TRAVELLER'S JOY
The 8th of January dawned still and cold. A black frost was on the
ground, and in the sky the yellowish greyness which usually precedes a
heavy snowfall.
It was, however, perfectly fine and dry at Bramforth when Olwen set out
upon her northward journey. At Newcastle she had to change, and later
on must change again, for the little local line which would carry her to
Picton Bars.
The lonely station stands high upon the fells, and the snow had begun to
fall when she alighted upon the small, dreary platform.
A fly sent by Askwith, landlord of the Seven Spears at Caryngston, was
duly in waiting, and when she and her baggage were safely bestowed they
started off, up a hill so steep that the driver did not mount his box
until they had gone a mile and a half. The Seven Spears was the curious
name of the hostelry to which Mrs. Guyse in her last letter had directed
her new secretary, with the information that at this point upon her
journey she would be met.
By the time they had gained a wide, exposed plateau, the snow was
falling with surprising and increasing rapidity. The great flakes were
like lumps of wool, and the whole face of the country was white in half
an hour. As they breasted the hill they encountered a keen icy wind
from the north, against which the horses could make but slow progress.
The train had been warmed, but the interior of the fly was very chilly.
It seemed to Olwen that in all the miles they travelled they never
passed a single human habitation. How far they went she could not tell,
but she was blue with cold, and very hungry by the time they reached the
outskirts of a small town or a large village. The grey stone cottages
were huddled in true Northumbrian fashion one against the other, right
upon the road, with no intervening garden plots as in southern counties.
Owing to the storm, nobody was in the streets; and against all walls
which faced the north the snow had already drifted deeply. Darkness was
closing in as they reached the market square, white and empty in the
pitiless weather.
Olwen felt a little nervous at the thought that the last, and presumably
the wildest, stage of her journey still lay before her. She had hardly
realised that England contained a place so remote as Guysewyke.
The inn stood on the north side of the square, facing south. A wooden
porch projected above the door, and wooden benches were ranged below the
windows.
As the horses stopped before the entrance, a middle-aged woman, in felt
slippers, drying her hands upon a large print apron, came and stood in
the light of the doorway.
"Is it the yoong leddy for t' Pele?" she asked in a hearty voice, which
was strangely comfortable in the circumstances.
"Yes," said Olwen as she jumped out eagerly. "Are you Mrs. Askwith?
What dreadful weather you have here! It was quite fine at Bramforth
this morning!"
"To think o' that! Coom away, Missie, and Saam'll put trooks doon in't
baack kitchen. There's a canny bit o' snaw doon already, and we'll have
more'n enoof, coom morrning. Bad time o' year to be travelling, and you
sooch a bit lassie!"
The last words were tinged with wonder as Miss Innes walked into the
passage, which was papered in imitation blocks of grey granite, divided
into oblongs by bands of bright blue.
Olwen laughed. "I think it's fun--quite an adventure, you know," she
replied gaily. "Is there anybody here to meet me from Guysewyke?"
"Ow ay, there be," said the hostess; and as she spoke she pushed open a
door leading into the bar parlour, whence issued loud laughter and a
whiff of mingled tobacco smoke, leather gaiters, beer, sawdust and hot
humanity.
Olwen caught sight of several men on benches, three farmers round a
central table, and the host, in a green baize apron, with a tankard in
each hand.
The face of the farmer seated facing her was clearly visible for a few
moments--a long dark face, with a pronounced chin, a slight black
moustache, and eyes as green as jade. He seemed just to have said
something to amuse his companions, and was himself smiling, showing two
rows of teeth as perfect as those of an animal. He looked, she thought,
like a picture of _Der Freischuetz_, the demon huntsman.
In her hasty survey she saw nobody who looked like Mrs. Guyse's servant,
but somebody must have been there, for the landlady called out:
"She've coom! Yoong lass've coom!" before banging the door and shutting
in the noise and warm odours.
She turned to the other side of the central passage and ushered the girl
into a second parlour, where a fire burned, but dully. Striking a
match, the woman lit a paraffin lamp, and disclosed the typical, square,
small-windowed inn sitting-room, with the usual rag hearthrug, china
dogs on the mantelpiece, stuffed gamecock in a glass case, and corner
cupboard with treasures of old cut glass and lustre ware. The panelled
walls had been painted in a vile yellowish imitation of the real oak
which the paint in all probability masked.
Kneeling down with a pair of bellows, the landlady quickly blew the
sluggish fire into a leaping blaze, upon which she placed a huge log.
Then rising and dusting her knees with one hand, she looked doubtfully
at her guest.
"Ye'll no get to t' Pele to-night, loov," said she not unkindly. "It's
drifting very hard oop on t' fell already. Muster Nin won't risk it in
the dark."
Then, in reply to Olwen's "Oh!" of consternation she added, "Well, well,
you'll hear what he says himself."
She paused and listened to a new burst of wild merriment, which was
plainly audible from the bar. Her lips twisted into an indulgent smile.
"That's him. Troost him to set 'em all off!"
Her eyes wandered to the somewhat forlorn little figure of Olwen, who,
doubtful as to whether she was to continue her travels or no, was
standing by the table, cold, hungry and uncertain. "Bad time o' year
for t' Pele," she remarked, as if puzzled. "Soommer's best, oop
yander." Her expression was odd, and it seemed as if she was minded to
say more, but instead she turned suddenly, marched out into the passage,
half opened the bar door, and called loudly:
"Muster Nin! Coom you here! Didn't you hear me tell you yoong lass've
coom?"
"All right, Deb, keep your hair on," said a voice from within; there was
the sound of a chair being pushed back, and the young farmer with black
hair and green eyes emerged, a pipe in his mouth, a tumbler of hot drink
in his hand.
His eyes and those of the stranger girl met momentarily; and she was
conscious of two very distinct impressions: first, of his real, though
suppressed, anxiety to see her, and secondly, of his disappointment.
She could not have explained how she knew this; but in some way she
received the impression of his having expected something very different.
"Hallo!" he said, looking her up and down as she stood in cold dignity
by the parlour table. "You Miss Innes--eh! How-de-do?"
She bowed. "You are----?"
"My name's Guyse. I drove down this morning to do some business in the
town and bring you back. Didn't foresee this weather. Afraid it's no
use hoping to get to the Pele to-night. What do you think, Deb?"
Deb's opinion, quite frankly and decidedly, was that it would be a
fool's trick to attempt the journey. Madam would never expect them.
The Demon Huntsman, pipe in mouth, studied the silent girl with
half-shut eyes. "Think you can make her comfortable here, Deb?" he
asked at length.
"Ow ay, Muster Nin. I'll be going oop now and kindle a fire in her
room. What time would you like supper--eh?"
"That's for the lady to say."
"You really think," began Olwen, summoning her courage, "that we had
better not try to go on? You are not speaking on my account? I am not
timid or nervous."
He grinned. "Dessay not. I am though."
"And you are sure that Mrs. Guyse will understand and approve?"
Both Mrs. Askwith and he were very sure of that.
"Then, if I am to stay here, might I beg for a cup of tea? I'm so cold
and hungry."
"Tea?" The good woman was overcome with remorse that she had not
thought of this. Off she went to prepare it forthwith, and Miss Innes
and the young man were left together.
Slowly she laid down her muff and gloves, unfastened Marjorie's motor
coat in which she had travelled, and laid it aside, disclosing her slim
little person in a dark blue suit. Then she sat down in a big chair of
the kind known as a porter's chair, and held her stiff hands to the
comforting warmth of the fire.
Her escort had moved round to the fireside, and was sitting on a corner
of the table, swinging one leg, and smoking away with a total disregard
of her permission.
His eyes were on her, and after a while he took out his pipe, and
chuckled, displaying his clean white teeth. "Mean to say you've been a
bank clerk for three years?" he asked teasingly.
Olwen almost jumped, so much did this familiarity astonish her.
"Why not?" she countered stiffly.
"You look to me as if you were straight from boarding school, as if you
had spent your days walking out in a crocodile, with a mistress behind
to see that you didn't give the glad eye to anybody along the sea
front."
Olwen was roused. She must give this offensive young cad something to
remember. "You were never more mistaken in your life," said she coolly.
"I am quite able to take care of myself, and people are rarely rude to
me twice."
"Rude?" he laughed, not the least abashed. "I should think not! Fancy
cheeking a kitten at the age of six weeks!"
"Your habits with regard to kittens or anyone else," she snapped, "are
of no interest to me. Pray don't let me keep you from
your--er--associates in the next room."
He laughed out, his head thrown back. "Fuff-fuff! I do love to hear a
kitten swear!"
Olwen tilted her chin to a very haughty angle. "Mrs. Guyse has provided
me with an unusual kind of escort," she said. "May I ask who you are?
Do you live near Guysewyke Pele?"
"No, I don't. I live inside it. I'm the son of the house, and I hope
you and I are going to have fine times together. You looked such a
mouse that I thought you had no spunk in you; but you've got a spirit of
your own, all right, all right."
Olwen rose, and gathered up her coat, with the intention of asking Mrs.
Askwith to let her see her room. As she made for the door, it was
opened by an apple-cheeked damsel who carried a tea-tray. This she set
down upon the table, giving young Guyse what he would have called the
glad eye as she did so.
"Hallo, Flossie," said he, taking up his glass, "I drink to your very
good health. You see before you, Flossie, no less a person than the
Queen of Sheba. Make your very lowest courtesy. Her Majesty is
travelling incog., and I've got into hot water by failing to recognise
her. Look out for yourself, my girl, or you'll get the set-down of your
life."
Flossie began to titter, and young Guyse, rising, said, "Tarta, kitten!"
and walked back into the bar parlour. As the door closed behind him
there sounded an outburst of laughter, and Olwen wondered if it were
caused by some remark he had made about herself. Her cheeks were warm
with indignation. This creature--this tavern wit--was to be her house
mate at the Pele! ... Why, Ben Holroyd was an aristocrat compared with
this!
"Mr. Ninian's full of his nonsense, ain't he?" said Flossie cheerfully.
"Known me from a baaby, he has. Me moother she says it's a fair wonder
how he do keep up his spirits in that lonely plaace. There, Miss, your
tea's ready, and should I carry your things oopstairs?"
Olwen sank down with relief to sip hot tea and eat excellent hot
teacake. She was almost ready to cry at prospect before her, but the
refreshment and the warmth revived her somewhat. It was not yet twelve
hours since she left the Vicarage; she could not yet accept defeat! But
she felt uneasy.
Mrs. Guyse had made no mention of her son. She had conveyed the
impression that she lived alone. Was it wildly possible that her real
escort had been delayed by the snow and this unspeakable young man was
masquerading? That might account for the merriment in the bar, but it
seemed impossible that the Askwiths should be conniving at such a trick.
Her gloomy meditations were broken into by the entrance of Deb, who came
to know if she had enjoyed her tea. She thanked her politely, and asked
whether there were such a thing as a telegraph office within reach, as
she was anxious to send a message to her people to explain that the
weather had delayed her.
Mrs. Askwith approved of this idea. "You caan't tell, you might be
snowed oop here, and days before you get to t' Pele," was her
disquieting opinion. Then, not pausing to consult her guest, she once
more pushed open the bar door and shouted for "Muster Nin."
She explained to him that the young lady wished to send a telegram, and
he replied, "That's easy enough, if the snow hasn't broken down the
wires, and I don't think it will have yet." Advancing into the parlour,
he peeped in, a mocking devil in his eyes. "If your Majesty will
condescend to allow her slave to hold an umbrella over her, we will at
once fare forth across the market-place," said he.
He did not wait for a reply, but took up her fur coat from the chair
where still it lay, and held it for her to put on. She was taken by
surprise, and did so almost mechanically.
"Now, Deb, the big umbrella," said he, "and I can manage so that this
midget shan't be blown away."
They emerged into the porch. As the wind was behind the house, they
were here comparatively in shelter, and the snow seemed a mere
sprinkling. "Now," said he, as he set the umbrella firmly on his
shoulder so as to shield their backs, "cling to me for all you're worth,
little 'un, and I'll have you across in a brace of shakes."
It was not a moment for standing on one's dignity. The readiness with
which he had come from the warm room to do her a service mollified her
somewhat, and she tucked her hand into his arm as directed.
As soon as they were beyond the shelter of the house, the blast drove
them on furiously. She had the sensation of being attached to a live
wire, so elastic yet so complete was young Guyse's resistance to the
storm.
Soon the snow was over their boots, and she was jumping along in a
fashion which could not but provoke them both to mirth. She was gasping
for breath when they reached the opposite side of the market-place, and
stood before the chemist's shop, which was also the post office. The
chemist, with a sack over his head, was busy sweeping the drifts from
his doorstep. The colour was high in Olwen's cheeks, and her eyes were
starry as she made a dash for the comparative light and warmth of the
shop within.
The postmaster came to attend them, read Olwen's message slowly and
laboriously aloud, and discussed the storm with great fluency in a
dialect which Olwen could only partly understand. They discussed the
chance of getting to the Pele next day, and Olwen found that her escort
had no intention at all of remaining weather-bound.
"This fall is going to stop soon after midnight," he said, "the wind
will drop, and then we'll have out Askwith's sleigh and go up there in
no time."
On their return journey they met the wind, and young Guyse thought it
better not to hoist the umbrella. As the gust shrieked in their faces
the girl recalled the prosaic, everyday aspect which the residential
district of Bramforth had worn that morning. Everything grey,
everything dull; everything just as it always had been and always would
be! ... And now she was fighting the elements, the icy blast from the
Cheviots like knives upon her face, ankle deep in snow, and clinging
close to a young ruffian whom, an hour ago, she had never seen.
As they fought their way on, the white surrounding expanse of snow was
broken by an approaching figure. There was a moon behind the
snow-clouds, so that the night was not quite black, and she could see
that it was a man in an oilskin coat and a cap with flaps tied down over
his ears, who was moving towards them.
Young Guyse evidently had no wish to encounter the traveller. He flung
his arm round Olwen and turned her in a slightly different direction.
His attempt at evasion was thwarted by a shout from the man.
"Hi, Guyse! Guyse! Is that you?"
Guyse wheeled sulkily. "Hallo!" ungraciously, "what do you want?"
"Have you got ... knife in pocket ... with hook for clearing horse's
hoof?"
The speaker was out of breath, but his voice was that of an educated
man. Olwen saw that he had a short, pointed, fair beard, to which the
moisture clung in drops.
Her escort most reluctantly felt in his pockets, and while he did so she
knew herself the object of keen scrutiny on the part of the other.
"Thanks, I'm sure"--as the knife was produced--"I'm afraid I have kept
this--er--lady standing. What shall I do with the knife, to return it?"
"Leave it with Askwith. I shall be at the Seven Spears till morning."
With these words he dragged the girl away, ignoring the other's shout of
thanks and good night.
"Who was that?" cried Olwen in his ear.
"That? The doctor. Fellow called Balmayne. Confounded busybody!
Always spying!"
"Spying!"
"On me. Why can't he mind his own business? Out there in the snow just
to get a look at you, I suppose."
"What nonsense!"
"Like to have been introduced to you, wouldn't he? No fear!"
As he spoke, they reached their haven, the lee of the storm, and she
heard his words clearly. She disengaged herself from him, no longer in
need of his support, which he nevertheless seemed disinclined to
withdraw. The doctor, she thought, might well have felt curious as to
who she was--careering across the market-place with young Guyse's arm
round her waist!