Fred Denville went straight to Barclay's, and was admitted, Claire
looking at him reproachfully as he threw himself into a chair.
"Oh, Fred!" she cried, "and at such a time!"
"Not been drinking," he said; "not been drinking. How's May?"
"Very ill, dear," said Claire sadly. "Here?"
"Yes, Mrs Barclay insisted upon her being brought, so that we could be
together."
"God bless her," said Fred softly. Then, after a pause--"I've seen the
old man."
"And you are friends, Fred?"
He shook his head, and sat staring down at the carpet. "But you tried
to be, dear?"
"Yes; tried hard. I've been. I've done my duty--for once," he said
with a strange laugh.
He did not speak again for a few minutes, and Claire sat holding his
hand, looking at him doubtingly, his manner was so strange.
"You think I've been drinking," he cried fiercely. "Give a dog a bad
name, and then hang him. I haven't touched a drop to-day."
He changed his manner to her directly, and his voice was low and tender
as he took her to his breast and kissed her.
"Poor little Clairy," he said; "you've had a rough time. Never mind;
brighter days coming. The old man will be found innocent."
"Innocent, Fred?" she faltered.
"Yes, innocent," he cried. "Wait: you will see. Clairy, look here.
Tell me this. Did I ever talk about Lady Teigne's jewels when I came to
see you?"
"I don't know, dear. Yes, I remember now, I think you did."
"Hah!" he ejaculated. "I must go now. Good-bye, little woman. I
always loved my little sister, always. You know that, don't you,
Clairy?"
"Yes, dear Fred, always."
"Bad as I was?"
"Oh, Fred, I never thought you bad," cried Claire piteously. "I only
thought it was a pity you did not try to raise yourself, and--"
"Leave the drink alone. Quite right, Clairy. It was the drink. It
makes a man stupid and mad. He doesn't know what he's about when he has
taken too much. Remember that, my dear, it was the drink."
"Fred, how strangely you are talking."
"Strangely?" he said, clasping her to his breast, "strangely? Well, I
meant to be kind and tender to my poor, suffering little sister. I've
been a bad lot, but I always loved my little Claire."
She stood gazing wonderingly after him, he seemed so strange in his way,
as, after straining her to his breast, he kissed her passionately again
and again, and then turned and literally ran from the room, while, as
she placed her hand against her face, she found that it was wet.
"Poor Fred," she said, "if I could only win him from his ways."
She said no more, for her thoughts were only too ready to turn to their
usual theme--her father and his imprisonment, and she sat down to rest
her aching head upon her hand, wondering what had passed during the
interview within the prison walls.
Fred Denville found Mr and Mrs Barclay below, and in a quick, agitated
way he caught Mrs Barclay's hand.
"It's very kind of you to let me call upon my sister," he said, "seeing
what I am. I thank you. I am not coming again."
"Not coming again? Oh, I'm sure you're welcome enough, Mr Fred, for
your sister's sake," said Mrs Barclay, "isn't he, Jo-si-ah?"
"Of course, of course."
"Thank you--both of you," cried Fred hastily. "You are very good, and
that's why I say be kind to my poor sisters, and try and comfort both if
anything happens."
"Oh, but we must not let anything happen," said Barclay. "The poor old
gentleman must be saved."
"Yes, of course," said Fred dreamily; "he must be saved. He's innocent
enough, poor old fellow. I did not mean that. You'll take care of the
poor girls, won't you?"
"Why, of course we will, Mr Fred Denville; of course we will. There,
don't you make yourself uneasy about them."
"I won't," said Fred, in his bluff, straightforward way. "I may be
quite happy, then, about Claire?"
"To be sure you may."
"I shouldn't like her to suffer any more, and it would be terrible for
those wretched dandy scoundrels to get hold of her and break her heart."
"Don't you fidget yourself about that, young man," said Mrs Barclay
with quite a snort. "Your dear sister's too proud for any jack-a-dandy
fellow to win her heart."
"You're a good woman," said Fred softly. "I'm not much account as a
man, but I know a good woman when I meet one, and I wish I'd had such a
one as you by me when I was a boy. If I had, I shouldn't have been a
common soldier now. Good-bye, ma'am; good-bye, sir. Heaven bless you
both."
He hurried out, afraid of showing his emotion, and Mrs Barclay turned
round wiping her eyes.
"There, Jo-si-ah, you see everybody don't think ill of us, bad as we
are."
"Humph! no," said Barclay thoughtfully; "but I don't understand that
chap--he's so strange. Why, surely, old girl, he had no hand in that
murder."
"Lor'! Jo-si-ah, don't! You give me the creeps all over. I do wish
you wouldn't think about murders and that sort of thing. You give me
quite a turn. I wouldn't have my dear Claire hear you for the world."
"All right! I won't say anything before her; but this young chap has
set me thinking; he seemed so strange."
Other people thought Fred Denville strange, notably Major Rockley, who,
in company with Sir Matthew Bray and Sir Harry Payne, was on the Parade,
as, with brows knit and eyes bent down, the dragoon came along, walking
swiftly.
The three officers were in undress uniform, having just left parade, and
each carried his riding-whip.
Fred did not notice them, he was too deep in thought, and walking
straight on he went right between them, unintentionally giving Sir
Matthew Bray a rough thrust with his shoulder, for of course an officer
could not give way to a private.
It was Fred Denville's duty, in the character of James Bell, private
dragoon, to have saluted his officers and given them all the path, if
necessary; but at that moment he could see nothing but the grey
white-faced old man in the cell at the gaol, in peril of his life and
threatened with a felon's death.
"I must have been drunk," he was muttering to himself. "Yes: I
remember, I was horribly drunk that night, and didn't know what I was
doing. Poor old father! with all your faults you did not deserve this.
Yes: I must have been drunk."
At this point he was brought from his musings to the present by a
stinging cut from a riding-whip across the back, his tight uniform being
so little protection that the sharp whalebone seemed to divide the
flesh.
With a cry of rage he turned round, and flung out his fist, striking Sir
Harry Payne, who had given the blow with the whip, full on the nose, and
sending him backwards.
"You insolent dog!"
"You scoundrel!"
The epithets were delivered in a breath by Major Rockley and Sir Matthew
Bray, just as Lord Carboro' approached, walking by Lady Drelincourt's
bath-chair.
It was an opportunity for showing how an insolent drunken private should
be treated; and as several loungers of society were coming up, the two
officers accompanied their words with a couple of blows from their
whips.
It is dangerous to play with edged tools, is proverbially said; and, in
his then frame of mind, Fred Denville felt no longer that he was James
Bell, the disciplined, kept-down servant and private. He felt as a man
smarting from the blows he had received. The service, the penalty for
striking an officer, were as nothing to him then; he saw only the big,
pompous, insolent bully of his regiment, Sir Matthew Bray, and the man
who had insulted him a thousand times, which he could have forgiven, and
his sister again and again, which he could not forgive.
With one bound he was upon Sir Matthew Bray, whom he struck full in the
chest, so that he staggered back, tripped his heels on the front wheel
of Lady Drelincourt's bath-chair, and fell heavily into the road.
With another bound he was upon Rockley, who had followed and struck him
again a sharp, stinging cut.
There was a momentary struggle, and then the whip was twisted out of
Rockley's hand, his wrist half dislocated, and for a couple of minutes
the thin scourge hissed and whistled through the air as, half mad with
rage, Fred lashed the Major across shoulders, back, and legs, and
finally dashed him down with a parting cut across the face.
"That for you, you horsewhipped cur and scoundrel! You disgrace the
uniform you wear!"
There was a little crowd gathering, but only one man dared to seize upon
the fierce-looking dragoon, and that one was Lord Carboro'.
"Loose my arm," roared Fred, turning upon him with uplifted whip; but,
as he saw who held him, and that Bray and Payne were holding aloof, and
helping Rockley to rise, he lowered his whip. "Loose my arm, my lord;
you're an old man, I can't strive with you."
"You rascal! You have struck your superior officers."
"Superior!" raged out Fred. "I have horsewhipped a vile _roue_ for the
blow he struck me, and ten times as much for--Keep off!" he roared, as
Colonel Mellersh and Linnell joined the group.
"I shall hold you till a picket comes from the barracks, sir, to take
you in arrest," cried Lord Carboro' sternly.
Fred Denville did not attempt to wrest his arm away, but smiled half
contemptuously at the padded, made-up old nobleman, and gave the whip a
lash through the air as he stared hard at Rockley, who was white with
rage, but talked to him who held his arm.
"Look here, my lord," he said, "is it amongst your set a social sin for
a man to horsewhip the blackguard who insults his sister?"
"No," said Lord Carboro' stoutly; "but you have struck your superior
officer."
"I have thrashed the scoundrel who would have dragged my sister in the
mire could he have had his way. It was my last act as a free man, and
thank God I have had the chance."
"James Bell," cried Sir Matthew Bray, "I arrest you. Give up that
whip."
"Touch me if you dare," roared Fred. "Stand back, or I'll kill you."
"Private Bell--"
"Damn Private Bell!" cried the young man fiercely. "My name is
Frederick Denville, and I am a gentleman."
Lord Carboro's hand dropped to his side, and as the young man faced him
for a moment, it was anything but anger that flashed from the old
nobleman's eyes as he muttered to himself:
"Damme, so he is; and he has Claire's very look."
Fred Denville strode right away along the Parade, followed at a distance
by Linnell and Mellersh, till, to their surprise, they saw him enter
their door, no attempt being made to arrest him then.
Volume Three, Chapter XVII.
"SURRENDER!"
"No, Mr Denville, I am a soldier, and yours is a terrible crime against
discipline, but I can't say a word in condemnation of your act."
"Thank you, Colonel. Will you give me a few words here with Mr
Linnell?"
"Yes; but I should advise you to be quick," said Mellersh. "Hang it,
man, they'll shoot you for this. What's to be done, Dick? Look here,
Denville, can't you knock one of us down, take a suit of plain clothes
and make off. There's twenty pounds on the chimney-piece yonder."
"Thank you, sir, thank you," said Fred, smiling sadly; "but I'm not
going to run. I shall give myself up."
"No, no," cried Linnell excitedly. "For heaven's sake don't do that,
man. There's trouble enough in your home. You'll break her heart."
Fred Denville swung round in an instant, and caught Linnell's hands in a
strong grip.
"Then you do love her," he cried, his voice quivering. "My little
true-hearted, suffering darling. Oh, man, man, man, don't let wretched
shadows stand between you now. I know everything, and how you have been
ready to believe all kinds of unhappy scandals about the best girl who
ever lived. Look here--no, don't go, Colonel; you've heard the
beginning, you may as well hear the rest. It came out like a flash.
Stop now, and hear me, both of you. Ours is an unhappy family; I've
been a wild, foolish scamp: my father lies in prison under a false
charge; he is innocent. I know that such a family is not one that a
gentleman would seek to enter, save under exceptional circumstances; but
I've watched you, Richard Linnell, and I know you loved my sister, and I
know that she never had a thought save for you."
Linnell clenched his hands, compressed his lips, and began to pace the
room.
"You, Colonel Mellersh, are a bit of a cynic; you don't believe in
women, but you are mistaken here."
"What do you wish me to do?" said Linnell hoarsely.
"To do? She is almost friendless, broken-hearted, and has not a strong
true hand to take hers, a loyal heart who will stand by her against the
world. Richard Linnell, my poor sister is suffering and in pain, and a
great trouble is coming upon her that will not balance the joyful news
she will soon hear."
"Then, why not make a dash for it, man, while you have time?" cried
Mellersh.
"Because I shall give myself up to the civil authorities, sir; that is
all. Mr Linnell, remember what I have said. Good-bye."
"Too late!" cried Mellersh, as a tramping was heard, and Sir Matthew
Bray, a sergeant, and half a dozen dragoons marched quickly up.
Fred Denville's whole manner had changed.
He dashed to the front. There was no escape there, and the soldiers
were already in the hall.
Rushing to the back window he threw it up, but it moved stiffly, and
before he had it well raised, the picket was in the room.
"Surrender!" cried the sergeant. "Halt, or I fire."
For answer Fred Denville rose on the sill and leaped down into the
garden, a good dozen feet, and ran swiftly for the wall at the bottom.
"Halt!" roared Sir Matthew; but the fugitive paid no heed, and in
response to rapid orders four carbines were raised, there was a ringing
little volley, and, to Linnell's horror, Fred Denville made a bound, and
fell upon his face.
"Oh, this is too bad, sir!" roared Mellersh fiercely.
"Mind your own affairs, sir," said Sir Matthew sharply. "Saved him from
being shot after a court-martial."
In a few minutes the wounded man was borne in and laid in the hall,
where Cora Dean was one of the first to fetch restoratives, while her
mother brought a pillow and placed beneath his head, for a couple of the
dragoons had been sent to fetch the means to transport him to the
barracks.
It seemed at first that the one bullet which had struck him had been
aimed too truly; but after a few minutes the poor fellow opened his
eyes, looked wildly round, and then recognised Linnell.
"Ah!" he ejaculated, "you! Look here. I was on the way--to give myself
up--civil authorities--my father--in prison--innocent--Lady Teigne--
murder--in a fit of drunkenness--I climbed up--to get the diamonds--save
the poor old man--I--I--did the deed."
Volume Three, Chapter XVIII.