Kate was not the only one at the Manor House who declined to come down
to dinner.
The bell had rung, and after Mrs Wilton had been up twice to her
niece's room, and reported the ill success of her visits to her lord,
Wilton growled out:
"Well, I want my dinner. Let her stay and starve herself into her
senses. But here," he cried, with a fresh burst of temper, "why the
devil isn't that boy here? I'm not going to be kept waiting for him.
Do you hear? Where is he?"
"He was so ill, dear, he said he was obliged to go upstairs and lie
down."
"Bah! Rubbish! He wasn't hurt."
"Oh, my dear, you don't know," sobbed Mrs Wilton.
"Yah! You cry if you dare. Wipe your eyes. Think I haven't had worry
enough to-day without you trying to lay the dust? Ring and tell Samuel
to fetch him down."
"Oh, pray don't do that, dear; the servants will talk enough as it is."
"They'd better. I'll discharge the lot. I've been too easy with
everybody up to now, and I'll begin to turn over a new leaf. Stand
aside, woman, and let me get to that bell."
"No, no, don't, pray don't ring. Let me go up and beg of him to come
down."
"What! Beg? Go up and tell him that if he don't come down to dinner in
a brace of shakes I'll come and fetch him with a horsewhip."
"James, my dear, pray, pray don't be so violent."
"But I will be violent. I am in no humour to be dictated to now. I'll
let some of you see that I'm master."
"But poor dear Claud is so big now."
"I don't care how big he is--a great stupid oaf! Go and tell him what I
say. And look here, woman."
"Yes, dear," said Mrs Wilton, plaintively.
"I mean it. If he don't come at once, big as he is, I'll take up the
horsewhip."
Mrs Wilton stifled a sob, and went up to her son's room and entered, to
find him lying on his bed with his boots resting on the bottom rail, a
strong odour of tobacco pervading the room, and a patch or two of cigar
ashes soiling the counterpane.
"Claud, my dearest, you shouldn't smoke up here," she said, tenderly, as
she laid her hand upon her son's forehead. "How are you now, darling?"
"Damned bad."
"Oh, not quite so bad as that, dearest. Dinner is quite ready."
"--The dinner!"
"Claud, darling, don't use such dreadful language. But please get up
now, and let me brush your hair. Your father is so angry and violent
because you are keeping him waiting. Pray come down at once."
"Shan't!"
"Claud, dearest, you shouldn't say that. Please come down."
"Shan't, I tell you. Be off, and don't bother me."
"I am so sorry, my dear, but I must. He sent me up, dear."
"I--shan't--come--down. There!"
"But Claud, my dear, he is so angry. I dare not go without you. What
am I to say?"
"Tell him I say he's an old beast."
"Oh, Claud, I can't go and tell him that. You shouldn't--you shouldn't,
indeed."
"I'm too bad to eat."
"Yes--yes; I know, darling, but do--do try and come down and have a
glass of wine. It will do you good, and keep poor papa from being so
violent."
"I don't want any wine. And I shan't come. There!"
"Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me!" sighed Mrs Wilton; "what am I to do?"
"Go and tell him I won't come. Bad enough to be hit by that beastly old
prize fighter, without him kicking me as he did. I'm not a door mat."
"No, no, my dear; of course not."
"An old brute! I believe he has injured my liver."
"Claud, my darling, don't, pray don't say that."
"Why not? The doctor ought to be fetched; I'm in horrid pain."
"Yes, yes, my dear; and it did seem very hard."
"Hard? I should think it was. I'm sure there's a rib broken, if not
two."
"Oh, my own darling boy!" cried Mrs Wilton, embracing him.
"Don't, mother; you hurt. Be off, and leave me alone. Tell him I
shan't come."
"No, no, my dear; pray make an effort and come down."
"Shan't, I tell you. Now go!"
"But--but--Claud, dear, he threatened to come up with a horse whip and
fetch you."
"What!" cried Claud, springing up on the bed without wincing, and
staring at his mother; "did he say that?"
"Yes, my love," faltered the mother.
"Then you go down and tell him to come, and I'll knock his old head
off."
"Oh, Claud, my dear boy, you shouldn't. I can not sit here and listen
to such parricidical talk."
"Stand up then, and now be off."
"But, my darling, you will come?"
"No, I won't."
"For my sake?"
"I won't, for my own. I'm not going to stand it. He shan't bully and
knock me about I'm not a boy now. I'll show him."
"But, Claud, darling, for the sake of peace and quietness; I don't want
the servants to know."
But dear Claud--his mother's own darling--was as obstinate now as his
father, whom he condemned loudly, then condemned peace and quietness,
then the servants, and swore that he would serve Kate out for causing
the trouble.
"I'll bring her down on her knees--I'll tame her, and make her beg for a
kiss next time."
"Yes, yes, my dear, you shall, but not now. You must be humble and
patient."
"Are you coming down, Maria?" ascended in a savage roar.
"Yes, yes, my dear, directly," cried the trembling woman. "There, you
hear, darling. He is in a terrible fury. Come down with me."
"I won't, I tell you," cried the young man, making a snatch at the
pillow, to raise it threateningly in his hands; "go, and tell him what I
said."
"Maria! Am I to come up?" ascended in a roar.
"Yes--no--no, my dear," cried Mrs Wilton. "I'm--I'm coming down."
She hurried out of the room, dabbed her eyes hastily, and descended to
where the Squire was tramping up and down the hall, with Samuel, the
cook, housemaid, and kitchen maid in a knot behind the swing baize door,
which cut off the servants' offices, listening to every word of the
social comedy.
"Well," roared Wilton, "is he coming?"
"N-n-not just now, my d-dear. He feels so ill and shaken that he begs
you will excuse him."
"Humbug, woman! My boy couldn't have made up such a message. He said
he wouldn't, eh? Now then; no prevarication. That's what he said."
"Y-yes, my dear," faltered the mother. "Oh, James dearest, pray--pray
don't."
She clung to him, but he shook her off, strode to the umbrella stand,
and snatched a hunting whip from where it hung with twisted thong, and
stamped up the stairs, with his trembling wife following, sobbing and
imploring him not to be so violent; but all in vain, for he turned off
at the top of the old oaken staircase and stamped away to the door of
his son's bedroom--that at the end of the wing which matched to Kate's.
Here Mrs Wilton made a last appeal in a hurried whisper.
"He is so bad--says his ribs are broken from the kick."
"Bah!" roared the Squire; "he has no ribs in his hind legs--Here, you,
Claud; come down to dinner directly or--Here, unlock this door."
He rattled the handle, and then thumped and banged in vain, while Mrs
Wilton, who had been ready to shriek with horror, began to breathe more
freely.
"I thought you said he was lying down, too bad to get up?"
"Yes, yes, dear, he is," faltered the poor woman.
"Seems like it. Able to lock himself in. Here, you sir; come down."
But there was no reply; not a sound in answer to his rattling and
banging; and at last, in the culmination of his rage, the Squire drew
back to the opposite wall to gain force so as to dash his foot through
the panel if he could, but just then Eliza opened Kate's door at the far
end of the long corridor, and peered out.
That ended the disturbance.
"Come on down to dinner, Maria," said the Squire.
"Yes, my dear," she faltered, and they descended to dine alone, Mrs
Wilton on water, her husband principally on wine, and hardly a word was
spoken, the head of the house being very quiet and thoughtful in the
calm which followed the storm.
Just as the untasted pheasants were being taken away, after the second
course, Wilton suddenly said to the footman:
"Tell Miss Kate's maid to come here."
Mrs Wilton looked at her husband wonderingly, but he sat crumbling his
bread and sipping his claret till the quiet, grave, elderly servant
appeared.
"How is your mistress?" he said.
"Very unwell, sir."
"Think the doctor need be sent for?"
"Well, no, sir, I hardly think that. She has been very much agitated."
"Yes, of course; poor girl," said Wilton, quietly.
"But I think she will be better after a good night's rest, sir."
"So do I, Eliza. You will see, of course, that she has everything she
wants."
"Oh, yes, sir. I did take her up some dinner, but I could not prevail
upon her to touch it."
"Humph! I suppose not. That will do, thank you.--No, no, Maria, there
is no occasion to say any more."
Mrs Wilton's mouth was open to speak, but she shut it again quickly,
fearing to raise another storm, and the maid left the room. But the
mother would speak out as soon as they were alone.
"I should like to order a tray with one of the pheasants to be sent up
to Claud, dear."
"I daresay you would," he replied. "Well, I shouldn't."
"May I send for Doctor Leigh?"
"What for? You heard what the woman said?"
"I meant for Claud, dear."
"Oh, I'll see to him in the morning. I shall have a pill ready for him
when I'm cooled down. It won't be so strong then."
"But, James, dear--"
"All right, old lady, I'm getting calm now; but listen to me. I mean
this: you are not to go to his room to-night."
"James!"
"Nor yet to Kate's, till I go with you."
"My dear James!"
"That's me," he said, with a faint smile, "and you're a very good,
affectionate, well meaning old woman; but if ever there was one who was
always getting her husband into scrapes, it is you."
"Really, dear!" she cried, appealingly.
"Yes, and truly. There, that will do. Done dinner?"
"Yes, dear."
"Don't you want any cheese or dessert?"
"No, dear."
"Then let's go. You'll come and sit with me in the library to-night and
have your cup of tea there."
"Yes, dear, but mayn't I go and just see poor Kate?"
"No."
The word was said quietly, but with sufficient emphasis to silence the
weak woman, who sat gazing appealingly at her husband, whom she followed
meekly enough to the library, where she sat working, and later on sipped
her tea, while he was smoking and gazing thoughtfully at the fire,
reviewing the events of the day, and, to do him justice, repenting
bitterly a great deal that he had said. But as the time went on,
feeling as he did the urgency of his position and the need to be able to
meet the demands which would be made upon him before long, he grew
minute by minute more stubbornly determined to carry out his plans with
respect to his ward.
"He's only a boy yet," he said to himself, "and he's good at heart. I
don't suppose I was much better when I was his age, and excepting that
I'm a bit arbitrary I'm not such a bad husband after all."
At that moment he looked up at his wife, just in time to see her bow
gently towards him. But knowing from old experience that it was not in
acquiescence, he glanced at his watch and waited a few minutes, during
which time Mrs Wilton nodded several times and finally dropped her work
into her lap.
This woke her up, and she sat up, looking very stern, and as if going to
sleep with so much trouble on the way was the last thing possible. But
nature was very strong, and the desire for sleep more powerful than the
sorrow from which she suffered; and she was dozing off again when her
husband rose suddenly to ring the bell, the servants came in, prayers
were read, and at a few minutes after ten Wilton took a chamber
candlestick and led the way to bed.
He turned off, though, signing to Mrs Wilton to follow him, and on
reaching his niece's room, tapped at the door gently.
"Kate--Kate, my dear," he said, and Mrs Wilton looked at him
wonderingly.
"Yes, uncle."
"How are you now, my child?"
"Not very well, uncle."
"Very sorry, my dear. Can your aunt get you anything?"
"No; I thank you."
"Wish you a good night, then. I am very sorry about that upset this
afternoon.--Come, my dear."
"Good-night, Kate, my love," said Mrs Wilton, with her ear against the
panel; "I do hope you will be able to sleep."
"Good-night, aunt," said the girl quietly; and they went back to their
own door.
"Won't you come and say `good-night' to poor Claud, dear?" whispered
Mrs Wilton.
"No, `poor Claud' has to come to me first.--Go in."
He held open the door for his wife to enter, and then followed and
locked it, and for some hours the Manor House was very still.
The next morning James Wilton was out a couple of hours before
breakfast, busying himself around his home farm as if nothing whatever
had happened and there was no fear of a foreclosure, consequent upon any
action by John Garstang. He was back ready for breakfast rather later
than his usual time, just as Mrs Wilton came bustling in to unlock the
tea-caddy, and he nodded, and spoke rather gruffly:
"Claud not down?" he said.
"No, my dear; I saw you coming across the garden just as I was going to
his room to see how he was."
"Oh, Samuel,"--to the man, who entered with a dish and hot plates,--"go
and tell Mr Claud that we're waiting breakfast."
The man went.
"Let me go up, my dear. Poor boy! he must feel a bit reluctant to come
down and meet you this morning."
"Poor fellow! he always was afflicted with that kind of timid
shrinking," said Wilton, ironically. "No, stop. How is Kate?"
"I don't know, my dear; Eliza said that she had been twice to her room,
but she was evidently fast asleep, and she would not disturb her."
"Humph! I shall be glad when she can come regularly to her meals."
"What shall you say to her this morning?"
"Wait and see--Well, is he coming down?"
"Beg pardon, sir," said the footman. "I've been knocking ever so long
at Mr Claud's door, and I can't get any answer."
Mrs Wilton's hand dropped from the tap of the tea urn, and the boiling
water began to flow over the top of the pot.
"Humph! Sulky," muttered Wilton--"Eh? What are you staring at?"
"Beg pardon, sir, but he didn't put his boots outside last night, and he
never took his hot water in."
"Oh, James, James!" cried Mrs Wilton, wildly, "I knew it, I knew it. I
dreamed about the black cow all last night, and there's something
wrong."
"Stop a minute: I'll come," said Wilton, quickly, and a startled look
came into his face.
"Take me--take me, too," sobbed his wife. "Oh, my poor boy! If
anything has happened to him in the night. I shall never forgive
myself. Samuel--Samuel!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Run round to the stables and send one of the men over for Doctor Leigh
at once."
Wilton felt too much startled to counter-order this, but before the man
had gone a dozen steps he shouted to him.
"Tell the gardener to bring a mallet and cold chisel from the tool
shed."
"Yes, sir," and full of excitement the man ran off, while his master and
mistress hurried upstairs to their son's door. But before they reached
it Wilton had recovered his calmness.
"What nonsense," he muttered. Then softly: "Here, you speak to him.
Gently. Only overslept himself."
He tapped, and signed to his wife.
But her voice sounded full of agitation, as she said:
"Claud, dear; it's getting very late." Then louder: "Claud! Claud, my
dear, are you unwell?" Then with aery of agony, "Claud! Claud, my
darling! Oh, pray, pray speak to me, or you'll break my poor heart!"
"Here, stand aside," cried Wilton, who was thoroughly startled now. He
seized the handle of the door, turned it, and tried to force it open,
but in vain. The next moment he was about to lay his shoulder close
down to the keyhole, when Kate's maid came running up to them.
"Mrs Wilton! Mrs Wilton!" she cried; "pray, pray come! My dear young
lady! Oh, help, help! I ought to have spoken sooner. What shall I
do?"