THE WAY OF ESCAPE
The sun shone out again as they went down the hill, and the sea gleamed
below them like a sheet of silver.
"You like this place?" asked Jake.
"I could like it," she made answer.
He smiled. "Then I reckon you shall. Say, does Bunny know about your
coming up here to me?"
She coloured deeply. "He knew I came, yes. He did not know why."
Jake was still smiling. "Guess he'll be pleased," he said. He added,
between puffs at his pipe: "We'll make him happy between us. We'll give
him the time of his life."
She drew a deep breath. Surely no sacrifice was too great for that!
They passed the church on the hill, and descended the steep road to the
town.
"There are some rooms I know of along this road," said Jake. "Kept by
the wife of one of our stable-men. Shall we go in and have a look at
'em?"
She hesitated. "Bunny will wonder where I am."
He glanced at her. "Well, look here! You leave me to see to it. I'll
fix up something, and then I'll come on after you and we'll get the boy
away."
She met his look somewhat doubtfully.
"Why not?" said Jake.
She answered him with an effort. "You do understand, don't you, that I
couldn't--I can't--accept help from you before--before--our marriage?"
"Why not?" he said again. "Reckon you mean to stick to your bargain?"
"Oh, it isn't that," she said painfully. "Of course--of course--I shall
keep my word with you. But I have a little pride left--just a
little--and----"
"And I'm to humour it, eh?" said Jake. "Well, you shall have it your
own way. But let me do the fixing for you! I know just what you want.
It's only for a few days either."
He smiled at her, and she yielded.
But when they separated at length she paused uneasily. "Jake!"
"Your servant!" said Jake promptly.
She stretched a nervous hand towards him. "Jake, if you meet--my
step-father, you will not--not----"
"Most unfortunately I can't," said Jake. He held her hand for a moment,
and let it go. "There! Good-bye! I won't do anything indiscreet, I
promise you. There is too much at stake. Now you get back to Bunny as
quick as you can! I shan't be long after you."
And Maud went with a feeling at the heart of relief and dread oddly
mingled. She knew that Jake would keep his word. There was a rocklike
strength about him that nothing could ever shake. For good or ill, he
would stick to a bargain, be the price what it might. But she saw him
overriding every obstacle to attain his purpose. He would never flinch
from possible consequences; of that she was certain. What he had said
he would do, that he would do, and no power on earth would divert him
therefrom.
She shivered suddenly and violently as she walked. The relentless force
of the man had in it an element that was terrible. What had she done?
What had she done?
She encountered her mother as she mounted the hotel stairs.
"Oh, my dear, here you are at last!" was her greeting. "I have been so
worried about you. Come into my room!"
But Maud resisted her. "I must go to Bunny. He has been alone for so
long."
"No, dear, no! Bunny's all right for the present. I've been to see.
He doesn't want anything. He told me so. Come into my room--just for a
moment, dear child! We can't talk in the passage."
As Mrs. Sheppard was plainly bent upon talking, Maud concluded she had
something to say; and followed her.
"Shut the door, my darling! That's right. How white you look this
morning! Dearie, I am more sorry than I can say for what happened last
night. Giles told me about it. But he says he is quite willing now to
let bygones be bygones. So you won't bear malice, darling; will you? Of
course I know he ought not to have done it," with a slightly uneasy
glance at her daughter's rigid face. "I told him so. But he assured me
he only did it for your good, dear. And he seems to think that you were
rather rude to him earlier in the day. He is old-fashioned, you know.
He thinks a whipping clears the air, so to speak. It's better anyhow
than saving up grievance after grievance, isn't it, dear? You'll start
afresh now, and be much better friends. At least it won't be his fault
if you're not. He is quite ready to treat you as his own daughter."
She paused for breath.
Maud was standing stiff and cold against the door. "Is that what you
called me in here to say?" she asked.
Mrs. Sheppard still looked uneasy though she tried to laugh it off.
"Not quite all, dear. But I really should go and make friends with him
if I were you. He isn't a bit angry with you any more. In fact he has
been joking about it, says his arm is so stiff this morning he can
hardly use it. You couldn't possibly keep it up if you heard him."
"I shall not hear him," said Maud.
White and proud she faced her mother, and the latter's half-forced
merriment died away.
"Child, don't look so tragic! What is it? Come, he didn't hurt you so
badly surely! Can't you forgive and forget?"
"No," Maud said. "I shall never do either. I am going away with Bunny
to-day. And I hope--with all my heart--that I shall never see his face
again."
"Going away?" Mrs. Sheppard opened startled eyes. "But, Maud----"
"I am going to marry Jake Bolton," Maud said, her voice very deep and
quiet. "He will take me and Bunny too."
"Oh, my dear. That man!" Her mother gazed at her in consternation.
"He--he is infinitely rougher than Giles," she said.
"I know he is rough. But he cares for Bunny. That matters most," said
Maud. "In fact, I believe he likes Bunny best!"
"My dear, it's you he wants--not Bunny," said Mrs. Sheppard, with a rare
flash of insight. "I saw that at the very beginning of things--at our
wedding-party. He looked at you as if he could devour you."
Maud put out a quick hand of protest. "Mother, please! That doesn't
prove he cares about me--any more than I care for him. It--it's just
the way with men of his sort. He--he has been very kind, and he is
genuinely fond of Bunny, and--and--in fact it's the only thing to be
done. I can't--possibly--stay here any longer."
Her lip quivered unexpectedly. She turned to go. But her mother
intercepted her quickly, endearingly.
"Maud, darling, wait a minute! I haven't finished. You took my breath
away. But listen a moment! This sacrifice won't be necessary, I am
sure, I am sure. You couldn't marry that horsey creature. You would
never bear life with him. You are not adaptable enough nor experienced
enough. You could never endure it. It would be infinitely worse than
poor Giles and his tantrums. No, but listen, dear! If you really feel
you must go, I think a way of escape is going to be offered to you and
poor little Bunny too. I have had a letter from your Uncle Edward, and
he is coming expressly to see you both."
"Mother!" Maud almost tore herself free, gazing at her with that in her
eyes that was to haunt Mrs. Sheppard for many days. "Oh, why, why, why
didn't you tell me before? When did the letter come?"
"It was last night, darling. You were such a long way off--right at the
top of the house--and I was too tired to go after you--I meant to tell
you first thing, dear; but when I went to look for you after breakfast,
you had gone. I am very sorry, but really it wasn't my fault. Still,
you won't want to marry that vulgar person now, for I am sure your uncle
means to make provision for you. He can well afford it. He is very
wealthy."
But Maud resolutely put her mother's clinging arms away from her. "Jake
is not vulgar," she said in a voice that sounded flat and tired. "And I
have promised to marry him. Nothing can make any difference to that
now."
"My dear! What nonsense! I will get Giles to talk to him. How can you
dream of such a thing, you who might have married Lord Saltash--and may
yet! There is no knowing. Maud, dearest, you must be reasonable. You
must indeed. This Jake Bolton may be a very excellent man, a very
worthy man, but as a husband for you he would be utterly unsuitable.
Surely you can see that for yourself! I can't imagine what possessed you
to entertain such an idea for a moment. It was rank presumption on his
part to dare to lift his eyes to you. Why, my dear, if you were to
marry him your life would be an absolute thraldom. You mustn't think of
it, dear child. You mustn't indeed. Why, he is not much better than a
stable-boy. And his speech----"
"He has spent a good deal of his time among cowboys." Maud was still
firmly trying to disengage herself. "His speech is more or less
acquired. In any case--in any case--I have given him my promise. And
you had better not let Mr. Sheppard interfere. It would be wise of him
to keep out of Jake's way in fact. Jake knows exactly why I am prepared
to marry him."
"My dear! You actually made a confidant of that dreadful person! How
could you?"
"I wanted a man to protect me," Maud said very bitterly, "from the
vindictive savagery of a brute!"
"Maud! How can you talk so? And I am sure Jake Bolton is much more of
a brute than poor Giles. Why, look at the man! Look at his mouth, his
eyes! They absolutely stamp him. Oh, dear, you're very headstrong and
difficult. I begin to think Giles had some excuse after all. Perhaps
your uncle will be able to manage you. You are quite beyond me."
Maud almost laughed. "When does he arrive?" she asked.
"This evening. He has asked us to reserve a room for him." Mrs.
Sheppard had speedily developed a proprietary interest in the management
of the hotel. Its welfare had become far more engrossing than that of
her children.
Maud opened the door. "We shall be gone by that time. Jake's finding us
rooms somewhere in the town."
Mrs. Sheppard held up her hands. "Jake finding rooms! Maud!
how--scandalous! How do you know--you don't know!--that he is to be
trusted?"
Maud made a brief gesture as of one who submits to the inevitable. "I
trust him," she said, with that in her voice that stilled all further
protest.
And with the words she passed with finality out of her mother's room,
and went away upstairs without a backward glance.
Mrs. Sheppard sat down and shed a few petulant tears over her child's
waywardness. "She never would listen to advice," was the burden of her
lament. "If she had, she would have been happily married to Lord
Saltash by now, and I might have had my house in London to-day. Oh
dear, oh dear! Children are a bitter disappointment. They never can be
made to see what is for their own good. She'll rue the day. I know she
will. That trainer man has a will of iron. He'll break her to it like
one of his horses. My poor, proud Maud!"