LATE! TOO LATE!"
The words uttered by the first to run to May Burnett's help seemed to
paralyse the party instead of evoking aid, while in the horror and
confusion there was no attempt made to pursue, so stunned were all by
the rapidity with which one event had succeeded the other.
Lord Carboro' was the first to recover himself.
"This is no place for you, Miss Denville," he said. "Will you place
yourself under my protection? Or, no," he added hastily; "Mr Barclay,
take Miss Denville home."
Barclay took a step towards Claire, who stood as if turned to stone,
staring wildly at where her sister lay upon the turf, with Mellersh
kneeling beside her, while Sir Harry Payne also lay without motion.
"Who was that man who struck Mrs Burnett?" said Lord Carboro' sharply,
but no one answered. "Mr Burnett," he continued to that individual, as
he stood aloof looking on, but speechless with mortification and rage.
"Will no one speak? Who is this? You, Mellersh?"
"Yes," was the reply, in a low, pained voice. "This is a terrible
business, Lord Carboro'."
"It generally is when a lady tries to elope and is stopped. Curse me,
though, what a coward that Burnett was to set some one to strike her."
"Did he?" said Mellersh, in a curious tone.
"Yes; didn't you see? Is she fainting?"
"Yes," said Mellersh. "Here, Linnell, help Miss Denville into the
chaise, and she can support her sister."
"No; I forbid it," cried Lord Carboro' sharply. "I--"
"Hush, my lord!" whispered Mellersh. "Do you not see? The wretched
woman is stabbed."
"Stabbed!"
"Claire! Claire! Help! Claire!" wailed May faintly. At her sister's
wild cry a spasm seemed to shoot through Claire's frame, and she wrested
herself from Linnell, and threw herself beside the wretched little woman
where she lay.
"May--sister," she whispered.
"Take me--take me home," said May, in a feeble, piteous voice. "Did you
see him? I was frightened. I was going and he--he stabbed me."
"Help! A doctor! For heaven's sake, help!" cried Claire. "May, May,
speak to me--dear sister."
She raised the frail little figure in her arms as she spoke, till the
pretty baby head rested upon her bosom, and Linnell shuddered as, in the
dim light, he saw the stains that marked her dress and Claire's hands.
"Miss Denville," he whispered, "let Colonel Mellersh place her in the
chaise. She must be got home at once."
"Yes," said Mellersh solemnly. "I can do no more."
As he spoke he gave a final knot to the handkerchief with which he had
bound the slight little arm.
"Who did this?" cried Lord Carboro' quickly. "Mr Burnett, do you
know?"
Burnett did not speak, and the answer came from May, in a feeble, dreamy
voice.
"It was poor Louis," she said. "I saw him this evening--watching me--he
must have followed. Ah!"
"Quick! Get in first, Miss Denville," cried Mellersh. "Draw her away,
Dick, for God's sake! The poor little thing will bleed to death. Good
heavens!"
The last words were uttered in a low tone, as from out of the darkness a
tall gaunt figure staggered up and sank down beside the injured girl.
"Too late! Too late! May! my child! Blood! She is dead--my darling.
She is dead!"
"Hush, sir! She has fainted," cried Linnell. "Mr Denville! For
heaven's sake, sir, be firm. Command yourself. A terrible mishap.
Mrs Burnett must be got back to the town at once. Can you act calmly?"
"Certainly. I'll try," groaned the Master of the Ceremonies; and then,
"Too late--too late!"
He rose, holding one little hand in his as Claire tottered into the
carriage, and May was lifted to her side.
"Now, Mr Denville. In--quick!" cried Linnell. "Straight home. The
postboys shall warn a doctor as they pass."
The door was banged to, the orders given, and the next minute the horses
were going at a canter, on no flight to London, but back to the Parade.
Richard Linnell stood gazing after the departing post-chaise for a few
moments, to start as a hand was placed upon his shoulder.
"Is she hurt badly, Mellersh?" he whispered.
"Badly? Yes," was the reply. "I'm afraid it is the last ride she will
take--but one."
"For heaven's sake, gentlemen, lend a hand here," cried Lord Carboro'
impatiently; and they turned to where Barclay was now kneeling by Sir
Harry Payne, that worthy having just struggled back from a fit of
fainting.
"Cursed cowardly blow," he said in a shrill voice. "Who was it--
Burnett? Why couldn't he call me out?"
"Don't talk, man," cried Lord Carboro'. "Here, Mellersh, the fellow's
bleeding like a pig."
"Am I?" cried Sir Harry faintly. "Damn it. A surgeon. The
post-chaise."
"A knife," said Mellersh shortly, as he made as rapid an examination as
he could in the darkness.
A pocket-knife was handed to him by Barclay, and he ripped up the coat
and threw it aside.
"Is--is it dangerous?" faltered Sir Harry.
"Dangerous enough for you to be more silent," said Mellersh. "Another
handkerchief, please. That'll do. Yes. I'll use both. There, Sir
Harry," he said, as he bound up the prostrate man's arm, "we are only a
mile from the barracks. You must contrive to walk."
"Sick as a dog," muttered Sir Harry; but he struggled to his feet with a
little help. "Don't--don't let that little beast Burnett come near me.
Mellersh, your arm."
There was no need for his desire to be attended to, for Burnett had
stood looking on for a few minutes, and then gone off, to be slowly
followed by the others, the wounded man being compelled by faintness to
halt from time to time till the barrack gate was reached.
Half an hour later Lord Carboro' was in consultation with Barclay,
Mellersh, and Linnell outside the Denvilles' house.
"Gravani?" said Lord Carboro', "to be sure--Louis Gravani. I gave him
some painting to do when he was here. Italian--and the knife--a former
lover, of course?"
"Mrs Barclay tells me, my lord," said Barclay, gravely, "that he was
really Mrs Burnett's husband."
"Dick," said Mellersh, as they were walking slowly back, "of what are
you thinking?"
"Of Claire."
Mellersh said no more, but when they reached home sat musing over the
fact that there was a light in Cora's window, and that she was looking
out. But it was not for him.
Volume Three, Chapter VIII.