REVENGE
A week later and George was seated beside Lesbia on the well-known
bench under the famous chestnut tree. Lord Charvington had recovered
from his apoplectic fit, and was now progressing favourably. For two
or three days Lesbia and Mrs. Walker had nursed him; but when Lady
Charvington heard of her husband's illness she came down to The Court
at once. A furious passage of arms took place between her and Mrs.
Walker, which resulted in the defeat of the latter lady. Her enemy,
being Charvington's wife and mistress of the house, had the power to
send away those whom she regarded as interlopers, and she exercised
this power forthwith. Lesbia departed under the wing of Mrs. Walker,
and Charvington was too ill to prevent his wife from behaving in this
despotic manner.
Mrs. Walker desired the girl to come to Medmenham, there to remain
until such time as she could be married. But Lesbia, thinking of Tim,
insisted on returning to Rose Cottage. Jabez allowed her sufficient
money to live on, pending his handing over to her the invested fifty
thousand pounds, so there was no difficulty on the score of money.
Then it was unlikely that Hale would come back to see Lesbia, now that
she knew the truth; and under the charge of the devoted Tim, she could
remain quietly until George found occasion to make her his wife.
But there was another reason why Hale could not come. He was in
hiding, for the information given to the police by Canning--forced, in
order to save himself, to turn king's evidence--had resulted in the
arrest of Tait and Mrs. Petty and several members of the infamous
gang, whose names Canning had supplied. But Hale had managed to
escape, likewise Captain Sargent, who had been warned by Maud. That
clever young lady, having seen at Jabez's office that the game was up,
did what she could to put the rest of the gang on the alert and then
vanished like a bubble. Things were in this position when George sat
hand in hand with Lesbia under the chestnut tree, discussing the
future.
"I saw Lord Charvington yesterday," explained the young man, "and he
is now rapidly getting better. He proposes that we shall get married
next month and accompany him to the south of France. He has a villa
there which he will place at our disposal."
"And Lady Charvington?" asked Lesbia timidly.
"Your stepmother," said Walker, smiling.
"No," said Lesbia shuddering, "don't call her that."
"Why not? She has behaved exactly as a stepmother does--in fiction."
Lesbia shook her head. "I think of her merely as Lady Charvington--a
stranger, and when we are married I shall never set eyes on her
again."
"I don't think she wants to see you," said George drily. "She is still
vindictive. It seems that she always loved your father and can never
forgive your dead mother for having married him. Thus she visits her
anger upon you, my dear. However, what she does or what she says
matters little. And for her own sake she will say as little as
possible."
"She is a strange woman," sighed Lesbia, "and very unhappy."
"Don't make any mistake, my dear. Lady Charvington is too hard-hearted
to be unhappy. So long as she has her rank and her title and her
crowds of adorers, she cares for no one. Whatever love she may have
had for your father she has long since given entirely to herself."
"Do Agatha and Lena know that I am their half-sister?"
"No. I was talking about that yesterday to Lord Charvington. As you
know he has not been able to do anything because of his illness, but
he is only waiting to get on his feet again to put matters straight."
"In what way?" asked the girl anxiously.
"Well, you are his daughter, my dear, and he desires to acknowledge
you as such in the most public manner."
"No," said Lesbia firmly and sadly, "that would be useless and would
do no good. Such an acknowledgment would only lead to a lot of
questions being asked by my father's friends, and then the whole
unhappy business would be raked up. I don't want my miserable story to
be published in the papers, especially as Mr. Hale's name is so
notorious. Let me marry you quietly, my dear, and then we can go away
to France with my father for a few months. I have you, I have the
money left to me by my mother, and I have found my real father--the
rest matters very little."
George kissed her. "You wise little darling," he said admiringly,
"I think your decision is exactly what I should expect from your
commonsense way of looking at things. I agree with you, that it is
best to let sleeping dogs lie, and not to stir up muddy water, and not
to--to--what other proverb shall I use, Lesbia?"
"'Let the dead past bury its dead,'" she replied, seriously. "We have
had much trouble, and we have been parted. Now the troubles appear to
have come to an end and we are together. Let us marry and enjoy our
good fortune and be happy in our own small way."
"Amen! amen! amen!" said George, laughing, "and indeed I think we
deserve the good fortune for we did not refuse to bear the cross."
"And so have gained the crown of perfect love," said Lesbia
contentedly as she nestled in her lover's arms.
The garden was still brilliant with many-hued roses, and the river
murmured a joyous song as it flowed tranquilly under the deeply blue
summer sky. But the blackbird and his mate had gone away with their
brood and the nest was deserted. Still other birds remained and other
birds were singing lustily of summer joys. Basking in the warm
sunshine, contented with each other's company, George and Lesbia
passed into that hour of silence, which speaks of love so deep that no
speech is needed. They listened to the birds, to the river, to the
whispering of the breeze, and dreamed of a future that would always be
happy. They were together, they understood each other, so nothing else
mattered.
But their golden hour was disturbed by Tim, who hobbled down the
pathway with a distressed look on his ugly, kind face. The two
expected him, so the arrival was not an intrusion. For several days
Lesbia had insisted that Tim should explain how much he had known of
the many disgraceful things lately found out. Hitherto Tim had evaded
an explanation, but on that morning he had gravely promised to tell
what he knew. Therefore, when he halted before the dreaming couple,
George roused himself.
"Here is Tim, my darling," he said with a laugh, "put him in the
witness-box."
"Ye might say the confessional, Masther Garge," replied Tim, squatting
on the dry grass and looking like a good-tempered gnome. "What is it
ye want to know, me darlin' heart?"
"About my father--that is about Mr. Hale," said Lesbia, who had been
addressed.
"The bands av death on him," muttered Tim, using an ancient Irish
oath. "Sure I knew he wasn't any kith or kin av yours, Miss, though by
the same token I niver rightly knew as his lardship was yer father."
"Tim," said his young mistress severely, "you told Mrs. Walker in my
presence that there was no child with the poor lady who died at
Wimbledon."
"Is ut yer mother ye talk av, Miss?" asked Tim innocently. "Sure ut
was lyin' I wor, an' if I hadn't lied, that divil--ut's the masther I
mane--wud have brought throuble on ye."
"In what way, Tim?" asked George, looking puzzled.
"Augh, nivir ask me, sor. But wasn't I always listenin' and pokin' an'
pryin' when that divil--ut's the masther I mane--had thim dirthy
tatterdemalions here? Thaves they wor, an' spies, an' racavers av
stolen goods, bad luck to thim! The masther caught me wan night an'
larned as I knew av the divilments he wor indulgin' in. An' ses he,
'Tim,' ses he, if ye breathe wan wurrd I go to gaol, an' by the same
token I'll see that Miss Lesbia goes wid me. Well ye know,' ses he,
'as she lies whin callin' me her father, but if ye tell her I am not,'
ses he, 'it manes gaol fur us both.' Augh!" Tim rocked in much
distress, "an' what cud I do, Miss dear, me not knowin' the true
father av ye."
"And if you had known, Tim?" asked Lesbia anxiously.
"If I'd known as his lardship wor yer father," said Tim emphatically,
"I wud have gone on me bare shinbones to ask him to take ye out av
this divil's house. But me masther--bad luck to him!--lied like the
father av lies, as he'll some day go to, an' being in the dark as it
wor, I didn't dare to let a mouse's squeak av what I knew come to yer
purty ears, Miss."
"But you hinted that the cross would bring trouble, Tim."
"I did that, Miss. Sure, whin the mother that bore ye died in the
arrums av me own mother she guv the crass, 'an',' ses she, wid her
last gasp, 'let me choild have it, whin she grows up to prove as she's
me lawful choild. An' if there's money comin',' ses she, 'though be the
same token, me sister has got it all, the crass may git it fur the
choild. But nivir let her see her father,' ses she, 'for a bad man he's
bin to me.'"
"Not altogether bad, Tim," said Lesbia gently, "my mother was
deceived. Did she tell Bridget my father's name?"
"No, Miss," said Tim promptly, "had she towld, I'd have larned it whin
me own mother died, and thin I'd have asked his lardship to take ye
from this divil--ut's the masther I mane. But me mother sid nothin'
for she knew nothin', save what she towld ye about the crass. 'And,'
ses me mother to me whin she guv ye the crass, there'll be throuble
over yon crass,' ses she, 'fur th' Sight's on me being near me latter
end,' ses she. 'Throuble there'll be over the crass, an' sorrow an'
tears an' sudden death. But thim who love will win clear and thim as
is bad will come to the black grave.'"
"There has been trouble certainly, Tim," said Lesbia sighing, "and the
cross both began it and ended it, as your mother declared it would.
But now, thank God," she turned to place her arms round George's neck,
"it's all over and we shall have no more. Your mother prophesied
rightly, Tim, save that there has been no sudden death or black grave,
and there isn't likely to be."
Tim rocked and shook his huge head. "Thim as is goin' to their long
rest sees things as thim aloive can't get a squint at. Me mother
foresaw th' sorrow an' tears av th' crass an' the joy which ye an'
Masther Garge there have now, good luck to both ay ye! So the sudden
death an' the black grave will come I doubt not. But here, me dears,"
said Tim, after a pause, "there's wan thing ye don't know as I'll tell
ye."
"And what is that?" asked George, smiling.
"'Twas me, Masther Garge, as carried ye from the river bank to the
room in yonder," Tim nodded towards the cottage. "I wor out fishin' an'
I saw ye in the moonlight lying on the path, though be me sowl I nivir
dreamed 'twas you. I rowed ashore an' found ye stunned an' bound, bad
luck to the divil who did ut! I tuke ye into the cottage and called
softly to the young misthress there. She thought 'twas a drame an'
come down to see to you. An' now ye know, both av ye."
Lesbia and George looked at one another in astonishment. "Why didn't
you tell us this before?" asked Walker sharply. "And why did you bring
me to the cottage?"
"Sure now," said Tim in injured tones, "didn't I think as 'twas the
masther had been up to some divilment, and didn't dare spake in case
he'd get Miss Lesbia clapped into gaol 'longside him? But I knew as
the masther wud nivir dare to harrum ye in his own house wid Miss
Lesbia by the side av ye, an' so I brought ye here into his very jaws
as it wor. An' wasn't I right, me dear sor?"
"Yes," assented Walker promptly, "I think you were. It was very clever
of you to have protected me in that way, even though it was Canning
and not Hale who assaulted me. Well, Lesbia," he turned to the girl,
"here is another thing made clear. Quite a surprise."
"I hope it is the last surprise," said the girl, wearily, "I am very
tired of being surprised."
"In that case," said a smooth voice at her elbow, "you will be tired at
seeing me."
Lesbia started to her feet with a cry, and George with an exclamation
of astonishment. As to Tim, he scrambled to his feet with an oath.
"Augh, murther! murther!" cried the Irishman, "it's the black divil
his own silf."
"That's complimentary," said Hale, who was standing calm and composed
near the lovers. "You were so busily engaged talking, Lesbia, that you
did not hear me come down the path."
"How dare you come here?" said the girl indignantly.
"It's my own house. I had the key," retorted Hale coolly. "I opened
the front door and entered. Finding no one within I came here and find
that Tim is giving me away. But I am not so black as I am painted."
"You are much worse, I daresay," said George bluntly.
"Oh, you're there, you lucky young man," said Hale, raising his
eyebrows. "I congratulate you on marrying Lesbia and on getting the
money."
"In spite of all your plotting," said Walker sharply.
Hale sat down on the bench with a sudden look of fatigue. He was cool
and smiling and bore himself both shamelessly and dauntlessly. But it
was apparent that he behaved thus out of bravado. In spite of his
boldness, and of the fact that he was dressed as carefully as ever, he
was thoroughly ill and had his back to the wall.
"You had better leave this place," said Lesbia, to her lover, "the
police are hunting for you."
"Someone else is hunting for me," said Hale gloomily, "Maud Ellis is
on my track swearing vengeance."
"Why should she?"
"Because to get the money and induce her to play her part, I promised
to marry her. I have no intention of doing so. Then again, for my own
safety, I have sent a communication to the police offering to tell all
I know about Tait and his gang on condition that I am let off. Maud,
confound her, has found this out, and swears to have my life."
"She would scarcely go so far as that," said George scornfully.
"Oh, I think so," said Hale quietly, "she can't show herself, as she
is in danger from the police also, and so will revenge herself as she
best can. I don't think there's much she would stick at. I caught
sight of her on the London platform as I came down this morning, so I
expect she will follow me to this house. There will be trouble unless
you can aid me to get away."
"How can we compound a felony?" asked George, frowning.
"It is better than to see a tragedy," retorted Hale. "I am not afraid
of Maud unless she takes me by surprise; but that is just what she
will do. I am not your father, Lesbia, as you know now, and perhaps I
have not been kind in my treatment. All the same I ask you to exercise
that kind nature which you always declared you possessed, and give me
fifty pounds to get abroad with. Once across the Channel I can shift
for myself."
"I have not got fifty pounds," said Lesbia hesitating. Badly as Hale
had treated her she yet wished to assist him, and truly he was in
great need of the coals of fire which she could heap upon his head.
"You can soon get it," said Hale eagerly. "Charvington will give you
anything. Send Walker to ask him for the money and I can remain
concealed in the cottage until he returns."
The lovers looked at one another. Both were inclined to assist the
miserable man, little as he deserved kindness at their hands. Tim,
with a grim face, stood neutral, but being of a less forgiving nature,
would gladly have pitched his old master into the river had Lesbia but
lifted a finger. But she gave no sign, so Tim waited. It was hard to
say what would have happened had not Fate decided the matter.
The four people in the garden were so deeply engaged in conversation
that they did not observe a boat crossing the river from the opposite
shore, some distance above the garden. Tim, indeed, did catch a
glimpse of a craft holding two people, but did not take much notice.
The boat reached the near shore and then dropped down alongside the
bank until it was directly abreast of the chestnut tree. Then for the
first time, George and Lesbia looked round at the sound of dipping
oars. Hale raised his head and looked also. The next moment there was
the sharp report of a revolver and he rolled off the bench shot
through the breast. Twice again the revolver spoke and twice Hale was
wounded. Maud Ellis was a sure shot.
"There," cried she, flinging the weapon ashore to Lesbia, "you can
finish him off. He betrayed my uncle, he betrayed me, he betrayed us
all. Only Sargent, who is rowing me, and I have escaped. Good-bye,
Lesbia, you have your lover--my lover--the man I adore. I hope
you'll be happy. I have done justice on that blackguard, so I
am going to clear. You'll never see me again, and you can thank your
stars that I did not kill you as well as that scoundrel there.
George--good-bye--good-bye."
She sat down quickly in the boat, which was already receding rapidly
from the garden. Sargent apparently had not expected that Maud would
have been so thorough in her vengeance and could be seen talking
angrily to her. He rowed with all his might across the river, let the
boat drift down-stream and leaped ashore. Maud followed alertly and
the two set off running rapidly. Where they went, or how they escaped
George never knew; but that was the last seen of them in England.
Meanwhile Lesbia was on her knees beside the wretched man who
had done her so much harm, striving to staunch his wounds with her
handkerchief. Tim already had run up the path shouting for the police,
and George was about to follow, as he wanted Maud to be arrested for
her dastardly crime, when Hale opened his eyes.
"Are you there, Lesbia?" he asked faintly. "It's no use my asking for
your forgiveness, as I hate being a sneak at the last moment. I have
lived bad and I have died bad. But I can say this, that you are the
sole human being I regret having injured. You are a fool, as you have
always been, like your father--but you are a sweet fool. And I--I----"
he choked.
"Hush! hush!" said Lesbia distractedly. "George, take him into the
house, and fetch the doctor. We must save him----"
"No," gasped Hale with a flash of energy, "don't save me to let me rot
in gaol. Maud has done me a good turn after all. I die and--and--I
cheat--I cheat the law," he opened his eyes again and stared at the
two pale faces, then smiled. "God bless you," he gasped, "oh, to think
that I should bless----" he laughed, but the effort was too great and
he fell back dead.
At the same moment Tim came running down with a policeman at his
heels.
"It's too late, Tim, he is dead," said Lesbia faintly.
"Dead is ut?" muttered Tim, staring and crossing himself. "Then me
mother wor right in all she said. Sudden death and the black grave.
Augh! Sure 'twas the truth me mother spake afther all."