SUDDEN DEATH
"Y' shell not kiss m' gel, or merry her, or hev anything t' do with m'
gel," said Captain Huxham, in a thick voice. "Oh, I saw y' fro' th'
quarter-deck with m' gel. Jus' y' git, or----"
He made a threatening step forward, while Cyril waited him without
flinching. What would have happened it is hard to say, for Captain
Huxham was in a frenzy of rage. But Bella, recovering from her first
surprise, threw herself between the two men.
"Father," she cried passionately, "I love him."
"Oh, y' do, do y'?" growled the fireside tyrant, turning fiercely on
her, "an' arter I told y' es y'd hev t' leave the swab alone. Did I, or
did I not?"
"Yes, but you assigned no reason for asking me to avoid Cyril, so----"
"Cyril! Cyril!" The captain clenched his huge hand, and his little eyes
flashed with desperate anger. "Y' call him Cyril, y'--y'--slut." He
raised a mighty fist to strike her, and the blow would have fallen, but
that Lister suddenly gripped Huxham's shoulder and twitched him
unexpectedly aside.
"If you blame anyone, sir, you must blame me."
"I'll break yer neck, cuss y'," raged the older man.
Cyril shrugged his shoulders, indifferently. "You can try, if you like,
but I don't propose to let you do it. Come, Captain Huxham, let us both
be reasonable and talk matters over."
"Y're on m' land; git off m' land," shouted Huxham, swinging his fists
like windmills.
"Go, Cyril, go," implored Bella who was terrified lest there should be a
hand-to-hand struggle between the two men. That was not to be thought
of, as if Lister killed the captain, or the captain killed Lister, there
would be no chance of her becoming the wife of the man she loved.
"I am quite ready to go," said Cyril, keeping a watchful eye on Huxham;
"but first I should like to hear why you, sir, object to my marrying
Bella." He spoke quietly and firmly, so that the level tones of his
voice, and the admirable way in which he kept his temper, had a cooling
effect on the enraged sailor.
Huxham, born bully as he was, found that it was difficult for him to
storm at a man so cool, and calm, and self-controlled. "Y' ain't m'
chice," said he in lower but very sulky tones; "m' gel's goin' t' merry
th' sky-pilot, Silas Pence."
"Oh, no, she's not," said Lister smoothly; "she will marry me."
"If she does, she don't get no money o' mine."
"That will be no hindrance," said Bella, who was rapidly regaining her
colour. "I am willing to marry Cyril without a penny."
"Y' shent, then," grumbled her father savagely.
"I have yet to hear your objections, sir."
"Yer name's Lister, and----"
The objection was so petty, that Bella quite expected to see Cyril
laugh. But in place of doing so, he turned white and retreated a step.
"What--what do you know of my name?" he asked, with apparent
nervousness.
"Thet's my business," snapped Huxham, seeing his advantage, "an' I
shen't tell y' m' business. Y' git off m' land, or----" he suddenly
lunged forward in the attempt to throw Lister when off his guard.
But the young man was watchful, and, unexpectedly swerving, dexterously
tripped up his bulky antagonist. Huxham, with a shout, or rather a
bellow of rage like a wounded bull, sprawled full length amongst the
corn. Bella pushed her lover away before the captain could regain his
feet. "Go, go, I can see you to-morrow," she said hastily.
"Y' shell never see the swab again," roared Huxham, rising slowly, for
the fall had shaken him, and he was no longer young. "I'll shut y' in
yer room, an' feed y' on bread an' water."
"If you dare to say that again, I'll break your head," cried Lister,
suddenly losing his temper at the insult to the girl he loved.
"Oh, will y'?" Huxham passed his tongue over his coarse lips and rubbed
his big hands slowly. Apparently nothing would have given him greater
pleasure than to pitch this man who dared him into the boundary channel;
but he had learned a lesson from his late fall. Lister was active and
young; the captain was elderly and slow. Therefore, in spite of his
superior strength--and Huxham judged that he had that--it was risky to
try conclusions of sheer brute force. The captain therefore, being a
coward at heart, as all bullies are, weakened and retreated. "Y' git off
m' land," was all that he could find to say, "an' y' git home, Bella. Es
m' daughter I'll deal with y'."
"I am quite ready to go home," said Bella boldly; "but you are not going
to behave as though I were one of your sailors, father."
"I'll do wot I please," growled Huxham, looking white and wicked.
Bella laughed somewhat artificially, for her father did not look
amiable. "I don't think you will," she said, with feigned carelessness.
"Cyril, go now, and I'll see you again to-morrow."
"Ef y' come here again," shouted Huxham, boiling over once more, "I'll
kill y'--thet I will."
"Take care you aren't killed yourself first," retorted Lister, and was
surprised at the effect the threat--an idle one--had on the ex-sailor.
Huxham turned pale under his bronze, and hastily cast a look over his
left shoulder.
"Why do you hate me so?" asked the young man sharply. "I never met you
before; you have never set eyes on me. Why do you hate me?"
"Ef I'd a dog called Lister, I'd shoot it; if I'd a cat called Lister,
I'd drown it; and if I'd a parrot named Lister, I'd twist its blamed
neck, same es I would yours, ef I could. Bella, come home;" and casting
a venomous look on the astonished Cyril, the captain moved away.
It was useless to prolong the unpleasant scene, since Huxham declined to
explain his objection to the young man's name. And again, as she took a
few steps to accompany her father, Bella noticed that Cyril winced and
paled at the coarse taunts of his antagonist. "What is the matter with
your name?" she asked sharply.
Lister strode forward and caught her in his arms. "I shall explain when
next we meet," he whispered, and kissed her good-bye, while Huxham
grated his strong white teeth at the sight. Indeed, so angry was the
captain, that he might again have assaulted his daughter's lover, but
Cyril walked rapidly away, and without even a backward glance. Bella
watched him with a heavy heart: there seemed to be something sinister
about this mystery of the name. Huxham's inexplicable hatred appeared to
be foolish; but Lister undoubtedly took it seriously.
"Kim home," breathed the captain furiously in her ear; "you an' me hes
t' hev a talk."
"It will be a last talk if you do not behave properly," retorted Bella,
walking proudly by his side, "even though I have the misfortune to be
your daughter, that does not give you the right to treat me so rudely."
"I'll treat y' es I blamed well like, y' hussy. Y'll go t' yer room, an'
eat bread an' drink water t' cool yer hot blood."
Bella laughed derisively. "There is law in this country, father," she
said quietly. "I shall go to my room certainly, as I have no wish to
remain with you. But there need be no talk of bread and water."
"Tea an' dry toast, then," grunted Huxham, looking at her savagely with
his hard blue eyes. "Y' shell be punished, y' slut."
"Because I have fallen in love? Nonsense."
"Because y've disobeyed me in seein' this blamed Lister."
"Father"--Bella stopped directly before the front door of the
manor-house--"why do you hate Cyril? What have you against his name?"
The captain quivered, blinked his eyes, cast his usual look over the
left shoulder, and then scowled. "Shut yer mouth," he growled, "an' go
t' yer room, cuss y'. This house is mine. I am master here." He rolled
into the doorway and suddenly turned on the threshold. "I'd ruther see
y' dead an' buried than merried t' a man of t' name of Lister," he
snarled; and before Bella could recover from her astonishment, he
plunged into his den and shut the door with a noisy bang.
The girl passed her hand across her forehead in a bewildered way. The
mystery was becoming deeper, and she saw no way of solving it. Huxham
would not explain, and Cyril evaded the subject. Then Bella remembered
that her lover had promised an explanation when next they met. A
remembrance of this aided her to possess herself in patience, and she
tried to put the matter out of her head. But it was impossible for her
to meet her father at supper and forbear asking questions, so she
decided to obey him ostensibly, and retire to her bedroom. The next day
she could have an interview with her lover, and then would learn why the
captain stormed and Cyril winced when the name was mentioned.
Bella's room was on the first floor, and in the front of the mansion, so
that she had an extended view of the corn-fields, of Mrs. Tunks' hut
near the boundary channel, and of the pathway through the wheat leading
deviously from the front door of Bleacres, across the channel, and to
the distant village of Marshely. Standing at the window, she could see
the red-roofed houses gathered round the square tower of the church, and
the uncultivated fields, green and moist, spreading on all sides. The
sun was setting, and the landscape was bathed in rosy hues. Everything
was peaceful and restful outside, but under the manor roof was discord
and dread. Huxham in his den paced up and down like a caged bear,
angered exceedingly by his daughter's obstinacy, as he termed it. And
Bella, in the seclusion of her own room, was trying to quieten her
fears. Hitherto, she had lived what she termed a vegetable life; but in
these ominous hints it seemed as though she would very shortly have more
than enough to occupy her mind.
As the twilight darkened, Bella still continued to sit at the window
vainly endeavouring to forecast a doubtful future. It was certain that
Huxham would never agree to her marriage with Lister, and would probably
insist that she should become the wife of Pence. As Bella had no money,
and no expectations of any, save by obeying her father, she did not know
what to do unless the captain ceased to persecute her. He would possibly
turn her out of doors if she persisted in thwarting his will. In that
event she would either have to earn her bread as a governess, or would
be forced to ask Lister to marry her--a direct question which her
maidenly pride shrank from putting. Moreover--as she recollected--Cyril
had plainly told her, only a few hours previously, that he could not
marry her unless he obtained one thousand pounds within the week. It was
now Tuesday, and it was not easy to raise such a large sum within the
next few days. Of course, Bella did not know what resources Cyril had to
draw upon, and it might be that he would gain what he wanted. Then he
could take her away and marry her: but until the unexpected happened,
she did not know what to say or how to act. It seemed to her that she
had come to the cross-roads of life, and that all her future depended
upon the path she now chose. Yet there was nothing to show her how to
select the direction.
Her idle eyes caught at the vivid spot of scarlet which came from the
red coat of the martial scarecrow. There it stood, bound stiffly to a
tall pole in the midst of the corn--the sentinel of those prosperous
acres. Bella wondered that her father, having been a sailor, had not
arrayed the figure in nautical dress. As it was, the red hue annoyed
her, for red was the colour of blood, and there lingered in her mind the
ominous speeches which had been made by her father and Lister, when
quarrelling. "I'll kill y'!" said the captain; and "Take care," Cyril
had replied, "that you aren't killed yourself first!" Also there was the
wild tale of Pence regarding the offer made by Huxham to compass the
death of Lister. These things flashed into Bella's uncomfortable mind,
as she looked at the red and ominous figure of the scarecrow. Then, with
a shudder, she rose and dismissed these evil fancies.
"I am growing morbid," she thought, looking at her anxious face in the
glass. "To-morrow, when I see Cyril--oh, come in!" said she aloud.
She broke off to give the invitation, as a sharp knock came to the door,
and it opened almost immediately to admit the plump figure of Mrs.
Coppersley, carrying a tray. "Here's some dry toast and a cup of tea,"
said the widow severely; "your father says you are not to come to
supper."
"I shouldn't come if he wanted me to," retorted Bella, as Mrs.
Coppersley set down her burden; "and if he thinks to punish me in this
way, he is very much mistaken. Does he think that I am a child, to
submit to his tyranny?"
"He thinks that you are a disobedient daughter," said Mrs. Coppersley,
drily.
"And what do you think, aunt?"
The older woman coughed. She thought that her niece was much too pretty,
and much too independent, but had no ill-feeling toward her, save a
natural petty feminine jealousy. "I don't know what to think," she said,
sitting down to gossip. "Of course, your father is impossible, and
always wants his own way. I don't see why folks should not be allowed to
choose husbands for themselves. Jabez"--this was Huxham's Christian
name--"objects to my marrying Henry, and to your becoming the wife of
this Lister person."
"Don't speak of Cyril in that way," said Bella, with some impatience;
"he is a gentleman, and the man I love. By the way, aunt, you might have
brought up the teapot. I dislike anyone else to pour out my tea."
"Your father poured it out himself while I went to the kitchen for the
toast," snapped Mrs. Coppersley; "he said you were to have only this one
cup."
"What a petty tyrant he is," sighed Bella, pushing the cup away. "Aunt,
what do you think of Cyril?"
"He is very handsome," rejoined Mrs. Coppersley cautiously, "but I don't
know anything about his position or disposition."
"I know he is the dearest fellow in the world, aunt; but, like yourself,
his position is unknown to me."
Mrs. Coppersley rose aghast. "Do you mean to say that you would marry a
man about whom you know nothing?" she demanded.
"I know sufficient to choose him for my husband," retorted Bella,
spiritedly; "and I intend to marry him, in spite of my father's
bullying."
"Then your father will not give you a single penny," cried Mrs.
Coppersley. "I approve of his doing so. You can't marry this man."
"Oh!" said Bella, bitterly. "I thought you agreed that a woman should
choose her own husband."
"A woman like myself, who knows life, Bella--not a chit of a girl like
you."
"I am twenty years of age," flashed out her niece.
"And have the sense of a babe of three," scoffed Mrs. Coppersley, moving
towards the door. "Perhaps a night of loneliness will bring you to your
senses, my dear." She passed through the door and closed it. "I am
locking you in, by your father's wish," said Mrs. Coppersley from the
other side.
Bella, white with rage at this indignity, sprang to wrench open the
door, but almost before she reached it, the key clicked in the lock, and
she knew that she was a prisoner. And the door was so stout and strong
that there was no chance of a frail girl, such as she was, breaking it
down. But Bella was in a royal rage, and it was in her mind to scramble
out of the window and escape.
"But what's the use!" she thought, her eyes filling with impotent tears.
"I have no money, and no friends, and no other home. What a shame it is
for me to be at the mercy of my father in this way! I shall have to
submit to this insult. There is nothing else I can do. But oh, oh!"--she
clenched her hands as she again returned to the window and looked out
into the rapidly darkening night. "I shall insist upon Cyril marrying me
at once. If he loves me he surely will not stand by idly, when I am
treated in this way."
Trying to calm herself, she walked up and down the room. The one slice
of toast and the one cup of tea were on the table, but anger had taken
her appetite. Inexperienced in the troubles of life, she was like a
newly-captured bird dashing itself against the wires of its hateful
cage. To and fro the girl walked, revolving plans of escape from her
father's tyranny, but in every direction the want of money proved an
obstacle impossible to surmount. Nothing remained but for her to wait
patiently until she could see Cyril the next day. Then an exhaustive
talk might lead to the formation of some plan whereby her future could
be arranged for.
Faint and far, she heard the clock in Marshely church-tower strike the
hour of eight, and began to think of retiring to bed. The night was hot,
so she flung up the window, and permitted the fresh air to circulate in
the close room. The atmosphere was luminous with starlight, although
there was no moon visible. A gentle wind bent the rustling stalks of the
vast corn-fields, and their shimmering green was agitated like the waves
of the sea. White mists rose ghost-like on the verge of the farm, and
into them the ocean of grain melted faintly. What with the mists and the
luminous night and the spreading wheat-fields phantom-like in the
obscurity, Bella felt as though she were in a world of vague dreams.
Looking down the narrow path, which showed a mere thread in the
semi-gloom, she beheld a tall, dark figure advancing towards the house.
It was that of a man, and by the way in which he walked, Bella felt sure
that he was her lover. Her heart beat wildly. Perhaps Cyril had come,
or, rather, was coming, to see the captain, and to plead his suit once
more. Greatly agitated by this unforeseen visit, she leaned out of the
window as the man came almost directly under it. He was Cyril, she felt
certain, both from his carriage and from the fact that she vaguely saw
the grey suit he wore. During the afternoon, Lister had been thus
dressed.
"Cyril! Cyril!" she called out cautiously.
The man looked up, and in the faint light she saw that he was indeed
Cyril, for the eyes of love were keen enough to pierce the obscurity,
and also her window was no great height from the ground. But the man
looked up, making no sign of recognition, and stepped into the house
without knocking at the door. Bella started back in surprise. She knew
that the front door was always unlocked until ten, when her father
usually retired to bed. But it seemed strange that Cyril, who had
quarrelled with the captain that very day, should choose to risk his
further wrath by entering the house uninvited. Also, it was stranger
still that Cyril should have looked up without making some sign. He must
have known who she was, for, failing sight, he had his hearing to
recognise her voice. It was all very strange.
Bella twisted up her hair, which she had let down, and walked to the
table to take up the now cold cup of tea. Her throat was parched with
thirst by reason of her nerves, and she wished to refresh herself so
that she might think of what was best to be done. Cyril and her father
had quarrelled, and again she remembered the ominous threats they had
used to one another. It was inconceivable madness for Lister to to beard
the captain in his den, knowing what a vile temper the old man
possessed. It was not at all impossible, or even improbable, but what
the afternoon quarrel might be renewed, and then heaven only knew what
might happen.
Drinking the cup of tea hastily, Bella thought over these things and
resolved, if she could not escape by the door, to scramble out of the
window. Then she could enter the house, and appear in the captain's den,
to be present at what would probably be a stormy interview. Already she
was straining her ears to catch the faintest sound of quarrelling, but
as yet she could hear nothing. Certainly Cyril had closed the front
door, for immediately he had entered she had heard him do so. And again,
the walls of the old mansion were so thick, that it was impossible she
could hear, when shut up in her bedroom, what was taking place below.
Anxiously she tried the door, but in spite of all her efforts, she
failed to open it. Wild with alarm as to what might be happening, she
crossed to her bed, intending to twist the sheets into a rope for
descent from the window. But as she caught at the linen, she felt a
drumming in her ears, and sparks seemed to dance before her eyes.
Apparently the strain on her nerves was making her ill. Also she felt
unaccountably drowsy, and in spite of every effort to keep awake, she
sank beside the bed, with the sheets still grasped in her hands. In two
or three minutes she was fast asleep.
The window was still open, and a bat swept into the room. He flitted
round the motionless figure, uttering a thin cry, and again passed out
into the starry night. The silvery voices of the nightingales in the
copses round Marshely village came faintly across the meadows mingled
with the cry of a mouse-hunting screech-owl. Still Bella slept on.
Hour after hour passed, and the night grew darker. The wind died away,
the corn-fields ceased to rustle, the nightingales to sing. It became
colder, too, as though the breath of winter was freezing the now moist
air. The stars yet glittered faintly, and the high-pitched whistle of a
steamer could be heard from the distant river, but on the whole, the
earth was silent and weirdly gloomy for summer-time. During the small
hours there came an ominous hush of expectant dread, which lasted until
the twittering birds brought in the dawn.
Bella opened her eyes, to find her room radiant with royal red light.
She felt sick and dizzy, for over her stood Mrs. Coppersley, shaking her
vigorously by the shoulder. "Bella, Bella! Your father is dead. Murder,
murder! Oh, come to the study and see the murder!"