Produced by Al Haines
OUR ADMIRABLE BETTY
A ROMANCE
BY
JEFFERY FARNOL
AUTHOR OF
"THE BROAD HIGHWAY" "THE MONEY MOON"
"THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN" "THE HON. MR. TAWNISH"
"THE CHRONICLES OF THE IMP" "BELTANE THE SMITH"
"THE DEFINITE OBJECT"
LONDON & EDINBURGH
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & CO. LTD.
By the Same author.
Crown 8vo.
THE BROAD HIGHWAY
THE MONEY MOON
THE AMATEUR GENTLEMAN
THE HONOURABLE MR. TAWNISH
Fcap, 4to. Illustrated in Colour by C. E. BROCK.
THE CHRONICLES OF THE IMP
BELTANE THE SMITH
THE DEFINITE OBJECT
LONDON & EDINBURGH
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY LIMITED
TO
MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. CONCERNING THE MAJOR'S CHERRIES
II. INTRODUCING THE RAVISHER OF THE SAME
III. WHICH TELLS HOW THE MAJOR CLIMBED A WALL
IV. CONCERNING THE BUTTONS OF THE RAMILLIE COAT
V. HOW SERGEANT ZEBEDEE TRING BEGAN TO WONDER
VI. WHICH DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, A POACHER
VII. WHICH RELATES HOW THE POACHER ESCAPED
VIII. OF PANCRAS, VISCOUNT MERIVALE
IX. WHICH IS A VERY BRIEF CHAPTER
X. INTRODUCING DIVERS FINE GENTLEMEN
XI. IN WHICH LADY BELINDA TALKS
XII. THE VISCOUNT DISCOURSES ON SARTORIAL ART
XIII. OF INDIGNATION, A WOOD, AND A GIPSY
XIV. SOME DESCRIPTION OF A KISS
XV. WHEREIN IS MUCH TALK BUT LITTLE ACTION
XVI. HOW MR. DALROYD SAW A GHOST AND THE SERGEANT AN APPARITION
XVII. HOW MY LADY BETTY WROTE A LETTER
XVIII. HOW MAJOR D'ARCY RECOVERED HIS YOUTH
XIX. HOW THE MAJOR LOST HIS YOUTH AGAIN
XX. HOW THE MAJOR RAN AWAY
XXI. OF CRIMINATIONS
XXII. WHICH RELATES HOW SERGEANT ZEBEDEE TRING QUELLED SCANDAL
WITH A PEWTER POT
XXIII. DESCRIBES A TRIUMPH AND A DEFEAT
XXIV. DEALS, AMONG OTHER THINGS, WITH TREASONABLE MATTERS
XXV. IN WHICH THE GHOST IS LAID
XXVI. OF BACCHUS AND THE MUSES
XXVII. HOW THE SERGEANT RECOUNTED AN OLD STORY
XXVIII. THE MAJOR COMES TO A RESOLUTION
XXIX. TELLS HOW LADY BETTY DID THE SAME
XXX. CONCERNING CHARLES, EARL OF MEDHURST
XXXI. WHICH DESCRIBES SOMETHING OF MY LADY BETTY'S GRATITUDE
XXXII. FLINT AND STEEL
XXXIII. DESCRIBING SOMETHING OF COQUETRY AND A DAWN
XXXIV. HOW MR. DALROYD MADE A PLAN AND LOCKED HIS DOOR
XXXV. HOW THE SERGEANT TOOK WARNING OF A WITCH
XXXVI. HOW THEY RODE TO INCHBOURNE
XXXVII. OF ROGUES AND PLOTS
XXXVIII. HOW THE MAJOR MADE HIS WILL
XXXIX. WHICH IS A QUADRUPLE CHAPTER
XL. OF THE ONSET AT THE HAUNTED MILL
XLI. CONCERNING HIGHWAYMEN AND THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE
XLII. WHICH DESCRIBES A DUEL
XLIII. HOW THEY DRANK A NEW TOAST
XLIV. SOME ACCOUNT OF A HIGHWAYMAN
XLV. CERTAIN ADVENTURES OF THE RAMILLIE COAT
XLVI. FURTHER INTIMATE ADVENTURES OF THE RAMILLIE COAT
XLVII. OF A FEMININE COUNCIL OF WAR
XLVIII. OF THE INSUBORDINATION OF SERGEANT ZEBEDEE TRING
XLIX. OF A JOURNEY BY NIGHT
L. WHICH TELLS OF ANOTHER DAWN
OUR ADMIRABLE BETTY
CHAPTER I
CONCERNING THE MAJOR'S CHERRIES
"The Major, mam, the Major has a truly wonderful 'ead!" said Sergeant
Zebedee Tring as he stood, hammer in hand, very neat and precise from
broad shoe-buckles to smart curled wig that offset his square, bronzed
face.
"Head, Sergeant, head!" retorted pretty, dimpled Mrs. Agatha, nodding
at the Sergeant's broad back.
"'Ead mam, yes!" said the Sergeant, busily nailing up a branch of the
Major's favourite cherry tree. "The Major has a truly wonderful 'ead,
regarding which I take liberty to ob-serve as two sword-cuts and a
spent bullet have in nowise affected it, Mrs. Agatha, mam, which is a
fact as I will maintain whenever and wherever occasion demands, as in
dooty bound mam, dooty bound."
"Duty, Sergeant, duty!"
"Dooty, mam--pre-cisely." Here the Sergeant turning round for another
nail, Mrs. Agatha bent over the rose-bush, her busy fingers cutting a
bloom here and another there and her pretty face quite hidden in the
shade of her mob-cap.
"Indeed," she continued, after a while, "'tis no wonder you be so
very--fond of him, Sergeant!"
"Fond of him, mam, fond of him," said the Sergeant turning to look at
her with glowing eyes, "well--yes, I suppose so--it do be a--a matter
o' dooty with me--dooty, Mrs. Agatha, mam."
"You mean duty, Sergeant."
"Dooty, mam, pre-cisely!" nodded the Sergeant, busy at the cherry tree
again.
"See how very brave he is!" sighed Mrs. Agatha.
"Brave, mam?" The Sergeant paused with his hammer poised--"Sixteen
wounds, mam, seven of 'em bullet and the rest steel! Twenty and three
pitched battles besides outpost skirmishes and the like and 'twere his
honour the Major as saved our left wing at Ramillies. Brave, mam?
Well--yes, he's brave."
"And how kind and gentle he is!"
"Because, mam, because the best soldiers always are."
"And you, Sergeant, see what care you take of him."
"Why, I try, mam, I try. Y'see, we've soldiered together so many years
and I've been his man so long that 'tis become a matter o'----"
"Of duty, Sergeant--yes, of course!"
"Dooty, mam--pre-cisely!" nodded the Sergeant.
"Pre-cisely, Sergeant and, lack-a-day, how miserable and wretched you
both are!"
The Sergeant looked startled.
"And the strange thing is you don't know it," said Mrs. Agatha,
snipping off a final rose.
The Sergeant rubbed his square, clean-shaven chin and stared at her
harder than ever.
"See how monstrous lonely you are!" sighed Mrs. Agatha, hiding her face
among her newly-gathered blooms, a face as sweet and fresh as any of
them, despite the silver that gleamed, here and there, beneath her
snowy mob-cap.
"Lonely?" said the Sergeant, staring from her to the hammer in his
hand, "lonely, why no mam, no. The Major's got his flowers and his
cherries and his great History of Fortification as he's a-writing of in
ten vollums and I've got the Major and we've both got--got----
"Well, what, Sergeant?"
The Sergeant turned and began to nail up another branch of the great
cherry tree, ere he answered:
"You, mam--we've both got--you, mam--"
"Lud, Sergeant Tring, and how may that be?"
"To teach," continued the Sergeant slowly, "to teach two battered old
soldiers, as never knew it afore, what a home might be. There never
was such a housekeeper as you, mam, there never will be!"
"A home!" repeated Mrs. Agatha softly. "'Tis a sweet word!"
"True, mam, true!" nodded the Sergeant emphatically. "'Specially to
we, mam, us never having had no homes, d'ye see. His honour and me
have been campaigning most of our days--soldiers o' fortune, mam,
though there weren't much fortune in it for us except hard knocks--a
saddle for a piller, earth for bed and sometimes a damned--no, a--damp
bed, mam, the sky for roof----"
"But you be come home at last, Sergeant," said Mrs. Agatha softer than
ever.
"Home? Aye, thanks to his honour's legacy as came so sudden and
unexpected. Here's us two battered old soldiers comes marching along
and finds this here noble mansion a-waiting for us full o' furniture
and picters and works o' hart----"
"Art, Sergeant!"
"Aye, hart, mam--pre-cisely--and other knick-knacks and treasures and
among 'em--best and brightest----"
"Well, Sergeant?"
"Among 'em--you, mam!" said he; and here, aiming a somewhat random blow
with the hammer he hit himself on the thumb and swore. Whereon Mrs.
Agatha, having duly reproved him, was for examining the injured member
but, shaking his head, he sucked it fiercely instead and thereafter
proceeded to hammer away harder than ever.
"But then--you are--neither of you so very--old, Sergeant."
"The Major was thirty-one the day Ramillies was fought and I was
thirty-three--and that was ten years agone mam."
"And you are both monstrous young for your age--so straight and
upright--and handsome. Y-e-e-s, the Major is very handsome--despite
the scar on his cheek--the wonder to me is that he don't get married."
Hereupon the Sergeant dropped the hammer.
"As to yourself, Sergeant," pursued Mrs. Agatha, her bright eyes
brim-full of mischief, "you'll never be really happy and content until
you do."
Hereupon the Sergeant stooped for the hammer and seemed uncommonly red
in the face about it.
"As to that mam," said he, a thought more ponderously than usual, "as
to that, I shall never look for a wife until the Major does, it has
become a matter o'----"
"Duty, of course, Sergeant!"
"Of dooty, mam--pre-cisely!" Saying which, the Sergeant turned to his
work again; but, chancing to lift his gaze to a certain lofty branch
that crawled along the wall just beneath the coping, he fell back a
pace and uttered a sudden exclamation:
"_Sacré bleu!_"
"Lud, Sergeant!" cried Mrs. Agatha, clasping her posy to her bosom and
giving voice to a small, a very small scream, "how you do fright one
with your outlandish words! What ails the man--there be no Frenchmen
here to fight--speak English, Sergeant--do!"
"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant with his gaze still fixed.
"Sergeant--pray don't oathe!"
"But zookers, mam----!"
"Sergeant--ha' done, I say!"
"But damme, Mrs. Agatha mam, asking your pardon, I'm sure--but don't ye
see--he's been at 'em again! The three best clusters on the
tree--gone, mam, gone! Stole, Mrs. Agatha mam, 'twixt now and twelve
o'clock noon----"
"O Gemini, the wretch!"
"I'll take my oath them cherries was a-blowing not an hour agone, mam,
on that branch atop the wall!"
"Who could ha' done it?"
"Not knowing, mam, can't say, but this last week the rogue has captured
fourteen squads of our best cherries--off this one tree, and this, as
you know, Mrs. Agatha mam, be the Major's favourite tree! So I say,
mam, whoever the villain be, I say--damn him, Mrs. Agatha mam!"
"Fie--fie, Sergeant, swearing will not mend matters."
"Maybe not, mam, maybe not, but same does me a power o' good! Egad,
when I mind how I've watched and tended them particular cherries Mrs.
Agatha I could----"
"Then don't, Sergeant!"
"What beats me," said he, rubbing his square chin with the shaft of the
hammer, "what beats me is--how did he do it? Must be uncommonly long
in the arms and legs to reach so high unless he used a pole----"
"Or a ladder?" suggested Mrs. Agatha.
"Meaning he did it by escalade, mam? Hum--no, I see no signs of
scaling ladders mam and the ground is soft, d'ye see? But a pole
now----"
"Or a ladder--on the other side of the wall, Sergeant----"
"B'gad, mam!" he exclaimed. "I believe you're right--though to be sure
the house next door is empty."
"Was!" corrected Mrs. Agatha. "Lud, Sergeant, there's a great lady
from London been living there a month and more with a houseful of
lackeys and servants."
"Ha, a month, mam? Lackeys and servants say you? B'gad, say I, that's
them! Must report this to the Major. Must report at once!" and the
Sergeant laid down his hammer.
"And where is the Major?"
"Mam," said the Sergeant, consulting a large, brass chronometer, "the
hour is pre-cisely three-fourteen, consequently he is now a-sitting in
his Ramillie coat a-writing of his History of Fortification--in ten
vollums."
"'Twill be pity to wake him!" sighed Mrs. Agatha.
"Wake him?" repeated the Sergeant, staring; whereupon Mrs. Agatha
laughed and went her way while he continued to stare after her until
her trim figure and snowy mob-cap had vanished behind the yew-hedge.
Then the Sergeant sighed, reached for his coat, put it on, adjusted his
tall, leathern stock, sighed again and turning sharp about, marched
into the house.