That night, as Claire sat by the open window of her bedroom, where May
lay sleeping, and the flowers that she had tended so carefully in the
past for the most part withered and dry, her thoughts went back to the
morning's interview with Lord Carboro', and there was a feeling of
regret in her breast as she thought of the old man's chivalrous
devotion.
Then her heart seemed to stand still, and again beat with a wild tumult
as she told herself that the silent reproach she had felt was not
justified; that it was her own doing, that Richard Linnell was not at
her side. For that was his step, and she knew that he would stop
opposite to her darkened window and gaze upwards before passing on.
There was pleasure and yet pain in the thought, for she felt that though
it was impossible that they could ever even be friends, he must believe
in her and she must dwell in his heart.
How often might he not have passed like that, and looked up, thinking of
her!
It was a pleasant thought, but one that she dismissed at once, as if it
were a temptation.
Trying to stop her ears to the sounds, she crept back from the window,
and bent over May, who seemed to be sleeping more easily; and a feeling
of hope began to lighten the darkness in her heart, and the black shadow
of dread that so oppressed her was forgotten, till, all at once, it came
back, blacker, more impenetrable than ever, as the sound of voices loud
in altercation rose from below.
Claire's heart stood still, and she held on by a chair-back, listening
with her lips apart, and wondering whether this was the bolt fallen at
last--the blow she was always dreading, and that she felt must one day
come.
She crept to the door, passed out and listened, closing it after her
that the noise might not awaken May, to whom sleep meant life.
Angry voices rose, and then there were the sounds of blows struck
apparently with a cane. Then there was a scuffling noise, and the front
door was driven back.
"Leave the house, scoundrel! leave my house, insolent dog!" came up
sharp and clear in her father's voice, quivering with anger, and the
scuffle was renewed.
"You pay me my wages; you pay me what you owe me, or I don't stir a
step."
The voice that uttered these last words was thick and husky, and full of
menace. It was a familiar voice, though, that Claire recognised, and
her cheeks burned with shame as she felt that passers-by, perhaps
Richard Linnell, would hear the degrading words that were uttered.
Her sister lying there sick, and this pitiful disturbance that was
increasing in loudness, and must be heard by any one who happened to be
upon the Parade!
She hurried down to find that the scuffling sounds had been renewed, and
as she reached the passage it was to find that her father was trying to
drag Isaac to the door, and force him into the road, where quite a
little crowd was collecting.
"Leave this house, sir, directly."
"I shan't for you," cried Isaac, resisting stoutly. "I want my wages.
I want my box."
"Leave this house, you drunken insolent scoundrel!"
"Father! for pity's sake," cried Claire, trying to interfere.
"No, no; stand back, my child," cried the old man angrily. "He has come
back again to-night tipsy. He has insulted me once more, and he shall
not stay here--I can turn him out, and I will."
"Not you, and I shan't go," hiccupped Isaac, seizing the plinth at the
bottom of the balusters and holding on. "I don't go from here 'thout my
money--every penny of it, so now, old Denville."
"Pray, pray let me pass, father, and shut the door," cried Claire.
"No, my dear," said the old man, whose blood was now up. "He shall
leave this house at once."
"No, I shan't leave neither without my box."
The struggle went on, and the lamp would have been knocked off the
bracket but for Claire's hand. The contending parties swayed here and
there, but it was evident that the footman was far the stronger, while
Denville's forces were failing moment by moment.
"Can I be of any assistance, Mr Denville?" said a voice that thrilled
Claire through and through, but which made her shrink back up a few
stairs to avoid being seen.
"Who's that?--Mr Linnell? Yes," panted Denville. "My servant, sir--my
lacquey. This is the fourth time he has come back from being absent
without leave, intoxicated, sir. Tipsy. Not fit to come into a
gentleman's presence."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Isaac--"Gentleman's presence! I don't call you a
gentleman. Why, you're all that's mean and shabby and poor. Just you
pay me my wages in arrears."
"Come to-morrow, scoundrel," said Denville loftily. "Mr Linnell, if
you would kindly send one of the people outside for a constable. He
will find one by the Assembly-Room. Let him say that the man is wanted
at Mr Denville's--at the Master of the Ceremonies', and he will come on
directly."
Linnell glanced up at where Claire was turning back in shame and
distress of mind, little thinking that in a few minutes she would be
bravely standing at her father's side.
"Fetch a constable!" cried Isaac defiantly. "Do, if you dare. What do
I care for a constable?"
"Why don't you pay the man his wages?" said a voice at the door.
"Ah, to be sure," cried Isaac, with a tipsy laugh. "Why don't you pay
the man his wages? 'Cause you can't. Beggarly old upstart."
"Silence, you scoundrel!" cried Linnell fiercely, "or I'll drag you out
and throw you over the cliff for your insolence."
"Do it--do it!" cried Isaac fiercely. "Who's afraid?"
"Silence, dog!" cried Denville, catching up his cane.
"Don't strike him, Mr Denville," said Linnell. "Some one there fetch a
constable. Five shillings for the first man who brings one here."
"Don't you, m'lads," cried Isaac. "He daren't send for a constable. I
tell you he daren't--not for me. Send for one for himself."
Claire trembled and shuddered at those words; and, had it been possible,
she would have ended the scene at any cost, but she was helpless.
For a moment Linnell had thought of seizing and dragging out the tipsy
servant; but on second consideration he felt that it might just as well
be done by some one in authority, so, hurrying out, he despatched one of
the crowd in another direction to that taken by the two or three who had
hurried off on the promise of a reward, and then turned back to see if
he could be of any further service.
"Cons'able for me!" said Isaac, with tipsy gravity. "I like that. I
like that--much. Let him come. Make him pay me _my_ wages. Then I'll
go. Not before, if all the old Masters o' Ceremonies in England wanted
me to go."
"The insolent scoundrel!" panted Denville; "after all I've done for him
since he came to me a boy."
"Done for me! Ha-ha-ha!" laughed Isaac; "kept me on short commons, and
didn't pay my wages. Now, then, are you going to pay my money?"
"Here he is." "Here's one," rose in chorus, and way was made for the
fussy-looking individual who occupied the post of chief constable of
Saltinville.
"Now, then, what's this?" he said.
"Tipsy servant," chorussed half--a--dozen voices. "Drunk."
"My servant, Mr Cordy," said Denville importantly. "He has
misconducted himself again and again. You see the condition he is in."
"Yes, I see," said the constable. "Come along."
"Wait till he pays my wages," hiccupped Isaac.
"You can talk about that another time," said the constable importantly.
"Come along."
He seized the footman, gave him a shake which wrenched his fingers from
their hold upon the bottom of the balusters, and with another shake
jerked him upon his feet.
But Isaac was not going to be dragged off like that without making a
scene, and he shouted out:
"Stop!"
"Well, what is it?" said the constable.
"Does he give me into custody, cons'ble?"
"Yes. Come along."
"Then I give him into custody--do you hear?--custody--for murder. I
won't go alone."
"There, come along, fool," cried the constable.
"No--not without him," cried Isaac. "Murder!"
"Silence!" cried Denville excitedly, as Claire rushed down the stairs
and caught her father's arm.
"Shan't silence!" yelled the man, who now threw off his half-tipsy,
contemptuous manner, and seemed stung by the treatment he had received
into a fit of furious passion. "I give him into custody--for murder."
"Nonsense! Hold your tongue, and come along," cried the constable;
while Linnell seized the man on the other side, and hurriedly tried to
force him out.
But it is not easy to get a man along a narrow passage if he resists
fiercely; and so they found, for, setting his feet against the edge of
the dining-room door, Isaac thrust himself back, and yelled to the
throng at the door:
"Do you hear? For murder! I charge this man--Denville--with killing
old Lady Teigne."
"Silence, villain!" hissed Linnell in his ear, as he darted an agonised
glance at where Claire was half supporting her father, while the black
cloud she had seen impending so long seemed to have fallen at last.
"Silence? When there's murder?" shouted Isaac. "I tell you I heard a
noise, and got up, and then I saw him go to Lady Teigne's room, the
night she was murdered. Ask him there who did it, and see what he'll
say."
"Father, come away!" panted Claire, as she threw herself before him, as
if to defend him against this terrible charge.
"What's that?" cried the constable. "Oh, nonsense! Come along."
"I tell you it's true," cried Isaac, with drunken fierceness; "it's
true. I saw him go to her room. Let him deny it if he can."
Denville stood up, holding tightly by Claire's arm, and looking wildly
from one to the other as a strange murmur rose amongst the
fast-augmenting crowd. Then, as if it were vain to fight against the
charge, he made a lurch forward, recovered himself, and sank into a
chair, Richard Linnell catching sight of his ghastly countenance before
he covered it with his hands.
"It is a false charge, constable," cried Linnell hastily. "Take that
man away."
"It's all true," snarled Isaac, with drunken triumph. "Look at him.
Let him say he didn't do it if he dare!"
As every eye was fixed upon him, the Master of the Ceremonies did not
move; he made no bold defiance, but seemed half paralysed by the bolt
that had fallen--one from which his child had failed to screen him,
though she had thrown herself upon his breast.
Volume Three, Chapter XI.