FLIGHT
It was a dumb and sullen crowd that Dick Green faced that night in the
great barn on the slope of High Shale.
A rough platform had been erected at one end of the place and this, with
the deal table and lamp and one or two chairs, was all that went to the
furnishing of his assembly-room. The men stood in a close crowd like
herded cattle, and the atmosphere of the place was heavy with the reek of
humanity and coarse tobacco-smoke. There was a door at each end, but the
night was still and dark and there was little air beyond the vague chill
of a creeping sea-mist.
Dick, entering at the door at the platform end of the building instead of
passing straight up through the crowd as was his custom, was aware of a
curious influence at work from the first moment--an influence adverse if
not directly hostile that reached him he knew not how. He heard a vague
murmur as Juliet and Saltash followed him, and sharply he turned and drew
Juliet to his side. In that instant he realized that she was the only
woman in the place.
He faced the crowd, his hand upon her arm. "Well, men," he said, his
words clean-cut and ready, "so you've left your wives behind, have
you? I on the contrary have brought mine, and she has promised to give
you a song."
The mutter died. Some youths at the back started applause, which spread,
though somewhat half-heartedly, through the crowd, and for a space the
ugly feeling died down.
"We'll get to business," said Dick, and took out his banjo.
The concert began, Ashcott came up on to the platform and under cover of
Dick's jangling ragtime spoke in a low voice and urgently to Saltash.
The latter heard him with a laugh and a careless grimace, but a little
later he leaned towards Juliet who sat behind the table and touched her
unobtrusively. She looked round at him almost with reluctance, and he
whispered to her in rapid French.
She listened to him with raised brows, and then shook her head with a
smile. "No, of course not! I am going to sing to them directly. I am here
to help--not to make things worse."
He shrugged his shoulders and said no more. In a few minutes Dick's
cheery banjo thrummed into silence and he turned round.
"Are you ready?" he said to Juliet.
She rose and came forward, tall and graceful, bearing the unmistakable
stamp of high-breeding in every delicate movement. She might have been on
the platform of a London concert-hall as she faced her audience under the
shadowing hat.
They stared at her open-mouthed, spellbound, awed by the quiet dignity of
her. And in the hush that fell before her, Juliet began to sing.
Her voice was low, highly trained, exquisitely soft. She sang an old
English ballad with a throbbing sweetness that held her hearers with its
charm. And behind her Dick leaned against the table with his banjo and
very softly accompanied her.
His face was in shadow also as he bent over the instrument. Not once
throughout the song did he look up.
When she ended, there came that involuntary pause which is the highest
tribute that can be paid by any audience, and then such a thunder of
applause as shook the building. Saltash stepped forward to hand her back
to her chair, but the men in front of her yelled so hoarse a protest
that, laughing, he retired.
And Juliet sang again and again, thrilling the rough crowd as Dick had
never thrilled them, choosing such old-world melodies as reach the hearts
of all. Saltash watched her with keen appreciation on his ugly face. He
was an accomplished musician himself. But Dick with his banjo, though
he responded unerringly to every shade of feeling in the beautiful voice,
never raised his head.
It was he who at last came forward and led Juliet back to her chair, but
by that time the temper of the men had completely changed. They shouted
good-humoured comments to him and bandied jokes among themselves. The
whole atmosphere of the place had altered. The heavy sullenness had
passed like a thunder-cloud, and Ashcott no longer smoked his pipe in the
doorway with an air of gloomy foreboding.
Dick laid aside his banjo and came to the front of the platform. There
was absolute confidence in his bearing, a vital strength that imparted a
mastery that yet was largely compounded of comradeship.
He began to speak without effort--as a man speaks to his friends.
"I have something to say to you chaps," he said, "and I hope you will
hear me out fairly, even though it may not be the sort of thing you like
to listen to. I think you know that I care a good deal about your
welfare, and I am doing my level best to secure a decent future for you.
I haven't accomplished very much at present, but I'm sticking to it,
and I believe I shall win out some day. It won't be my fault if I don't,
and I hope it won't be yours. What?" as a murmur broke out in the
background. "Oh, shut up, please, till I've done, then if anyone wants to
talk he shall have his chance. It might be your fault if I failed
because I'm counting on you to back me up in a legal and orderly way.
And if you don't, well, I'm knocked out for good and all. For I'm no
strike-leader, and any man who strikes can go to blazes so far as I'm
concerned. I wouldn't lift a finger to stop him going or to get him out
when there; in fact it's the best place for him. No, boys, listen! Wait
till I've done! A strike is a deadly thing. It's like a spreading poison
in this country, and the beastly root of it is just selfishness. It
will choke the very life out of the nation if it isn't stopped. It's a
weapon that no self-respecting man should smirch his hands with. I know
very well there are heaps of reforms needed, heaps of abuses to be
stopped, but you don't cure evil with evil. You're only feeding the
monster that will devour you in the end, and you're feeding him with
human sacrifice moreover. Have you ever thought of that? And another
thing! Do you ever look ahead--right ahead--beyond your own personal
wants and grievances? Do you ever ask yourselves if strikes and violence
are going to bring forth justice and equity? Do you ever work the thing
out to its proper values--see it as it really is? This continual striving
for money, for power,--this overthrowing of all established control--do
you call it a fight for liberty by any chance? I tell you, men, that
it's a struggle for the most hideous slavery that ever disfigured this
earth. This perpetual fight for self will end in self-destruction. It
always does. It's the law of creation. The thing that strikes rebounds
upon the striker. The man who deliberately injures another injures
himself tenfold more seriously. Isn't there something in the Bible about
he who takes the sword perishes with the sword? That's justice--God's
justice--and there's no getting away from that. You can overthrow every
institution that was ever made, but you will never set up in its place a
Government that will bring again the order you have destroyed. You can
pull the Empire to pieces with dissensions and conspiracies, but--once
down--you will never build it up again.
"Grievances? Yes, of course you have grievances--heaps of 'em. Who
hasn't. And you've a right to try for better conditions. But in heaven's
name, don't strike for them! Don't turn the whole world upside down
because you want something you can't get! Be sportsmen and play a decent
game! Stick to the rules and you may win! I tell you I'm fighting for
you--I'm fighting hard. And I shan't rest so long as I have a decent
crowd to fight for. But if you're going to follow the rotten example of
the fellows who sacrifice the whole community to their own beastly
greed--who strike like a herd of sheep because a few damned traitors urge
'em to it--who fling duty and honour to the winds on the chance of
grabbing a little worldly advantage--in short, if you're not going to
observe the rules of the game, I've done with the whole show.
"That's the position, men, and I want you to get hold of it, see it as it
really is. Nothing on this earth worth having was ever gained by
disloyalty. Think it out for yourselves! Don't be led by the nose by a
parcel of agitators! Give the matter your own sane and deliberate
thought! Form your own conclusions! Throw off this tyranny of other men's
notions, and be free! If only every man in the kingdom would take this
line and think for himself instead of giving his blind allegiance to a
power that is out to ruin the nation, there would pretty soon be such a
strike against strikes as would kill 'em outright. They're a hindrance to
civilization and a curse to the world at large. They are selfishness
incarnate and a stumbling-block to all national progress. And if there's
any pride of race in you, any sense of an Englishman's honour, any desire
for the nation's welfare (which is at a pretty low ebb just now) join
with me and do your level best to cast out this evil thing!"
He ended as he had begun with clear and spontaneous appeal to the higher
instincts of his hearers. He knew them well, knew their weakness and
their strength; and he knew his own power over them and wielded it with
unfailing confidence.
The hard-breathing silence that succeeded his words dismayed him not
at all. He waited quite calmly for the question he had checked at
the outset.
It came very gruffly from a burly miner immediately in front of him.
"It's all very well," the man said. "But how are we to get our rights any
other way?"
"Oh, you'll get 'em all right," Dick made answer. "This isn't an age of
serfdom. You won't be downtrodden to that extent. You stick to your guns
and have a little patience! Things are not standing still. State your
grievances--if they're bad enough--and then give the owners a chance! But
don't forget that there's got to be give and take between you! If you
want fair play and consideration from the owners, you must give them the
same. Don't forget that you sink or swim together! If you ruin them you
ruin yourselves. Disloyalty means disruption, all the world over. So play
the game like men!"
It was at this point that Ashcott touched him on the shoulder with a
muttered word that made him turn sharply.
"What? Who?"
"Mr. Ivor Yardley!" the manager muttered uneasily. "He's waiting to
speak to you--says he'll address the men if you'll allow him. Think
it's safe?"
Dick frowned. "Of course it's safe! Where is he? Wait! I'll speak to him
first. I'll get my wife to sing again while I do it." He turned round to
Juliet sitting at the table behind him and bent to speak to her. "Can you
give them another song--to fill in time? I've got to speak to a man
outside." His eyes travelled swiftly on the words to the open doorway
where a tall man, wearing a motor-mask and a leather coat, stood waiting.
Juliet's look followed his. She stood up quickly. "Dick! Who is it?"
Something in her voice brought his eyes back to her in sudden close
scrutiny. For that instant he forgot the crowd of men and the need of
the moment, forgot the man who waited in the background whom he had
desired so urgently to see, forgot the whole world in the wide-eyed
terror of her look.
Instinctively he stretched an arm behind her, but in the same moment
Saltash came swiftly forward to her other side, and it was Saltash who
spoke with the quick, intimate reassurance of the trusted friend.
"It's all right, _Juliette_. I'm here to take care of you. Give them one
more song, won't you? Afterwards, if you've had enough of it, I'll take
you back."
She turned her face towards him and away from Dick whose arm fell from
her unheeded; but her gaze did not leave the figure that stood waiting
in the dim doorway, upright, grim as Fate, watching her with eyes she
could not see.
"Don't be afraid!" urged Saltash in his rapid whisper. "Anyhow, don't
show it! I'll see you through."
"Are you ready?" said Dick on her other side.
His voice was absolutely steady, but it fell with an icy ring, and a
great quiver went through her. She made a blind gesture towards Saltash,
and in an instant his hand gripped her elbow.
"Can't you do it?" he said. "Are you going to drop out?"
She recovered herself sharply, as though something in his words had
pierced her pride. The next moment very quietly she turned back to Dick.
"I am quite ready," she said.
He took her hand without a word, and led her forward. Someone raised
a cheer for her, and in a second a shout of applause thundered to
the rafters.
Dick smiled a brief smile of gratitude, and lifted a hand for silence.
Then, as it fell, he stepped back.
And Juliet stood alone before the rough crowd.
Those who saw her in that moment never forgot her. Tall and slender, with
that unconsciously regal mien of hers that marked her with so indelible a
stamp, she stood and faced the men below her. But no song rose to her
lips, and those who were nearest to her thought that she was trembling.
And then suddenly she began to speak in a full, quiet voice that
penetrated the deep hush with a bell-like clearness.
"Men," she said, "it is very kind of you to cheer me, but you will never
do it again. I have something to tell you. I don't know in the least how
you will take it, but I hope you will manage to forgive me if you
possibly can. Mr. Green is your friend, and he knows nothing about it, so
you will acquit him of all blame. The deception is mine alone. I deceived
him, too. I know you all hate the Farringmores, and I daresay you have
reason. You have never spoken to any of them face to face, before,
because they haven't cared enough to come near you. But--you can do
so to-night if you wish. Men, I am--Lord Wilchester's sister. I
was--Joanna Farringmore."
She ceased to speak with a little gesture of the hands that was quite
involuntary and oddly pathetic, but she did not turn away from her
audience. Throughout the deep silence that followed that amazing
confession she stood quite straight and still, waiting, her face to the
throng. A man was standing immediately behind her and she was aware of
him, knew without turning that it was Saltash; but the one being in all
the crowded place for whose voice or touch in that moment she would have
given all that she had neither spoke nor moved. And her brave heart died
within her. If he had only given some sign!
A hoarse murmur broke out at the back of the great barn, spreading like
a wave on the sea. But ere it reached the men in front who stood
sullenly dumb, staring upwards, Saltash's hand closed upon Juliet's arm,
drawing her back.
"After that, _ma chère_," he said lightly into her ear, "you would be
wise to follow the line of least resistance."
She responded to his touch almost mechanically. The murmur was swelling
to a roar, but she scarcely heard it. She yielded to the hand that
guided, hardly knowing what she did.
As Saltash led her to the back of the platform she had a glimpse of
Dick's face white as death, with lips hard-set and stern as she had never
seen them, and a glitter in his eyes that made her think of onyx. He
passed her by without a glance, going forward to quell the rising storm
as if she had not been there.
The man in the leather coat was with him. He had taken off his mask, and
he paused before Juliet--a cynical smile playing about his face. It was
a face of iron mastery, of pitiless self-assertion. The eyes were as
points of steel.
He bent towards her and spoke. "I thought I should find you sooner or
later, Lady Jo. I trust you have enjoyed your game--even if you have lost
your winnings!"
She spoke no word in answer, but she made a slight, barely perceptible
movement towards the man whose hand upheld her.
And Yardley laughed--an edged laugh that was inexpressibly cruel.
"Oh, go to the devil!" said Saltash with sudden fire. "It's where
you belong!"
Yardley's cold eyes gleamed with icy humour. "_Et tu, Brute_!" he said
with sneering lips. "I wish you--joy!"
He passed on. Saltash's arm went round Juliet like a coiled spring. He
impelled her unresisting to the door. Her hand rested on his shoulder as
she stepped down from the platform. She went with him as one in a dream.
The air smote chill as they left the heated atmosphere, and a great
shiver went through her.
She stood still for a moment, listening. The tumult had died down. A
man's voice--Dick's voice--clear and very steady, was speaking.
"Come away!" said Saltash in her ear.
But yet she lingered in the darkness. "He will be safe?" she said.
"Of course he will be safe! They treat him like a god. Come away!"
His arm was urging her. She yielded, shivering.
He hurried her up the slope to the place where he had left his car. It
stood at the side of the rough road that led to High Shale Point.
They reached it. Juliet was gasping for breath. The sea-mist was like
rain in their faces.
"Get in!" he said.
She obeyed, sinking down with a vague thankfulness, conscious of
great weakness.
But as he cranked the engine and she felt the throb of movement, she sat
up quickly.
"Charles, what am I doing? Where are you taking me?"
He came round to her and his hands clasped hers for a moment in a grip
that was warm and close. He did not speak at once.
Then, lightly, "I don't know what you'll do afterwards, _ma Juliette_,"
he said. "But you are coming with me now!"
She caught her breath as if she would utter some protest, but something
checked her--perhaps it was the memory of Dick's face as she had last
seen it, stony, grimly averted, uncompromisingly stern. She gripped his
hands in answer, but she did not speak a word.
And so they sped away together into the dark.