THE SQUIRE'S ACCIDENT
"GRANDFATHER, I want to ask you a favour."
Damaris and Sir Mark were breakfasting together. It was a lovely
morning, the beginning of April. It was hardly an opportune moment, for
Sir Mark was always short-tempered when the hunting ceased, and he had
taken his last run the day before.
"What is it? More money?" he asked shortly.
"Oh dear no! It is only to ask you if you will mind my having a friend
to stay with me. I have heard from her, and she has been ill of the flu
and has been ordered to the country to have a thorough rest."
"We don't want the flu brought here."
"Oh, she is well from that. I say a friend, but she's really a cousin;
I have not known her for very long."
"Now, look here, Damaris! What did I tell you about your father's
relations? I'll have nothing to do with them. Most certainly I shall
not have them here as our guests. I am surprised that you should ask
such a thing!"
"But why should you condemn her when you haven't seen her? I know you
would like her. She is clever, and nice in every way."
Sir Mark uttered an expletive which sounded like an oath; he thumped
his fist down on the table, and grew almost purple in the face.
Damaris, remembering her aunt's warnings that she was not to let him
become excited, was filled with contrition.
"I'm sorry, grandfather. I hoped you would let me have her. You will
not mind, of course, if I get her lodgings in the village?"
"She shall not enter this house; you quite understand? I'm master here,
and I shall see that I'm obeyed."
"I always mean to obey you," Damaris said gently.
Sudden silence fell between them. Sir Mark's anger faded away as
quickly as it came, but Damaris did not like to see the pinched
grey shadows that stole over his face. He occupied himself with his
newspaper and letters for the rest of the meal. When it was over,
Damaris went swiftly round to him.
"Please forgive me," she said sweetly.
"All right; all right; but remember you are a Murray now, not a
Hartbrook. I would you did not bear the name. It is loathsome to me."
Damaris checked the sigh that rose within her. She could never
get accustomed to hear her father's name slighted, and was keenly
disappointed that she might not ask Nellie to the house. Miss Hardacre
had written to her and told her how unwell Nellie was, and how she
could not be persuaded to go away from town.
Later in the day, she met Stuart when she was out with the dogs on
the common. She did not often see him in the week. He and Barbara and
Lord Ennismore were all working at the model village, and pushing the
building on with all their might and main. But every Sunday Stuart came
over to lunch. The Squire looked for him. He sat with him after lunch
in the smoking-room till tea-time, then he attached himself to Damaris.
They went to evening church together, and sometimes took a stroll
before it.
And Damaris began to look for his coming. He might say he did not want
to be her friend, but he proved a very sympathetic listener, and a good
comrade in the best sense of the word.
Now, as he rode across the common, he pulled up at the sight of her.
"Anything wrong?" he inquired, with a quick glance at her face.
Damaris smiled, but her misty eyes betrayed her.
"Nothing that matters," she said. "I only wanted something, and made
grandfather angry by asking for it. Oh, I can tell you in a moment. A
cousin of mine is ill and has nowhere to rest. She is not well off, and
I thought of the empty rooms at the Hall, so comfortable and sunny, and
longed to have her. Of course, as she is a Hartbrook, it is impossible.
I shall try to get her lodgings in the village—only she is very
proud—and she will persist in paying, and I did not want her to have
any expenses."
"If I see a way out of your difficulty, I'll drop you a line," said
Stuart cheerfully.
Damaris laughed. His bright face always did her good.
"I don't think even you can help me in this case," she said.
"Well, now, will you do something for me? Get the Squire to ask young
Lancaster over to dine one night. He finds his evenings dull, and the
Squire always likes young chaps about him."
"I'll ask him, of course," said Damaris promptly. "I haven't met him
yet. What is he like? And is he getting on at Fallerton? Does he like
it there?"
"He would if my dear aunt left him more alone. She bullies him a bit,
and throws me at his head till he hates the sight of me."
"Oh, I know. That is how I feel when grandfather quotes Aunt Barbara.
And yet I really love her."
They parted, and Damaris pursued her way.
The next day came a note from Mrs. Bonnycott asking Damaris for
Nellie's address.
"I want help badly for a bazaar that I'm responsible for, and, from
what I hear, your cousin would just suit me. I am going to ask her on a
visit. I know I shall end my days by being in bondage to a tyrannical
companion. I feel I want somebody to talk to when things go wrong. I
really meant to have you, only you disappeared so quickly and then
turned up in another guise."
Damaris was astonished at Stuart's promptness in befriending her, but
was very doubtful whether Nellie would accept such an invitation.
However, in a few days' time, Nellie wrote to her saying that Mrs.
Bonnycott had written her such an exceedingly kind letter that she
could not refuse.
"Of course, she does it for your sake," wrote Nellie. "Does she
expect to see another Damaris walk in? I fear she will be grievously
disappointed if she does. But I have accepted. I gather that I shall be
on one side of a big common, and you the other. Shall we meet in the
middle of it one day?"
Damaris felt intensely relieved when she read this letter. Then she
cheerfully tackled her grandfather about Geoffrey Lancaster.
Sir Mark acquiesced at once.
"Yes; ask him over any evening. I have a great respect for his father,
and the lad is all right—only kicked against making up drugs and sawing
bones and all the rest of it. Small blame to him!"
So young Geoffrey Lancaster came to the Hall, and, as was only natural,
fell violently in love with Damaris. She was amused with his open
admiration at first, then she got uneasy and annoyed. Whenever he had
leisure, he would appear at the Hall. Damaris took him to task one day.
"Do you know this is the third time you have been over this week? Do
you find you can leave your work so often?"
"But I had to come over here to have my horse shod."
"You have a smithy at Fallerton."
"Old Luke is dotty, and his son is laid up. Don't you want to see me?"
"I don't want you to fail Mrs. Bonnycott."
"I am sure Maitland used to be over here pretty often. He and Lady
Ennismore were always together. I used to think they would make a match
of it."
"It's getting such a busy time on the farms," said Damaris.
"Yes; I'm up and out at five every morning. And I can tell you I do all
the work and enjoy it. After London, it's heaven to be able to breathe
again. Will you come for a ride? Sir Mark wants you to be at home in
the saddle, doesn't he? I've ridden over. Let me tell them to bring
your horse round, and we'll go over the common."
Damaris yielded. She had been out with her grandfather several times,
and he had been very pleased with her progress. She found she was not
nervous, and as her horse was quiet and steady she felt confidence in
him.
Now, when she was mounted and going easily down the drive with
Geoffrey, she realised how much she enjoyed it.
"I never saw any beginner sit a horse so easily as you do," Geoffrey
exclaimed.
"Ah, wait till he breaks into trot!" she said, laughing. "But I want
to learn to ride. I shall never hunt, but I want to ride out with my
grandfather."
They chatted together about various things, and Stuart's name was
mentioned.
Geoffrey's eyes glowed when he spoke of him.
"I owe him a debt I can never pay. There isn't a man in a thousand who
would have taken hold of me as he did. He never talks or jaws at a
fellow. He just acts. I can tell you I was pretty well at the end of
everything, in town. I loathed my work, I loathed myself, and then he
came along, bucked me up, put life and hope into me again, and never
rested till he had handed his own job over to me—the very billet that
I'm fitted for, I consider. Certainly the one I liked above all else!"
"He's always doing those kind of things Aunt Barbara says," said
Damaris. "I know he has befriended me many a time."
"Who wouldn't?" exclaimed Geoffrey. "That is no feather in his cap, but
with me it was different."
They were riding past a clump of blackthorns all in full blossom, and
Damaris reined up her horse.
"Oh!" she cried. "I must have a branch of this lovely stuff."
"Look after your reins," Geoffrey called out.
In reaching up, she had dropped her reins. Her horse swerved; then,
before she could reach them, he had broken away in a canter, and the
next moment Damaris was thrown. Happily she fell on soft turf, but
Geoffrey had an awful moment before he was able to reach her.
"Damaris! Damaris!" he cried. "Are you hurt? Oh, speak!"
For a moment, Damaris seemed stunned. Then she recovered herself and
sat up. She smiled up into his anxious face.
"I have hurt my arm—but no bones broken. I assure you I am all right.
Can you catch Firefly? He is munching the grass over there."
"Oh, blow Firefly! It is you I am thinking about."
He had dismounted, and was helping her to rise as he spoke.
"There, you see, I'm all right. I've only twisted or sprained my right
wrist. Do catch Firefly. And I'll mount him again at once and go home.
It was all my own fault. I'm not accustomed to riding, you know."
Geoffrey soon captured Firefly, and assisted Damaris to mount him. Then
they rode home very slowly, and Geoffrey astounded Damaris by proposing
to her on the way.
"I know you haven't seen much of me, but a day was long enough to show
me where my heart was. And your accident has precipitated matters. I
feel I must have the right to take care of you. It was horrible when I
saw you pitch over your horse's head. I know my prospects are not much;
but there are good agencies going and I daresay the Squire will help
me, unless he kicks me out of the house for daring to speak to you. If
I haven't money to offer you—I have a heart, and I'll work to get a
home, if only you give me the least bit of hope."
"I am afraid I can't do that, Mr. Lancaster," said Damaris gravely but
sweetly. "I am so sorry you have broken our friendship by speaking so.
I could never be to you anything more than a friend. I am quite sure of
this, and hope you'll understand. And I thank you very much. I'm sorry
if my answer will disappoint you."
"Disappoint me!" cried poor Geoffrey. "It has cast me from heaven into
hell. I've been too rash—I had better have waited."
"I'm afraid if you had waited twenty years, my answer would have been
the same."
Geoffrey gave a groan.
"Is somebody else in the way? Maitland? Oh, forgive me—I don't know
what I'm saying!"
Damaris's cheeks burned. Her arm was paining her, and she longed to be
alone.
They rode back to the Hall in silence. Geoffrey was too dejected to say
a word. He left her at the door. Damaris tried to say something, but
could not. She had only known him such a short time that he had not
only surprised her, but annoyed her by his sudden proposal.
"He's a mere boy; and how dare he insinuate—" she murmured to herself.
"When I think of the two of them, and the difference in age and
character and personality, it makes me furious!"
She wondered if she had inadvertently encouraged him by her friendly
intercourse with him. She had liked him and felt sorry for him. He
had no mother and rather a dreary home; his father was bitterly
disappointed over his failure to pass his medical exams., and hardly
took any notice of him.
Geoffrey almost lived at Fallerton Manor. Mrs. Bonnycott insisted upon
a good deal of supervision of her property, and did not yet believe in
his capability to act alone. Stuart was the only one who believed in
him; but Stuart was much engrossed with the model village, and was away
the greater part of the week.
In two days' time, Damaris met her cousin, and they were genuinely
pleased to see each other again. Nellie looked white and very thin,
but she told Damaris that she found the Fallerton air life-giving. She
had made a good impression upon Mrs. Bonnycott, who said to Damaris
directly she saw her—
"She'll do, my dear! A real sensible girl! Wears low heels and looks
you in the face when she speaks to you!"
When the girls were alone, Nellie said—
"She's an old dear. I always do like old ladies, as you know. And,
of course, I'm in the lap of luxury, which is foreign to my Spartan
nature, but is pleasing, all the same."
"And what do you think of Mr. Maitland—'The idle rich young man who
plays at farming'? Do you remember how you talked in London about men
and their purposeless lives?"
"He plays divinely!" said Nellie with a little smile. "He came in late
last night and played in the dark. Mrs. Bonnycott let me prop the
library door open to listen. We were sitting there together, and he
went into the music-room. I quite enjoyed it. Well, he isn't asleep!
and is awfully keen on his village. The other young man puzzles me. The
first day I came, he was a jolly happy boy. Two days ago, he returned
from a ride, and has been in the depths of melancholy ever since."
Damaris said nothing, but Nellie's sharp eyes detected a slight
confusion in her manner.
"He told me he often sees you," Nellie went on. "I hope you don't keep
him away from his work. Is his melancholy due to the hurt you received
in your arm the other day?"
"Oh, that's nothing. I've only strained the muscles. No, if you must
know, Nellie, he wants me to be more than friends with him, and I
cannot. He is taking it hardly, but I really gave him no encouragement."
"The ridiculous youth! How angry your grandfather would be! Is he
ambitious for you, Damaris? This boy hasn't a penny to bless himself
with. I'm glad to know the reason of his sulkiness. I'll try to
brighten him up. How do you get on with your grandfather?"
"Very well, on the whole." A little flush came into her cheeks. "I had
better tell you, Nellie. He still hates my father's family. He wouldn't
let me ask you to the house. He won't even let anyone call me Miss
Hartbrook, he hates the name so! I am 'Miss Damaris' to the servants.
It is quite a mania with him. This is one of my trials."
Nellie looked grave.
"Does he know I have come to stay here?"
"Oh, yes; I mentioned it. But you will understand if I can't ask you to
the house."
"Oh, that's all right. I'm glad you told me. How antiquated and foolish
these old country squires are. Well—we can meet on the common, can't
we? And I mean to be busy; Mrs. Bonnycott will keep me at it, I know."
They spent a couple of happy hours together, and agreed to meet again
before long.
A week later, Sir Mark met with an accident out riding. Unlike Damaris,
he did not escape so easily. He was trying a new horse, and insisted on
taking it out himself. Damaris stood on the terrace, and felt a little
uneasy as she watched it kicking and plunging.
"I don't believe Aunt Barbara would let you go off alone," she said,
trying to speak lightly. "Won't you take Dawkins with you?"
"I am not in my dotage yet," was the testy reply; "when I can't manage
a horse, I'll take to my bed. Run indoors, child, and don't worry me.
He's a hard-mouthed brute, I'm afraid."
He applied his spurs lightly, and his horse plunged down the drive at a
reckless pace.
Damaris felt uneasy, and Dawkins, the old groom, said doubtfully—
"The master has got a handful there; but if any one will tame him, he
will."
Damaris went indoors, but she could settle to nothing.
"It's so bad for his heart," she said to herself. "I wish he would come
back."
But the afternoon wore away, and he did not return.
At tea-time she became so anxious, that she sent off Dawkins in search
of him.
When seven o'clock arrived and he did not return, she was convinced
that some accident had happened. And then she heard the sound of hoofs
outside on the gravel, and, running to the door, found Dawkins holding
a note out to the old butler.
"Have you found the Squire?" she asked Dawkins sharply.
"Yes, miss. He's had a spill—but nothing very serious. He's laid up at
Fallerton Manor, and the doctor has been and says he must stay there
for the night. The horse is there too."
"I must go to him at once!"
But when she opened Mrs. Bonnycott's note, she found she was not wanted.
"MY DEAR DAMARIS,—I have your grandfather safe and sound in bed in
my best spare room. No bones broken; but he had a tumble and a heart
attack. Your cousin found him and brought him here. Dr. Lancaster has
been, and says he can return home to-morrow, so don't be anxious. He
sends you his love, and tells you there is no need to worry or come
over. He will be home, if all is well, to-morrow morning. No time for
more. We will take good care of him.
"Yours affectionately,
"KITTY BONNYCOTT."
Damaris had dinner alone, and spent a miserable evening. She wondered
if her aunt would have been content to stay at home, or whether she
would not have gone to her father at once.
She had a sleepless night, and was disappointed to hear nothing by the
postman.
But at ten o'clock, just as she had finished her breakfast, Stuart
walked in.