THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN.
The lady, on seeing herself observed, immediately disappeared, and
closed her door. Dick imparted his discovery to Lord George, who
thereupon sent his man Wilkins to inquire of the servants who the lady
was. Wilkins returned with the information, obtained from an inn maid
who had quizzed the lady's own man-servant, that the lady was Miss
Englefield, Sir Hilary Englefield's sister, returning to her brother's
seat near Reading, to escape the attentions of a very wealthy gentleman
who had pursued her at Bath.
"Why, I know Sir Hilary," cried Lord George. "Wilkins, you will take
this message to Miss Englefield at once. Say to her that I have learned
she is here, and that, supposing she must have heard her brother speak
of me, though I have never had the honor and pleasure of meeting her, I
send my most respectful compliments and will do myself the happiness of
waiting upon her in the public parlor. Make haste, Wilkins! Come,
Wetheral,--damn it, your hair is all right! We shall probably have the
joy of supping with these ladies."
Dick hastened down to the parlor with his lordship and waited in a very
pleasant trepidation. Wilkins soon came with the answer that Miss
Englefield would give herself the honor, etc. "She seemed at first quite
took by surprise, my lord," added Wilkins, "and repeated the name
Englefield after me, as if to make me think there was a mistake and she
wasn't that lady. But she whispered awhile with the other lady, and then
gave me the answer."
"If she is really running away from some obnoxious suitor, she would
quite naturally wish to hide her name," commented Lord George to Dick;
and then a rustle of skirts heralded the entrance of the lady and her
companion themselves.
While introductions were being made, the four people became so grouped
that Wetheral found himself near Miss Englefield, an advantage he was
quite ready to keep when it had come through circumstance, although he
would not with premeditation have competed for it with Lord George. His
lordship, noting the circumstance with a smile partly of reproach and
partly of resignation, accepted with good grace the place of partner to
the other lady, Miss Thorpe, whom Miss Englefield addressed as
Celestine. Thus coupled, the new acquaintances talked of the crowded
state of the inns, the excellence of the weather and roads, the season
at Bath (Dick learned with ineffable relief that Miss Englefield's
departure had occurred before his ejection from the Rooms), and such
matters.
It was agreed presently, on Lord George's proposal, that the four should
sup together in a corner of their own in the dining-room; and Dick there
contrived to retain his post as cavalier to Miss Englefield, with whom
he became more entranced at every commonplace utterance from her dainty
lips, every meaningless glance from her soft eyes, every change of
expression of her girlish face, every insignificant sigh, every
occasionless laugh.
Her manner was generally that of a woman under some kind of anxiety or
suspense, from which she found relief in a half timid, half reckless
abandonment to gaiety; she was like a schoolgirl on some feminine lark,
entirely novel to her, to which some severity had driven her for relief,
yet of which she was constantly in terror.
In the parlor, after supper, Wetheral's supposed travels being
mentioned, he led up to the highly original remark, spoken with a most
meaning look, "But of all women, I'll swear the finest I have seen are
in England,--nay, I must say, _is_ in England!" The charming blush with
which she received this extremely subtle compliment encouraged Dick to
further efforts in the same strain, for the conversation of the two had
now fallen to a tone inaudible to Lord George and Miss Thorpe. These, on
their side, sat at some distance, deep in a masked contest arising from
the haughty Celestine's declared invulnerability to any man's attack,
and from Lord George's complacent conviction that he could make a swift
conquest of any woman without even seriously exerting himself.
This game, between the irresistible and the immovable, enabled Wetheral
and Miss Englefield to proceed unwatched through a flirtation's first
stages, so delicious to the participants, so insipid to third persons.
Silly as their talk was, it derived unutterable charm from the low tones
in which it was spoken, the ardent looks and suppressed agitation of
Dick, the furtive glances and demure blushes of Miss Englefield. At last
the silence of the inn, and the shortened state of the candles, broke up
the reluctant quartette, and the ladies said good night, leaving Dick on
the outer threshold of his paradise, and Lord George at the first
manoeuvre in his campaign against the composure of Celestine.
"By the lord," cried Wetheral in ecstasy, when he and Lord George were
alone together, "did you ever see a more heavenly creature? She's
divine, she's perfect, and her name is Amabel, as lovely as herself! She
told me it, and she told me, too, almost in as many words, that her
affections were not engaged--previously. Amabel! Could any name fit any
woman better?"
"Come, come," said Lord George, "it's bedtime. I must sleep well
to-night, and look my best to-morrow, for I've a conquest to make."
"'Fore gad, I sha'n't sleep at all!" cried Dick. "I've been made a
conquest of!"
But he followed his friend up-stairs, where he found the latter slightly
meditative and absent, a circumstance that would have held his attention
had not his mind been full of other thoughts. Dick looked out of the
window, at the inn garden. It was a perfect night, with a glorious
moonlight. Dick could never go to bed in his present mood. He longed to
walk, to revel in the moonlight, which was all his own, now that the
rest of the world was asleep. If he could but pace beneath her window!
That window also, being in line with his own, looked out on the garden.
Between the two windows was that of the corridor, and beneath this there
was a rear door leading to the garden, which door was flanked by a
vine-clad trellis.
"I'm going for a stroll in the garden," said Dick, suddenly, to Lord
George, who was already in bed. "I sha'n't want a candle to go to bed
by."
He thereupon stepped from his window to the trellis, and descended
thereby to the ground, heedless of the impeding vines. Amabel's window
was already dark, as his own became a moment later. The garden sloped
gently, between a wall and a hedge, to the Kennet, which reflected the
moon between shadows of over-arching boughs. With its small trees, its
bushes and flowers, its solitary bench, and its clear spaces of short
grass, all made beautiful and mysterious by the moonlight, its spring
odors, and the murmur of the stream, the place seemed to Dick like some
Italian garden, and he imagined himself Romeo gazing up at Juliet's
balcony.
In the midst of this fancy, he was rudely brought back to England by the
sound of wheels and horse, and of voices speaking guardedly in very
un-Italian accents, in the inn coach-yard beyond the wall that bounded
one side of the garden. The sounds came to a stop, and the gate of the
wall opened cautiously, whereupon Dick stepped into the shadow of the
trellis flanking the rear doorway. Through the gateway he could see a
rickety coach, of which the door was open and from about which there now
stepped stealthily into the garden four ill-clad, desperate-looking
fellows, one wearing a cloak about his lank body and stifling a cough as
he walked, another carrying a large handkerchief in his hand, two others
awkwardly bearing a ladder.
"'Tis all clear," said the cloaked individual. "Quick work, captain,
now! That's the room." And he pointed to the window of Amabel.
Dick gave a violent start. What could be the purpose, concerning her
chamber, of these birds of ill omen, who, doubtless through the
collusion of some inn servant, had driven so secretly into the
coach-yard at this hour? He decided to wait, that he might, before
interfering, discover their plans.
The two ladder-bearers, at a whisper from the man with the handkerchief,
placed the ladder to the window. The captain--a title which Dick guessed
in this case to indicate a highwayman rather than a gentleman of war or
sea--mounted with agility, and disappeared through the window, followed
by one of the men. The cloaked fellow stood holding the ladder, and the
other went to the gate to keep watch.
Dick, thinking it high time to take a hand, looked about for a weapon,
and, seeing nothing else, finally pulled a stout cross-piece from the
trellis. By this time the expeditious captain had reappeared at the top
of the ladder, bearing the swooning form of Amabel, whose possible
screams he had provided against with the handkerchief. His assistant
followed him down the ladder, to give aid should the nimble captain's
burden prove too heavy.
Dick ran forward with a threatening shout, and brought his extemporized
cudgel down on the skull of the man in the cloak; at the same time there
rose, in the chamber above, loud cries of "Help!" from Celestine, who
had just awakened to what was going on. The sudden rush and noise
took the enemy by surprise. The man attacked by Dick made for the gate,
leaving his cloak in the hands of his assailant, who had mechanically
clutched it. The captain's principal assistant leaped from the ladder,
and followed with all speed to the gate, while the man on watch
scrambled to the seat on the coach and whipped the horses to a gallop.
The captain, seeing himself deserted, dropped Amabel as soon as he
reached the bottom of the ladder, drew a pistol, and made ready for a
fight over her body. But Dick clubbed the pistol from his hand,
whereupon the captain, with merely an ejaculation of annoyance, turned
and fled after his retreating forces.
[Illustration: "BEARING THE SWOONING FORM OF AMABEL."]
Dick picked up the fainting Amabel, and carried her to the garden bench,
whereon he placed her in a sitting attitude, and put the captured cloak
about her, lest in her fragile night-dress she might be chilled.
Meanwhile Celestine's cries had not abated, and suddenly Dick, while
trying to fan Miss Englefield back to recovery with his hat, beheld Lord
George emerge from the gentlemen's window, in night-gown and coat, drop
to the ground, rush up the ladder, and plunge into the chamber whence
the shouts for aid continued to issue. Lord George, in his haste to the
rescue, had not noticed Dick and Amabel in the garden.
At last the tender creature on the bench gently stirred, feebly opened
her eyes, and faintly asked where she was. Dick immediately enlightened
her. She appeared astonished at what had befallen, and murmured,
reflectively, "I shouldn't have thought he would take that way of doing
it," then checked herself as if she had said too much. Dick supposed she
alluded to the rich suitor, and that the attempted abduction was the
work of that person. He could not enough thank heaven for having enabled
him to be her preserver, and he sat by her side, on the bench, while she
remained wrapped in the cloak, apparently too prostrated by the recent
occurrence to return immediately to her chamber.
And now was the time for a romantic love scene, suitable to the youth
and beauty of the two participants, to the charm of the surroundings, to
the May night, the moonlight, the odor of flowers, the ripple of the
stream, and the preceding circumstances of the interview; and doubtless
the conversation was poetic enough to the two who engaged in it, thanks
to all these matters and to the glances, low tones of agitation,
suppressed fervor, tremblings, etc.; but the talk in itself was no more
original or impassioned than this:
"I'm glad you aren't hurt," said she.
"It would be a happiness to carry forever a wound received in such a
cause,--'pon honor, it would!" said he.
"Will they come back, do you think? I sha'n't be able to sleep, the rest
of the night, for fear of them!"
"You have nothing to fear. I shall keep guard under your window all
night."
"Oh, no, sir! You will take cold."
"I cannot. I shall be on fire. My heart will glow with your image, which
has occupied it ever since I saw you before the inn at Marlboro
yesterday."
"Why, did you notice me then? I saw you looking out of the window, and I
said to Celestine, 'What a frank and generous face! If my--if some
person were but like that!'"
"You said that, really,--and meant it,--and mean it still?"
"Why, to be sure, how could I mean it less, after all that has happened
to-night?"
He now plunged deep into ardent love-making, at which she seemed to be
both frightened and, in spite of herself, pleased. Not making any direct
response, she began to sound him as to his character and opinions, his
views on matters pertaining to love and propriety and honorable conduct,
and finally as to whether he would deem a love between a married and a
single person, under any possible circumstances, justifiable. He
declared that, for his part, he would never make love to a married
woman, that he would rob no man, nor injure any in a matter so
sacred,--excepting possibly one man, to whom he owed the keenest of
revenges, Mr. Bullcott, of Bullcott Hall, Somersetshire. At this
declaration, an unaccountable strange look--astonishment mingled with
secret elation--overspread her face. "Why do you look so?" inquired
Dick.
Before she could answer, there came from the ladies' chamber, whence the
cries had for some time ceased to issue, the sound of several slaps and
cuffs in close succession. An instant later the figure of Lord George,
in coat and night-gown, came swiftly through the window and dropped to
the ground.
"Damn all affected prudery!" muttered his lordship, holding his hand to
his cheek, and then clambered up the trellis to his own window.
At the same time, Celestine appeared at the other window, and the
landlord, having first gone to her door and been informed by her that
the garden was full of house-breakers and kidnappers, came from the inn
door, followed by two servants, while a detachment of the town watch,
summoned by another servant, entered by the wall gate from the
coach-yard.
Thus interrupted, Dick had to make explanations, and to hasten Amabel's
return to her chamber by way of the inn door. He then returned to the
garden to carry out his purpose of guarding her window the rest of the
night, and there found one of the watchmen charged with the same duty,
two others having captured the ladder and very carefully carried it off
to preserve as evidence.
Despite what blissful thoughts Dick had to entertain himself with, he
now found it harder to remain awake than it had been when he was on
sentry duty in freezing Canada. Relying at last on the watchman who sat
in the inn doorway, Dick at last succumbed to sleep, on the bench, where
he did not awake till dawn. The watchman also slumbered through the
night, and, had the abductors so elected, they might, with due skill and
caution, have carried off not only the lovely Amabel, but Dick and the
watchman as well.
The watchman was the first to awake; hence Dick, assuming that all was
well, returned to his chamber, refreshed himself with a bath, and put
his clothes in order. By the time this was accomplished, Wilkins having
come to attend the gentlemen, Lord George was up, and in his usual good
humor as to everything but Celestine. Her resistance to his attractions
he pronounced an odious affectation, which he should certainly take out
of the woman, if only for her own sake, for he admitted she had some
good points.
Lord George and Dick had scarcely finished dressing, when there came a
violent knock on the door of their parlor, heralding the boisterous
entrance of a stout, ruddy-faced young gentleman with a decided
fox-hunting look, who thrust out his hand to Lord George, and blurted
out:
"Why, damme, my lord, don't you know me? By gad, you ought to, for
many's the finish we've been in at together, us two!"
"Why, certainly, Sir Hilary! Welcome! Sir Hilary Englefield, Mr.
Wetheral."
Dick bowed, and surveyed critically the brother of Miss Englefield.
"There's the devil to pay somewhere, or else I'm on a wild goose chase,"
went on Sir Hilary, beating his riding-boot with his whip. "A rascal
ensign, as he calls himself, wakes up my house in the middle of the
night, and gives me a letter that he says, being on the way to London,
he agreed to carry from a ragged wench he met at the Pelican here. The
letter turns out to be from a girl that once served in our house but
fell into bad ways and ran off with a damned drunken lawyer. It tells of
a plot of some scoundrel, whom she doesn't name, to have my sister
carried off from this inn last night by the gang of rogues the wench is
travelling with. Well, I up and ride from t'other side of Reading to
Newbury, twenty miles, like the very devil, and when I get here, the inn
people say my sister left the inn yesterday. They tell me another lady
was nearly kidnapped from the room Sis had occupied, but you and another
gentleman prevented. So I said, 'I'll run up and pay my respects to his
lordship,' and, now I've done that, I must be off and look in the other
inns for Sister. I didn't know she was coming back from Bath so soon."
"But," said Lord George, detaining Sir Hilary, "your sister is here. It
was she that Wetheral protected. There must have been some mistake
between you and the inn people. What I say is true, I assure you.
Learning Miss Englefield was here, I made myself known to her, and she
and her friend passed the evening with Wetheral and me."
"Oh, then, the fool of a landlord was fuddled, I dare say. Egad, since
Sis is here, we'll all crack a bottle together. We'll have breakfast
together. My belly aches with emptiness."
"Excellent!" said Lord George. They were now in that one of their two
rooms which served as parlor; it adjoined the bedchamber, which was the
room whose window overlooked the garden. Besides the door between the
two, each room had a door opening to the corridor. "We can have the
table set here in this room, now that you are with us," continued Lord
George, "and be as merry as we please."
"So we shall," cried Sir Hilary; "and, meanwhile, I'll have my horse put
away. I always see with my own eyes how my beasts are cared for." The
baronet then, evidently satisfied at hearing from others of his
sister's safety, ran down-stairs; while Lord George, having sent Wilkins
to order the breakfast, went out to walk for an appetite, Dick remaining
to add some finishing touches to his toilet.
Presently hearing light footfalls and the swish of skirts in the
corridor, and recalling that the ladies had not yet been notified of Sir
Hilary's arrival and of the plan for the breakfast party, Dick hastened
out from his bedchamber, greeted them both, and said, "I have pleasant
news for you, Miss Englefield; your brother, Sir Hilary, has arrived,
and--ah, that is he at the foot of the stairs! He will be up in a
moment."
This announcement had the most astonishing effect on Amabel. She cast a
panic-stricken look around, and then sought refuge through the first
open doorway, which she closed after her, and could be heard turning the
key inside. The door happened to be that of Wetheral and Lord George's
bedchamber.
Sir Hilary, who had not seen this flight, now arrived in the corridor,
and looked first at Celestine, then inquiringly at Wetheral. Surprised
at Sir Hilary's not recognizing his sister's friend, Dick was for a
moment silent; then he proceeded, in some embarrassment, to make the two
acquainted.
"Sir Hilary must often have heard his sister speak of her friend,
Celestine Thorpe," said that lady, who also seemed not entirely at ease.
"Thorpe? Celestine?" repeated Sir Hilary, making the, to him, unusual
effort of searching his memory. "No, I can't say--unless you were the
girl that went to school with Sis, that she got me to write letters to.
I forget that girl's name."
"Why, 'twas Celestine Thorpe," said the lady.
"So 'twas, now I think on't. Well, well, how Sis used to plague me, to
make me answer your letters, to be sure! It seems the girls at your
school had read some novel or such book, Palemia, or Pamelia, or some
name or other, that got you to pestering all your own relations and one
another's with letters. I never used to read yours through, but Sister
would make me answer 'em, ne'ertheless."
At this point Lord George returned, and, on his invitation, the four
went into the parlor of the two gentlemen, Dick hastily closing the door
between parlor and bedchamber, and Miss Thorpe telling the others, with
a look half pleading and half threatening at Dick, that Miss Englefield
would join them soon. Servants now came and laid a table for breakfast,
under Wilkins's direction. Wine being brought, Sir Hilary fell upon it
immediately, pleading his long ride in excuse. Meanwhile Dick, mystified
at the conduct of Amabel, supposed she would now use the opportunity to
go from the bedchamber to the corridor; and wondered how long she would
defer meeting her brother.
Those in the parlor, while the table was being made ready, were grouped
about the window, which looked out from the side of the inn; Miss Thorpe
seated, Lord George at her one elbow, Sir Hilary at the other. The
fox-hunter, repeating frequently his glass of wine, from a bottle on a
near-by side-table, became rapidly more gay and familiar, especially
towards Celestine, whose former characteristics he now proceeded to
recall. At this, Lord George began to show irritation, while the lady's
own composure was far from increased.
"Lord," said the baronet, looking mirthful at the recollection, "what
soft stuff it was, in the letters you used to plague me with! I said to
Sis one day, 'I've heard as how girls at boarding-schools pine for
gentlemen's society and go crazy to be made love to,' I said, 'but I
never fancied one of 'em to have such a coming-on disposition as
Celestine has.' Lord, Lord, 'twas a tender soul!"
This was going beyond the endurance alike of Celestine, whose present
character was so different from that ascribed to the baronet's former
correspondent, and of Lord George, who felt doubly chafed to think that
tenderness denied him had been heaped upon another. Miss Thorpe turned
crimson under his look. Having to vent his anger on some one, his
lordship naturally chose the reminiscent fox-hunter.
"Is it a Berkshire custom, sir," queried Lord George, heatedly, "to
treat the confidence of ladies in this manner?"
Sir Hilary, after a moment of bewilderment, disavowed the least
intention to offend, but his own tone showed a decided resentment of
Lord George's. This fact did not make his lordship's reply any sweeter,
and the upshot of their brief but swift verbal passage was that Sir
Hilary departed in high dudgeon, saying he would find his sister and
start for home at once. Dick slipped quietly into the bedchamber, and,
to his surprise, found Amabel still there.
"Why didn't you go out that way," he whispered, pointing to the corridor
door, "while we were in the parlor?"
"I was afraid of being seen," she answered; "the servants have been
passing to and fro outside the door; so I locked it," and she handed him
the key, which he took thoughtlessly, his own confusion being like that
which had made her take the key from the door after locking it.
"Would it not be best to go out now, while the way is clear," said he,
"and meet your brother, who has gone down-stairs to inquire for you?"
"No, no!" she exclaimed; "I cannot--I dare not! Oh, sir, that gentleman
is _not_ my brother!"
This, then, explained her former flight from Sir Hilary's sight;
explained also why Sir Hilary's description of the letter-writer was so
at variance with the character of Miss Thorpe, who had been forced into
the role of his sister's friend by a desire to support Amabel. Little
wonder that Celestine was enraged, or that now, left alone in the parlor
with Lord George, she sought refuge from his sarcastic silence in an
unceremonious retreat to her own chamber! Lord George, with no appetite
for the breakfast, which Wilkins at this moment announced to be ready,
took up his hat, and flung out for another walk. As he passed the
tap-room door, he heard Sir Hilary vociferously declaiming to the
landlord within.
It thus fell out that Dick, looking cautiously in from the other
chamber, saw the parlor deserted, Wilkins having rushed after his
master. Dick instantly beckoned Amabel into the parlor, where it was not
likely Sir Hilary would return. He offered her a chair; but she
preferred to stand, resting one hand on the table, while she explained:
"When we arrived at the inn, we were shown to the room another lady had
vacated a few minutes earlier. As Celestine took pains to learn this
morning, on account of things that have happened since we came here,
that lady was Miss Englefield. When we received Lord George's message,
and found he thought one of us was Miss Englefield, and that he had
never seen her, I thought it would be amusing to keep up the mistake.
Miss Thorpe opposed it, but I longed so to imagine for a time I was
somebody else, I wouldn't listen to her. Of course, after the deception
was begun, she wouldn't betray me. Well, I couldn't endure to be exposed
by others, so I ran from Miss Englefield's brother. You will think me
terribly wicked, won't you, sir?"
"Why, 'twas a most innocent, harmless jest," protested Mr. Wetheral,
gallantly. "If there were any blame, it would belong to Lord George and
me, for our impertinence in having Wilkins inquire who the beautiful
lady was. His informant, it seems, didn't know Miss Englefield had left
and another taken her place. We have now but to send for Miss Thorpe--if
she _is_ Miss Thorpe--"
"Oh, yes, there was no deception as to Celestine's name."
"And as to your own first name?" Dick was slightly apprehensive.
"That was given truly. It is Amabel." Dick was rejoiced.
"Amabel!" he repeated. "Then that is the only name by which at this
moment I know you. 'Tis the loveliest name, and the most fitting one, I
swear! If you would but make it needless, as far as concerns my calling
you by name, that I should ever know any other! If you would but give
me the right to call you by that name alone!"
"Give you the right?" said she in a low voice, and with downcast eyes.
"As how?"
"As by your mere permission."
"After what you know?" Her voice was barely audible, her manner
agitated.
"What do you mean?" asked Dick.
"That I am not the person I pretended to be."
"What difference does that make? Are you any less charming? 'Fore
George, what's in a name,--unless it be Amabel?"
"'Tis not a mere matter of names. You remember what you said last
night--"
"Yes--whatever it was, it all meant that you were adorable, and I mean
that now a thousand times over!" He took her hand, which she did not
withdraw from him.
"But you said something," she went on, in a voice yet lower and more
unsteady, "of married persons and single,--of not injuring a man in a
matter so sacred,--you remember?"
"Why, yes,--I--"
"But you said there might be one exception--"
"Yes, I remember. Squire Bullcott, a Somerset gentleman. I owe him a
very bitter revenge."
"Well, then,--if revenge and--love--both pointed to the same
thing,--what then?"
He looked at her a moment; while she stood crimson, motionless, scarcely
breathing, her eyes averted. Then he let go her hand.
"My God, madam, does it mean that you are--Mr. Bullcott's wife?"
"Yes," and now she spoke with rapidity and more force, "and that I have
endured such treatment from him as I could bear no longer. Insolence,
blows, neglect, imprisonment even, for he is as jealous as he is
faithless, and has tried to hide me from all society, having me guarded
by brutal servants of his own choosing, making me a captive in my own
apartments, and keeping me under lock and key while he pursued his
amours elsewhere. What could I do? I was an only child, without near
relations: my parents died soon after arranging my marriage, which was
against my own wishes. At last I learned, through some careless talk of
my husband's, that Celestine was at Bath. She was my only friend. I
contrived to get a letter to her, and she planned my escape. She waited
at night in a private coach, near Bullcott Hall, while I got out of the
house in the clothes of a chambermaid who was asleep. I ran to a place
she had appointed, and there I found her footman on the park wall, with
a ladder; he helped me across, and to her coach. We took a roundabout
way to the London road, so as to avoid Bath; and when you met us we were
on our way to Celestine's house in Oxfordshire, intending I should keep
concealed there, for I am determined to die rather than go back to my
husband!"
She now stood silent, as if she had placed the situation and herself in
Wetheral's hands, to dispose of as he might choose. Manifestly she had
met very few men, seen nothing of the world; she was still a child,
ready to entrust her whole destiny to the first flatterer whose tender
speeches had won her heart.
Dick was not slow in making up his mind.
"You spoke of love and revenge, madam," said he, gently. "They are
strong passions, and I have been strongly urged by them the last few
moments. But we will resist them,--not for his sake, but for yours--and
mine. Before you start for Oxfordshire, I shall have started for London.
I wish you a pleasant and safe journey, and a long and happy life.
Good-by!"
Before she could answer, there came from the corridor the noise of heavy
feet rushing up the stairs, and the words loudly bellowed:
"I'll find the room, never fear, that will I!"
"My husband!" whispered Amabel, the picture of sudden fright. "If he
finds me here, he will kill me!"
"He'll not do that, I promise you!" said Dick. "But, ne'ertheless, he
mustn't see you!"
For it was indeed this very parlor that the footfalls were approaching.
Dick led the terrified wife back into the bedchamber, and returned
instantly to the parlor, in time to see Squire Bullcott burst in from
the corridor. Dick had not yet closed the bedchamber door, and he now
left it slightly ajar, remembering his experience in the St. Valier
house in Quebec, and thinking by this negligence to disarm suspicion.
The Squire was followed by the two faithful henchmen who had used Dick
violently twice in the past.
At sight of Wetheral, the Squire stood aghast. Dick was near the
bedchamber door. On the floor beside him was an open portmanteau, very
long, in which lay, among clothes, a dress sword of Lord George's. Dick
stooped and took up this pretty weapon, as if merely to examine its
jewelled hilt.
"What, you cur!" cried Bullcott, as soon as he had got breath. "So 'tis
you she ran away with! So you thought to revenge yourself on me by
seducing my wife!"
"Mr. Bullcott is too hasty to vilify that angelic but mistreated lady,"
said Dick, quietly, but with scorn as fine as the edge of the sword he
was feeling.
"Hear the mongrel! He'd come over me with talk like a fine gentleman's
in a play! The base-born impostor! He's got the woman hid somewhere
about!"
"You can see for yourself that you lie!" said Dick, with a swift look
around the parlor.
"She's in that other room," cried Bullcott, truly. "She ain't in her own
chamber, and she _is_ with you. I paid a chambermaid a guinea to tell me
so, and what you pay a guinea for can't be false. Look ye, Curry!" The
Squire whispered a few words to one of his followers, and that one at
once left the room. "Now, Pike, go ahead and knock that rascal down, and
then I'll go in and catch her. I'll show--zounds and blood! Sir Hilary
Englefield!"
It was indeed the voice of the fox-hunting baronet, and as it approached
the parlor door, making a great hullabaloo, it seemed to throw the
formidable Bullcott into a panic.
"Did the knaves that bungled last night's business sell me out to him, I
wonder?" queried Squire Bullcott of his remaining adherent. Dick had a
sudden illumination. 'Twas Squire Bullcott that had persecuted Miss
Englefield at Bath, planned her abduction while his own wife was
availing herself of his absence to run away from him, and nearly
succeeded in kidnapping his own wife by mistake! His present terror of
Sir Hilary, then, arose from the possibility that Sir Hilary had learned
of the Squire's design against that baronet's sister.
But that terror proved ill-grounded. When Sir Hilary bounced into the
parlor, he greeted the now quaking Bullcott with a single friendly word
and bow, showing he knew not yet who had instigated the kidnapping; and
then turned his wrath on Wetheral. The landlord, who had tried to
prevent his entrance, had followed him in, and now made futile efforts
to avoid a scandalous scene.
"What the devil do you mean," cried Sir Hilary to Dick, "by sending me
off on a wild goose chase after my sister, when you have her in that
room? Don't deny it, you scoundrel! Put down that sword, I say! What,
you'd try to run me through, would you? You'd save my sister from being
carried off by some damned hound" (Squire Bullcott, now utterly
astounded, winced at this) "and then reward yourself by trying to ruin
the girl yourself?"
"So it is your sister in that room?" said Dick, standing with his back
to the bedchamber door, and holding his sword in a way that accounted
for the wordy hesitation of his would-be assailants. "The Squire insists
it is his wife. Sure, it can't be both!"
"Damn the Squire!" cried Sir Hilary. "'Tis my sister. She's nowhere
else, and I paid a chambermaid half a guinea, who told me she was here!"
"Don't be so fast about damning the Squire!" put in that worthy, taking
heart and bristling up. "I paid a whole guinea to find out my wife was
there. So it must be she! Besides, didn't the coachman that drove her
send word back to me, from this inn, that she was running away? Didn't
the messenger meet me at Hungerford, where I was--ah--on business? I
tell you what, Sir Hilary, you and my man take that fellow's sword away,
and I'll go in and see my wife!"
"Devil take your wife!" said Sir Hilary. "'Tis my sister. I see her gown
at this moment through the door-crack. I know that gown. There,--she's
moved backed out of sight. Sis, come out!"
"'Pon my word, gentlemen," said Dick, pretending to make light of the
accusations of both, "'tis a very curious honor you are contesting for!
And one of you sees a lady's gown where none exists! I don't know what
to make of you!"
But Bullcott seemed struck by Sir Hilary's asserted recognition of the
dress. "Oh, well," said he, "maybe I'm wrong. Sir Hilary doubtless knows
what inn his sister lodged at last night. Egad, if it turns out to be
her, mayhap some folk won't be so prudish after this!" The Squire
grinned to think the lady who had repulsed him, and whom he had failed
to carry off, might be compromised after all.
"What's that? What d'ye say?" cried Sir Hilary. "So my sister has been
prudish to _you_, you old goat! Well she might! I know your ways;
everybody does! Well, if it comes to that, I don't say it is my sister
in that room! I don't say the landlord wasn't right, and that my sister
didn't leave this inn yesterday. But I do say this, and to you, sir."
Sir Hilary spoke now to Dick. "You see how my sister's good name is at
stake. If the lady in that room isn't she, then my sister is an honest
girl, and doesn't deserve the least doubt against her reputation.
Whoever the lady is, 'tis evident as much can't be said for her.
Therefore, to exonerate an innocent lady, 'tis your duty the guilty one
shall be made to show herself, before all in this room. That's only
fair, sir! Better than two ladies suffer reproach, let the one that
merits it appear and clear the other! Then we shall know whether 'tis my
right or Bullcott's to fight you. For there _is_ one lady in that room,
I'll swear!" Sir Hilary had become quite sober and dignified.
That Sir Hilary's sister should suffer for a moment in her reputation
was, of course, a thought intolerable to Dick. Yet he must save Amabel
at any cost. The actual truth, if he told it, would be taken as a lame
excuse for her presence in the bedchamber. By the pig-headed Squire, the
mere fact that his wife had fled to Dick's room to avoid exposure would
be regarded as evidence of criminality. Yet how could such a plea as Sir
Hilary's be refused?
"Come, sir!" said the baronet.
At that moment a new face appeared in the doorway, that of a young lady
of graceful figure, piquant visage, and very fine gray eyes. These eyes
rested on Sir Hilary alone, thus missing Squire Bullcott, who, at first
sight of the lady, flopped down on all fours behind the breakfast-table,
a movement unnoticed while the general attention was on the newcomer.
"Why, Brother, so you are really here? Wilson saw you ride past the inn
at Thatcham this morning, and we supposed you were coming to the Pelican
to meet me; so I drove back after you."
"Give me a buss, Sis!" cried Sir Hilary, who had already grasped both
her hands and shown every sign of joy. "'Fore gad, you came in good
time! So 'tisn't you in the next room! A thousand pardons, Mr. Wetheral!
But what were you doing at Thatcham, Sis?"
"Why," replied Miss Englefield, "'tis a long story. At this inn,
yesterday afternoon, a maid brought me a letter scrawled by Jenny
Mullen, who used to serve at the Hall. It seems she is now attached to a
gang of rogues that were hired to make trouble for me at this inn last
night. So she warned me in secret to leave quietly. She begged me to say
nothing to the landlord or the watch, lest her companions might be
caught. So I went on and lay at Thatcham, and that is how Wilson
happened to see you galloping hither this morning. Poor Jenny promised
to keep the rascals drinking in the tap-room, so they should not learn
of my departure, and she must have kept her promise."
"Thank the Lord, she must have!" said Sir Hilary. "But how the devil did
they know you were going to lodge here last night?"
"Why, my girl, Sukey, confessed this morning that in Bath she made the
acquaintance of a so-called captain, to whom she told the plan we had
arranged for our journey. It seems from Jenny's letter that the rogues
were to carry me off to a country-seat near Whitchurch in Hampshire;
their employer--odious beast--was to lie last night at Hungerford, and
follow to-day to Whitchurch."
"Zounds! You shall tell me all about it, Sis, on the way home, and we'll
see what's to be done. Come away from this inn! It seems there's been
the devil to pay here, in more matters than one. Good day, sir!" Sir
Hilary thereupon led his sister quickly out, with barely a thought of
the apparent absence of Squire Bullcott, who indeed might have slipped
off while the baronet was engrossed with his sister.
The Squire now rose into view, very red and very much perturbed. He
glanced first at his man and the landlord, who both had been keeping in
the background during Miss Englefield's presence, then at Dick, who
still guarded the bedchamber door.
"Then, since it ain't his sister, by God, it must be my wife!" whined
Bullcott, who, like many another person capable of doing any wrong, was
quick to whimper on supposing himself injured. "I'll expose her, I'll
kill her, that will I! Landlord, send for constables! Oh, the faithless
woman, and the vile seducer! To think a gentleman can't go off to attend
to--a little business, but his wife must take a dirty, low advantage of
his absence, to run off with a base-born rascal! Send for constables,
landlord, to force a way into that room!"
"The landlord well knows," put in Dick, thinking of another ruse of
Catherine de St. Valier's in Quebec, "that there is no lady in this
room. Why, if a lady had been there, don't you suppose she'd have gone
out long ago by the other door" (Dick remembered here that the other
door was locked and the key in his own hand), "or by the window, from
which even a woman could easily descend by the trellis to the garden?"
But the Squire continued to cry for constables, and Dick continued to
detain the landlord by one remark and another. Keeping his ear on the
alert, he presently heard the window in the bedchamber softly open, and
he inferred that Amabel had taken his loud-spoken hint as he himself had
once vainly accepted that of Catherine de St. Valier. By keeping his
sword-point constantly in evidence, he deterred the Squire and the
latter's man from a rush. The landlord, considering this guest was the
friend of a lord, would take no step whatever, and Bullcott chose to
keep his own man with him for protection, so there was none to summon
the minions of the law.
At last Dick, fearing that Miss Thorpe might at any moment enter, and
her presence certify to that of Amabel, said he had played with the
Squire long enough, and would now let the latter scan the bedchamber
from the threshold. Dick, confident that Amabel would have acted
promptly at so important a crisis, supposed she had some time ago
reached the garden, whence she might have gone to her own chamber. He
therefore flung wide the door, and disclosed--Amabel in the centre of
the chamber, and the squire's man, Curry, perched on the window-ledge,
to which he had climbed by the trellis from the garden, whither Bullcott
had sent him to watch the chamber window.
The Squire, almost black with rage, started towards the bedroom. Dick
interposed in time to stay the burly figure's rush. The Squire stepped
back and gathered strength for another effort, growling inarticulately.
"Well, sir," said Dick, with assumed resignation, "I see the jig is up.
The lady has refused to save me by flight. She remains, I see, as
evidence against me. So, it seems, your wife was running away from you,
Squire Bullcott? Well, I can't blame her, though I didn't know that when
I took her into my room by force."
"By force?" gasped the Squire.
"How can I deny it, when the lady herself is here to accuse me?" said
Dick. "You'll admit the temptation was strong,--my door open, the lady
passing in the corridor, no one in sight, a devil of a noise in the
tap-room to drown her screams,--not to mention that I threatened to kill
her if she cried out."
"But why the deuce didn't she cry out when she heard me in this room?"
queried Bullcott, partly addressing the silent Amabel.
"For the rather poor reason," answered Dick, "that in such a case, as I
promised her when I heard you coming, I should have killed, not her, but
you! And now, Squire, you see your wife's reputation remains
untarnished; she is safe out of my hands, and if she can but make good
her escape from yours, she ought to be happy."
"Escape from me? That won't she! She'd run away, would she? Well, now
she'll run back, and stay back! D'ye hear, woman? Oh, some one shall pay
for all this, that shall she! I'll show--"
But the Squire showed only a sudden pallor and shakiness, for again was
heard in the corridor the wrathful voice of Sir Hilary Englefield, this
time coupled with the excited tones of his sister, who was screaming
out dissuasions.
"So 'twas you, Bullcott, hired the rogues to carry off my sister!"
roared the baronet, as he entered, whip in one hand, in the other a
pistol. "I thank God she told me the name before I or you was out of the
town! So you'd go to Whitchurch after her, would you? Well, you'll go,
not after her, but alone; and not to Whitchurch, but to hell; you filthy
old chaser of women! And you shall go with a sore skin, moreover!"
Whereat the furious fox-hunter began to belabor the squire with the
whip, all the witnesses giving him plenty of room. Bullcott bellowed,
whimpered, and cowered, leading the agile baronet a chase around
furniture and over it, deterred from a bolt by the presence of Miss
Englefield's stout man-servant in the corridor doorway. Driven at last
to bay, his face and hands covered with welts, the Squire made a
desperate bound and grasped the whip, wrenched it from the baronet's
hand, and raised it to strike. As the blow was falling, Sir Hilary fired
the pistol. Bullcott fell, an inert mass.
Sir Hilary conferred hastily with Dick, then led away his sister, saw
her and her servants started homeward, and took horse by the Winchester
road for the seaport of Portsmouth. Dick silently led the dazed Amabel
to her own chamber, whence she and Miss Thorpe departed quietly on
their way to Oxfordshire while Bullcott's servants were busy with
preparations for the care of the Squire's body. Dick then immediately
packed up his and Lord George's portmanteaus, and took post-chaise for
London as soon as Lord George and Wilkins returned to the inn, a large
gratuity from Dick to the landlord enabling these four hasty departures
to be made before the town authorities were notified of the killing. The
post-chaise left Speenhamland in the track of Miss Englefield's coach
and Miss Thorpe's, but did not overtake either, all three parties making
the utmost speed. Their three ways diverged at Reading, where Dick and
Lord George made a brief stop in the afternoon, to break their long
fast.
"Egad," quoth Lord George, to whom Dick had recounted all the morning's
incidents, "'twas a merry breakfast party we had at the Pelican in honor
of Sir Hilary's arrival!"
Dick heaved a sigh, eloquent of more than one regret, and was silent.