THE DISCOMFITURE OF OTIS
"We build with strength the deep tower-wall
That shall be shattered thus and thus.
And fair and great are court and hall;
But how fair--this is not for us,
Who know the lack that lurks in all.
"... the years
Interpret everything aright,
And crown with weeds our pride of towers,
And warm our marble through with sun,
And break our pavements through with flowers,
With an Amen when all is done."
--MRS. MEYNELL.
Sybil Ayres, who was animated by a very lively desire to pay out
Lancelot for being about to marry someone else, manœuvred
repeatedly to approach the Burmester party, and fling her fire-brand
into their midst. But in some unaccountable way they seemed to elude
her. After a time she appealed to Captain Brooke, who happened to be
passing by.
"Captain Brooke, do persuade Miss Lutwyche to come this way! Her
brother is here, and wants to see her."
"What, one of the Boer boys? He had better go and call upon her
to-morrow at Glen Royd, I should think. This is a public sort of
meeting-place; and as you see, she is leaving the ground now with
Lady Burmester's party."
"It looks just as if Miss Lutwyche was avoiding him," tittered Miss
Ayres.
"It is Major Otis whom they are all avoiding, by my advice," said the
Captain gravely.
"Because he knows all about Miss Lutwyche's African life? That looks
as if there were something to be ashamed of, doesn't it?" said the
girl impertinently.
"Not on that account, but because--you will pardon my speaking so of
the General's guest--with my consent, no woman of my acquaintance
should speak to such a man."
"Captain Brooke!"
"I will say the same to Otis himself, if you wish. He has no
business in any gentleman's house, and he knows it. Whatever he told
me, I should be sure was a lie, merely because Otis said it."
"But--but--" stammered Sybil, crimson, "the vicar says that all Major
Otis tells him is borne out by his own knowledge, only the real facts
were kept from him by Mr. Mayne. The Major says he is prepared to
swear before any magistrate that all he says is true."
"Then he has actually presumed to make charges against Miss
Lutwyche?" asked the Captain, his eyes like blue fire. "You can tell
him from me that wilful perjury's a serious matter in England."
"Oh, Captain Brooke, do you really think that what he says about Miss
Lutwyche is untrue? Because the vicar is gone to lay the matter
before Sir Joseph. He felt it his duty. Major Otis says Miss
Lutwyche, if asked, can't, and won't deny it."
"Deny what?" asked Brooke, in a tone that, as Sybil afterwards
declared, sent cold shivers down her back.
"If--if it's true, Miss Lutwyche ought not-- But I couldn't possibly
tell you!"
"Yet you could listen," he broke in. "You could stand by while that
coward dared to mishandle the name of a girl you have known for
years! You could believe his vile accusations! Well, now, he has
chosen to do this thing in public, and I'll make him regret it to the
last day he lives. I'll just trouble Major Otis to repeat his lies
to me! Excuse plain speaking. But I know this man, and you don't."
The Burmester party, including the vicar and the Helstons, were just
driving away as he strode with his long, firm stride, across the
field to where the Major stood, a cluster of eager listeners around
him. His hand rested on the shoulder of a big, slouching boy,
swarthy, with high cheek-bones and little black eyes, who seemed
about as unlike what one would imagine Melicent's brother as anything
could be.
"This boy can tell you it's all true," he was saying, "and so could
Mestaer, if he hadn't got shot as a spy later on, in the campaign."
"I knew Mestaer," said the Captain, in a carrying voice. "Perhaps
the fact may serve as an introduction between us, Major. Now you
tell me, straight out, the truth about him and Miss Lutwyche, just as
you have been telling these friends of ours, will you?"
Eager faces, wearing expressions of various kinds, pressed nearer as
Otis, wholly unsuspicious, repeated his version of Millie's flight
from her father's house.
Alfred Dow was close to Bert; Mrs. Cooper and her daughters not far
off.
The Captain listened with perfect calmness. When it was done, he
said quietly: "That all?"
"That's all; and if I were Burmester, I'd think it enough," he said,
laughing brutally.
"Well," said Bert, "then my turn comes. You have had no scruple in
saying this abominable thing out before ladies, which alone might
have opened their eyes as to the kind of refuse you are; so I have no
scruple in telling you, before ladies, that you lie. You lie, sir,
as a Boer traitor might be expected to do. Yes, grin! Show them all
the false teeth you wear in place of those Mestaer knocked down your
throat on the day you laid your plans against Miss Lutwyche! Hold
your tongue! You've had your innings this afternoon; now I'm going
to have mine! You lied again when you said Mestaer was shot. He is
alive, as you probably know. What you don't know is that he is in
England. The Bishop of Pretoria is in England too. Both these
witnesses can prove the untruth of your story, as you know; and I
both can and will produce them--not here, but in open court, unless
you confess yourself a malicious liar, and offer a public apology.
If you don't withdraw every word you have said against Miss Lutwyche
this afternoon, you shall pay such swingeing damages as shall exhaust
the last of the loot you stole when you were in the Boer Irish
Brigade, before the taking of Kroonstadt. Ha, you see, I know!"
He had spoken without a pause. The white intensity of his rage had
carried him along, and the silent sympathy of the excited audience
seemed to make itself felt. Amurrica had several times tried to
break in, but in vain. But now he uttered a howl of rage, and
fuming, turned to those about him.
"He thinks to frighten me! He thinks he can-- By the---- Who are
you, sir? Who are you to take up the cudgels for this young lady?"
"I have the privilege to be a friend of Miss Lutwyche," said Hubert,
raising his hat as he spoke with a quiet grace which gave the effect
of saluting her name. "I also know the Orange Colony like the palm
of my hand. There's not a man in that colony that would believe you
on your oath. If I allowed this gathering to disperse without
knowing you for the scoundrel you are, I should be failing in my duty
to this country. Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard the slander
uttered by this renegade. I shall now tell you the truth, in as few
words as possible. Miss Lutwyche was left an orphan at the age of
sixteen, in a Boer village which a year or two before had got filled
with sweepings from other parts of Africa, come there in search of
diamonds. This man, who had long cast eyes on her, paid her
stepmother a sum of money to hand her over to him on her father's
death. But Mr. Mayne, the chaplain, had been left her guardian,
which interfered with their design. Mayne had to go away on urgent
business connected with the will. In his absence it was plotted that
Otis should go through a form of marriage with the girl at the hands
of the Boer Predikant. But, as they knew the indomitable spirit of
Miss Lutwyche, the Boer woman thrashed her within an inch of her life
to reduce her to a proper state of submission. In escaping from her
torturers, she fell down a ladder, and dislocated her arm. That
seems to have frightened them somewhat, for they let her creep away
to her garret to die. Mestaer, who had been asked by Mayne to keep
watch, went to the house, found her lying in a pool of blood, and
carried her to his home. Where else could he have taken her? He put
her in charge of his housekeeper, fetched a doctor at once, and
mounted guard until Mayne's return, when he went off to the war.
Now, you ask that boy there, whether this is true or no. Here, boy!
did your mother sjambok your sister?"
All eyes were turned upon the uncouth lad. He lifted his eyes to his
questioner with a very curious look; he did not seem to notice Otis,
who still kept a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, she did," he replied sulkily.
"Was it done at Otis's suggestion?"
Here the boy shook off the Major's touch, and stood up.
"Yes; to make her go quiet; only mother was drunk, and she done too
much."
There was a kind of growl all round among the listening Dalesmen.
Otis grew green, and clenched his fist.
"You shall pay for this!" he muttered to the boy.
"Had Otis paid your mother to arrange the matter?" went on Bert
relentlessly.
"Yes."
"And this is the cur," said Hubert, between his teeth, "who has dared
to slander a young innocent girl before you all this day."
Otis was literally foaming at the mouth. His mortification was
choking him.
"I said what was true!" he screamed. "Mestaer did carry her off! I
said no more! She was in his house! That's all I said."
"Yes, and that's what you'll go to hell for saying!" shouted Dow,
cracking a formidable whip he held, and stamping with excitement.
"It isn't a sjambok, Captain, but let me lay it round him once or
twice! Let me just give him the feel of it! Do now!"
Bert waved him back.
"If it wasn't for his health," he said, "I would be inclined to let
you do as you liked with him. But he's ill, Dow, and he mustn't be
touched. But if there's a soul present will let him inside his doors
after this, I shall be surprised. You're a discredited traitor," he
said fiercely to the livid Otis. "How you got your commission is one
of the many mysteries of the late campaign. Having come through so
far, you might have had the common decency to lie low and keep your
poisonous tongue quiet!"
Otis appealed, gasping in his rage, to General Ayres; but the General
turned his back upon him.
"We took our convalescents on trust," he said coldly. "That trust
the War Office has betrayed. I will send your luggage to any address
you like to give me."
"But look here--is this justice, bare justice? His word against
mine, that's all you've got, except for this lying little Boer--"
"We all know and respect Captain Brooke," said the General, bowing to
Hubert. "I may add, we all know and admire Miss Lutwyche." He
raised his hat, as Hubert had done. "Gentlemen, may I venture to
suggest--three cheers for Miss Lutwyche?"
The field rang again. The hurrahs rolled away across the Dale, and
Brenda remarked, as they drove silently."
"That must have been a close race! Hark, how they are cheering the
winner!"
* * * * * * * *
"You rat--you little viper!" hissed Amurrica, as he hastened, with
Arnie at his side, to get the dog-cart from the farm where it was put
up, and drive away from the scene of his disgrace, "why in thunder
did you give me away like that?"
It was a long time before the sullen answer came:
"Always was afraid of him."
"Afraid of me?"
"No fear," said Arnie, with a laugh. "Not much. But I always have
been feared of Bert Mestaer."
"What?" Otis gave a kind of jump into the air. "Mestaer? That?
Mestaer coming the county gentleman? And I never knew it! You
little devil, why didn't you tell me?"
"Thought you'd know him."
Otis stood still in the dusty lane. He went from red to pale, and
almost to purple again.
"If he thinks he's done with me, he makes a mistake, that's all," he
growled; and he snarled like a wild beast.