IN THE VALLEY
When Sophia at last lowered her eyes, and with a sigh of
disappointment turned to her companions--when she awoke, as it were,
and saw how fast the dusk had gathered round them, and what strides
towards shutting them in night had made in those few minutes, she had
much ado to maintain her composure. Lady Betty, little more than a
child, and but one remove from a child's fear of the dark, clung to
her; the girl, though a natural high spirit forbade her to expose her
fears, was fairly daunted by the gloom and eeriness of the scene.
Pettitt seated on a step of the carriage, weeping at a word and
shrieking on the least alarm, was worse than useless; while the men,
now reduced to four, had withdrawn to a distance, whence their voices,
subdued in earnest colloquy, came at intervals to her ears.
What was to be done? Surely something? Surely they were not going to
sit there, perhaps through the whole night, doing nothing to help
themselves, wholly depending on the success of the postboys? That
could not be; and impatiently Sophia summoned Watkyns. "Are we going
to do nothing," she asked sharply, "until they come back? Cannot one
of the grooms return the way we came? There was the man at the
mill--who warned us? He may know what to do. Send one of the servants
to him."
"I did ask the gentleman to go," Watkyns answered with a sniff of
contempt, "or else to ride on with the postboys and guide them. He's
got us into this scrape, begging your ladyship's pardon, and he ought
to get us out! But he's all for not separating; says that it isn't
safe, and he won't leave the ladies. He'll do nothing. He's turned
kind of stupid like," the valet added with a snort of temper.
Sophia's lip curled. "Then let one of the grooms go," she said, "if
he's afraid."
Watkyns hesitated. "Well, the truth is, my lady," he said, speaking
low, and looking warily behind him, "they are fuddled with drink, and
that's all about it. Where they got the stuff I don't know, but I've
suspicions."
Sophia stared.
"I think I can guess what is in the gentleman's holsters," Watkyns
continued, nodding mysteriously. "And I've a notion they had a share
of it, when my back was turned. But why I cannot say. Only they are
not to be trusted. I'd go back myself, for it is well to have two
strings; and I could take one of their horses. But I don't like to
leave you with him, my lady."
"With the gentleman?"
"Yes, my lady. Seeing he has given the men drink."
Sophia laughed in scorn. "You need not trouble yourself about him,"
she said. "We are not afraid of him. Besides it is not as if I were
alone. There are three of us. As to the house opposite, however,
that's another matter."
He was off his guard. "Oh, there's no fear of that!" he said.
"No? But I thought you said there was."
"This side of the water, my lady--I mean," he answered hurriedly.
"There are stepping-stones you see a little above here; but they are
covered now, and the people can't come over."
"You are sure of that?"
"Quite sure, my lady."
"Then you had better go," Sophia said with decision. "We've had nothing
to eat since midday, and we are half famished. We cannot stay here all
night."
Watkyns hesitated. "Your ladyship is right," he said, "it is not as if
you were alone. And the moon will be up in an hour. Still, my lady, I
don't know as Sir Hervey would like me to leave you?"
But in the end he gave way and went; and was scarcely out of hearing
before she was sorry that she had sent him, and would fain, had it
been possible, have recalled him.
Still the darkness was not yet Egyptian; night had not yet completely
fallen. She could see the figures of Lane and the two servants, seated
a score of paces away on a fallen thorn tree, to which they had
tethered their horses. She could dimly make out Lady Betty's face, as
the girl sat beside her in the carriage, getting what comfort she
could from squeezing her hand; and Pettitt's, who sat with them, for
it would have been cruel to exclude her in her state of terror. But
the knowledge that by-and-by she would lose all this, the knowledge
that by-and-by they must sit in that gloomy hollow, ignorant of what
was passing near them, and at the mercy of the first comer, began to
fill even Sophia with dread. She began to fear even Lane. She
remembered that he had cause to dislike her; that he might harbour
thoughts of revenge. If it were true that he had made the men
drunk----
"It's absurd," Lady Betty whispered, pressing her hand. "He would not
dare! He's just a clothes peg! You're not afraid of him?"
"No," Sophia answered bravely, "I don't know that I am afraid of any
one. Only----"
"Only you wish you had not let Watkyns go?"
"Yes."
"So do I!" Lady Betty whispered eagerly. "But I did not like to say
so. I was afraid you would think me afraid. What I can't make out is,
why some of the men don't go over and get help where the light is,
instead of riding miles and miles for it."
"They seem to think that the people are not to be trusted."
"But why? What do they think that they are?" Lady Betty asked
nervously.
"I don't know! Watkyns said something of smugglers from Goudhurst."
"And how does he know?"
"From Lane, I suppose."
"Who brought us here, the little wretch! There!" Betty exclaimed,
clutching her companion, "what is that? Oh, they have got a candle."
Lane had produced one from his holsters; the men had lighted it.
By-and-by, he brought it to the carriage, shading it with his hat;
with a sheepish air he prayed the ladies to make use of it. Sophia
added distrust to her former contempt of him, and would have declined
the gift; but Lady Betty's trembling hand prayed mutely for the
indulgence, and she let him place it in the lanthorn in the carriage.
It conferred a kind of protection; at least they could now see one
another's faces.
She soon regretted her easiness, however, for instead of withdrawing
when he had performed the office, Lane lingered beside the door. He
asked Lady Betty the time, he went away a little, returned, a flitting
shadow on the fringe of light; finally he stood irresolute watching
them, at a distance of a couple of yards. Sophia bore this as long as
she could; at last, out of patience, she asked him coldly if he had
not another candle. It was now quite dark.
"No, my lady," he said humbly, "I've no other."
She wished that she had bitten her tongue off before she put the
question, for now it appeared barbarous to send him into the darkness.
He seemed, too, to see the advantage he had gained, and by-and-by he
ventured to take his seat on a log beside the carriage. He cast a
timid look at Lady Betty, and heaved an audible sigh.
If he hoped to move that hard little heart by sighing, however, he was
much mistaken. Cheered by the light, Lady Betty was herself again.
Sophia felt her begin to shake, and knew that in a moment the laugh,
half hysterical, half mirthful, would break all bounds; and she sought
to save the situation. "Where are the men?" she said hurriedly. "Will
you be good enough to ask one of them to come to me?"
Lane rose, and went reluctantly; soon he came stumbling back into the
circle of light.
"I cannot find them," he stammered, standing by the carriage.
"Not find them?" Sophia answered, staring at him. "Are they not
there?"
"No, my lady," he returned, glancing nervously over his shoulder and
back again. "At least I--I can't find them, ma'am. It is very dark.
You don't think," he continued--and for the first time she discerned
by the poor light of the candle that he was trembling, "that--that
they can have fallen into the river?"
His tone alarmed her, even while she thought his fears preposterous.
"Fallen into the river?" she exclaimed contemptuously. "Nonsense, sir!
Are you trying to frighten us?" And without waiting for an answer, she
raised her voice and called "George! George!"
No answer. She stepped quickly from the carriage. "Take me," she said
imperiously, "to where you left them."
Lady Betty protested; Pettitt clutched at her habit, begged her to
stay. But Sophia persisted, and groped her way after Lane until he
came to a stand, his hand on the bark of the fallen blackthorn, beside
which she had last seen the men. "They were here," he said, in the
tone of one half dazed. "They were. They were just here."
"Yes, I remember," she answered. And undeterred by Pettitt's frantic
appeals to her to return, she called the man again and again; still
she got no answer.
At length, fear of she knew not what came on her, and shaken by the
silence of the valley through which her voice rang mournfully, she
hurried back to the carriage, and sprang into it in a panic; the man
Lane following close at her elbow. It was only when she had taken her
seat, and found him clutching the door of the carriage and pressing as
near as he could come, that she saw he was ashake with fear; that his
eyes were staring, his hair almost on end.
"They've fallen into the river," he cried wildly, his teeth
chattering. "I never thought of that! They have fallen in, and are
drowned!"
"Don't be a fool, man!" Sophia answered sharply. She was striving to
keep fear at bay, while Lady Betty awestricken, clung to her arm. "We
should have heard a cry or something."
"They were drunk," he whispered. "They were drunk! And now they are
dead! They are dead! Dead!"
Pettitt shrieked at the word; and Sophia, between fear and rage,
uncertain whether he was frightened or was trying to frighten them,
bade him be silent. "If you can do nothing, at least be still," she
cried wrathfully. "You are worse than a woman. And do you, Pettitt,
behave yourself. You should be taking care of your mistress, instead
of scaring her."
The man so far obeyed that he sank on the step of the carriage, and
was silent. But she heard him moan; and despite her courage she
shuddered. Fear is infectious; it was in vain she strove against the
uneasy feelings communicated by his alarm. She caught herself looking
over her shoulder, starting at a sound; trembling when the candle
flickered in the lanthorn or the feeble ring of light in which they
sat, in that hollow of blackness, wavered or varied. By-and-by the
candle would go out; there was but an inch of it now. Then they would
be in the dark; three women and this craven, with the hidden river
running silent, bankful beside them, and she knew not what, prowling,
hovering, groping at their backs.
On a sudden Lane sprang up. "What is that?" he cried, cowering against
the door, and clutching it as if he would drag it open and force
himself in among them. "See, what is it? What is it?"
But it was only the first shaft of light, shot by the rising moon
through a notch in the hills, that had scared him. It struck the thorn
tree where the men had sat, and slowly the slender ray widened and
grew until all the upper valley through which they had come lay bathed
in solemn radiance. Gradually it flooded the bottom, and dimmed the
yellow, ineffectual light of their taper; at length only the ridge
beyond the water remained dark, pierced by the one brooding spark that
seemed to keep grave vigil in the hill of shadow.
The women breathed more freely; even Pettitt ceased to bewail herself.
"They will be back soon, with the horses," Sophia said, gazing with
hopeful eyes into the darkness beyond the ford. "They must have left
us an hour and more."
"An hour?" Lady Betty answered with a shiver. "Three, I vow! But what
is the man doing?" she continued, directing Sophia's attention to
Lane. "I declare he's a greater coward than any of us!"
He was, if the fact that the light which had relieved their fears had
not removed his stood for anything. He seemed afraid to move a yard
from them; yet he seldom looked at them, save when a gust of terror
shook him, and he turned as if to grip their garments. His hand on the
door of the carriage, he gazed now along the valley down which they
had come, now towards the solitary light beyond the stream; and it was
impossible to say which prospect alarmed him the more. Sophia, whom
his restlessness filled with apprehension, noticed that he listened;
and that more than once, when Lady Betty spoke or Pettitt complained,
he raised his hand, as if he took the interruption ill. And the longer
she watched him, the more she was infected with his uneasiness.
On a sudden he turned to her. "Do you hear anything?" he asked.
She listened. "No," she answered, "I hear nothing but the wind passing
through the trees."
"Not horses?"
She listened again, inclining her head to catch any sound that might
come from the other side of the stream. "No," she replied, "I don't."
He touched her shoulder. "Not that way!" he exclaimed. "Not that way!
Behind us!"
Suddenly Lady Betty spoke. "I do!" she said. "But they are a long way
off. It's Watkyns coming back. He must have found horses, for I hear
more than one!"
"It's not Watkyns!" Lane answered and he took two steps from the
carriage, then came back. "Get out!" he cried hoarsely. "Do you hear?
Get out! Or don't say I didn't warn you. Do you hear?" he repeated,
when no one stirred; for Sophia, her worst suspicions confirmed, was
speechless with surprise, and the others cowered in their places,
thinking him gone mad. "Get out, get out, and hide if you can. They
are coming!" he continued wildly. "I tell you they are coming. And it
is off my shoulders. In ten minutes they'll be here, and if you're not
hidden, it'll be the worse for you. I've told you!"
"Who are coming!" Sophia said, her lips forming the words with
difficulty.
"Hawkesworth!" he answered. "Hawkesworth! He and two more, as big
devils as himself. If you don't want to be robbed and worse, hide,
hide! Do you hear me?" he continued, pulling frantically at Sophia's
habit. "I've told you! I've done all I can! It's not on my head!"
For an instant she sat, turned to stone; deaf to the cries, to the
prayers, to the lamentations of the others. Hawkesworth? The mere name
of him, with whom she had once fancied herself in love, whom now she
feared and loathed, as she feared and loathed no other man, stopped
the current of her blood. "Hawkesworth," she whispered, "Hawkesworth?
Here? Following us? Do you mean it?"
"Haven't I told you?" Lane answered with angry energy. "He was at
Grinstead, at the White Lion, last night. I saw him, and--and the
woman. You'd made me mad, you know, and--and they tempted me! They
tempted me!" he whined. "And they're coming. Can't you hear them now?
They are coming!"
Yes, she could hear them now. In the far distance up the valley the
steady fall of horses' hoofs broke the night silence. Steadily,
steadily, the hoof-beats drew nearer and nearer. Now they were hushed;
the riders were crossing a spongy bit, where a spring soaked the
road--Sophia could remember the very place. Now the sound rose louder,
nearer, more fateful. Trot-trot, trot-trot, trot-trot! Yes, they were
coming. They were coming! In five minutes, in ten minutes at most they
would be here!
It was a crisis to try the bravest. Round them the moonlight flooded
the low wide mouth of the valley. As far as the eye reached, all was
bare and shelterless. A few scattered thorn trees, standing singly and
apart, mocked the eye with a promise of safety, which a second glance
showed to be futile. The only salient object was the carriage stranded
beside the ford, a huge dark blot, betraying their presence to eyes a
furlong away. Yet if they left its shelter, whither were they to turn,
where to hide themselves? Sophia, her heart beating as if it would
suffocate her, tried to think, tried to remember; while Lady Betty
clung to her convulsively, asking what they were to do, and Pettitt,
utterly overcome, sobbed at the bottom of the carriage, as if she were
safer there.
And all the time the tramp of the approaching horses, borne on the
night breeze, came clearer and sharper, clearer and sharper to the
ear; until she could distinguish the ring of bit and bridle as
the men descended the valley. She looked at Lane. The craven was
panic-stricken, caught hither and thither, by gusts of cowardice;
there was no help there. Her eye passed to the river, and her heart
leapt, for in the shadowed bank on the other side she read hope and a
chance. There in the darkness they could hide; there--if only they
could find the stepping-stones which Watkyns had said were upstream.
Quick as thought she had Lady Betty out, and seizing her woman by the
shoulder, shook her impatiently. "Come," she cried, "come, we must
run. We must run! Come, or we shall leave you."
But Pettitt only grovelled lower on the floor, deaf to prayers,
orders, threats. At last, "We must leave her," Sophia cried, when she
had wasted a precious minute in vain appeals. "Come! We must find the
stepping-stones. It is the only chance."
"But is the danger--so great?" the child panted.
"It's--oh, come! Come!" Sophia groaned. "You don't understand." And
seizing Lady Betty by the hand she ran with her to the water's edge,
and in breathless haste turned up the stream. They had gone twenty
yards along the bank, the elder's eyes searching the dark full
current, when Sophia stopped as if she had been shot. "The jewels!"
she gasped.
"The jewels?"
"Yes, I've left them."
"Oh, never mind them now!" Betty wailed, "never mind them now!"
and she caught at her to stay her, but in vain. Already Sophia was
half-way back to the carriage. She vanished inside it; in an
incredibly short space--though it seemed long to Betty, trembling with
impatience and searching the valley with eyes of dread--she was out
again with the jewel-case in her hand, and flying back to her
companion. "They are his!" she muttered, as she urged her on again. "I
couldn't leave them. Now, the stones! The stepping-stones! Oh, child,
use your eyes! Find them, or we are lost!"
The fear of Hawkesworth lay heavy on her; she felt that she should die
if his hand touched her. It was unfortunate that all the bank on which
they stood was light; it was in their favour that the moon had now
risen high enough to shine on the stream. They ran fifty yards without
seeing a sign of what they sought. Then--at the very moment when the
pursuers' voices broke on their ears, and they realised that in a
minute or two they must be espied--they came to a couple of thorn
trees, standing not far apart, that afforded a momentary shelter. A
yard farther, and Lady Betty stumbled over something that lay in the
shadow of the trees. She recoiled with a cry. "It's a man!" she
murmured.
"The grooms!" Sophia answered, her wits sharpened by necessity; and
she felt for and shook one of the sleepers, tugged at his clothes,
even buffeted him in a frenzy of impatience. "George! George!" she
muttered; and again she shook him. But in vain; and as quickly as she
had knelt she was on foot again, and had drawn the child on.
"Drugged!" she muttered. "They are drugged! We must cross! We must
cross! It's our one chance!"
She hurried her on, bending low; for beyond the two thorn trees all
lay bare and open. Suddenly a cry rent the night; an oath, and a
woman's scream followed and told them that their flight was known.
Their hands clasped, their knees shaking under them, they pressed on,
reckless now, expecting every moment to hear footsteps behind them.
And joy! Sophia nearly swooned, as she saw not five yards ahead of
them a ripple of broken water that ran slantwise across the silver;
and in a line with it a foot above the surface, a rope stretched taut
from bank to bank.
The stones were covered, all save one; but the rope promised a
passage, more easy than she had dared to expect. "Will you go first,
or shall I?" was on the tip of her tongue; but Lady Betty wasted no
time on words. She was already in the water, and wading across, her
hands sliding along the rope, her petticoats floating out on the
surface of the current. The water was cold, and though it rose no
higher than her knees, ran with a force that but for the rope must
have swept her off her feet. She reached the middle in safety,
however, and Sophia who dared not throw the weight of two on the rope,
was tingling to follow, when the dreaded sound of feet on the bank
warned her of danger. She turned her head sharply. A man stood within
five paces of her.
A pace nearer, and Sophia would have flung herself into the stream!
heedless of the rope, heedless of all but the necessity of escape. In
the nick of time, however, she saw that it was not Hawkesworth who had
found her, but Lane the poor rogue who had ruined them. In a low harsh
voice, she bade him keep his distance.
"I don't know what to do!" he faltered, wringing his hands and looking
back in terror. "They'll murder me! I know they will! But there's
smallpox the other side! You're going into it! There are three dead in
the house, and everybody's fled. I don't know what to do," he whined.
[Illustration: LADY BETTY WASTED NO TIME ON WORDS. SHE WAS ALREADY IN
THE WATER AND WADING ACROSS]
Sophia answered nothing, but slid into the stream and waded across. As
she drew her wet skirts out of the water, and, helped by Lady Betty,
climbed the bank, she heard the chase come down the side she had left;
and thankful for the deep shadow in which they stood, she pressed the
girl's hand to enjoin silence, as step by step they groped their way
from the place. To go as far as possible from the crossing was her
object; her fear that a stumble or a rolling stone--for the side of
the ridge below the houses was steep and rough--would discover their
position. Fortunately the darkness which lay there was deepened by
contrast with the moonlit country on the farther side; and they crept
some forty yards along the hill before they were brought up short by a
wattled fence. They would have climbed this, but as they laid hands on
it they heard men shouting, and saw two figures hurry along the
opposite bank, and come to a stand, at the point where they had
crossed. A moment Sophia hung in suspense; then Hawkesworth's voice
thrilled her with terror. "Over!" he cried. "Over, fool, and watch the
top!" And she heard the splashing of a horse as it crossed the ford,
and the thud of its hoofs as it dashed up the road.
The two fugitives had turned instinctively down stream, in the
direction of the road and the houses. The rider's movement up the road
therefore tended to cut off their farther retreat; while the distance
they had been able to put between themselves and the stepping-stones
was so short that they dared not move again, much less make the
attempt to repass their landing-place, and go up stream. For the
moment, close as they were to their enemies, the darkness shielded
them; but Sophia's heart beat thickly, and she crouched lower against
the wattle as she heard Hawkesworth step into the stream and splash
his way across, swearing at the coldness of the water.