THE NIGHT OF THE TWENTIETH
A loose chain of fairy lights marked the brink of the lake; another was
drawn tight from end to end of the balustrade rimming the terrace; and
between the two, incited by champagne and the Hungarian band, the rank
and file of the tenantry cut happy capers in the opening eye of the
harvest moon.
At one end of the terrace the fire-workers awaited the word to rake and
split the still serenity of the heavens; at the other, the fairy
footlights picked out the twinkling diamonds and glaring shirt-fronts of
the house-party, the footmen's gilt buttons and powdered heads; for the
men had just come out of the dining-room, and tea was being handed
round.
"It is going beautifully--beautifully!" whispered Lady Caroline,
swooping down upon the Duke, who had himself made straight for her
daughter's side. "Inside and out, high and low, all are happy, it is one
huge success. How could it be otherwise? You make such a charming host!
My dear Jack, I congratulate you from my heart; and the occasion must be
my excuse for the familiarity."
"No excuse needed; I like it," replied the Duke. "I only wish you'd all
call me Jack," he added, with a sidelong look at Olivia; "surely we're
all pretty much in the same family boat! Well, I'm glad you think it's a
success, and I'm glad I make a decent host; but I shouldn't if I hadn't
got the loan of such an excellent hostess, Lady Caroline."
"You are so sweet!"
"Nay, it's you that's so jolly kind," laughed Jack. "The fact is, Lady
Caroline, I can get along all right at my own table so long as I don't
have to carve--and when I make up my mind to go straight through cold
water. I was sorry not to drink Miss Sellwood's health in anything
stronger; but it's better so."
"So fine of you," murmured Lady Caroline; "such a noble example! You
can't think how I've admired it in you from the first!"
Yet she looked to see whether his remarks had been overheard. They had
not; even Olivia had turned away before they were made, and her mother
now followed her example. She was rewarded by seeing the Duke at the
girl's side again when next she looked round.
They were standing against the balustrade, a little apart from the rest.
They had set their cups upon the broad stone rim. Jack began to stir his
tea with the impotent emphasis of one possessed by the inexpressible.
But Olivia gave him no assistance; she seemed more interested in the
noisy dancers on the sward below the terrace.
"I hope you've had a good time, on the whole," he began, ineptly enough,
at last. "All this is in your honour, you know!"
"Surely not all," replied the girl, laughing. "Still I don't know when I
had such a delightful birthday, and I want to thank you for everything
with all my heart."
"Everything!" laughed Jack nervously. "I've done nothing at all; why, I
didn't even give you a present. That was through a stupid mistake of
mine, which we needn't go into, because now's the time to rectify it.
I've been waiting for a chance all the evening. The thing only came a
few minutes before dinner. But better late than never, they say, and so
I hope you'll still accept this trifle from me, Miss Sellwood, with
every possible good wish for all the years to come. May they be long
and--and very happy!"
His voice vibrated with the commonplace words. As he ceased speaking he
took from his waistcoat pocket something that was certainly trifling in
size, and he set it on the balustrade between the two tea-cups. It was a
tiny leathern case, and Olivia held her breath. Next moment an exquisite
ring, diamonds and emeralds, scintillated in the light of the nearest
fairy lamp.
"This is never for me?" she cried, aghast.
"That it is--if you will take it."
She was deeply moved: how could she take a ring from him? And yet how
could she refuse, or how explain! Each alternative was harder than the
last.
"It is far too good for me," she murmured, "for a mere birthday present!
You are too generous. I can't dream of letting you give me anything half
so good!"
"What nonsense! It is not half good enough; it's only the best I could
get from Devenholme. I sent in the dogcart for the crack jeweller of the
place; it brought him back with a bagful of things, and this was the
best of a bad lot. I wish I'd kept the fellow! You might have chosen
something else."
She saw her loophole and made no reply.
"Would you prefer something else?" he asked eagerly.
"Well, if you insist on giving me a present, it must be something not
half so good."
"That's my affair."
"And perhaps not a ring."
"That's another matter, and on one condition I'm on: you must let me
drive you in to-morrow to choose for yourself."
She consented gratefully. Her gratitude was the more profuse from, it
may be, an exaggerated sense of the dilemma in which she had found
herself a moment before; at all events it was very kindly and charmingly
expressed. So Jack pocketed the ring and swallowed his tea in excellent
heart; longing already for the morrow, for the expedition to Devenholme
with Olivia alone at his side.
"That excellent follow seems very busy with our Olivia. Is there
anything in it?" asked Mr. Sellwood of his wife.
"I have no idea," replied Lady Caroline; "you know I never interfere in
such matters. I'm glad you think him an excellent fellow, though. He is
simply sweet."
"In fact we might do worse from every point of view; is that it?" said
the Home Secretary dryly. "I'm inclined to agree with you. I hope he
won't foozle his shot by being in too great a hurry."
The fireworks had begun. Rocket after rocket split the sky and descended
in a shower of stars. A set-piece stood out against the lake; it
represented six French eagles on a shield.
"Come and have a look at the family fowls," said Jack, rejoining Olivia,
who had been talking to Claude. "I'd swop the lot for one respectable
emu; it would be a good deal more appropriate for a Duke like me."
Among other things he had learnt at last to pronounce his own title
correctly. Also, he looked well at all times in evening dress, but he
had never looked better than he did to-night. Claude had these
consolations as he watched the pair go down and mingle with the throng.
As a matter of fact the Duke of St. Osmund's had never been in higher
spirits in the whole course of his chequered career. Olivia had not,
indeed, accepted his offering, but she had done much better, for now he
was sure of having her to himself for hours the next day. And what might
not happen in those hours? This was one factor in his present content;
her little hand within his arm was another that thrilled him even more;
but there were further and smaller factors which yet astonished him,
each with its unexpected measure of gratification. There were the people
bowing and curtseying as he came among them with Olivia on his arm.
There were the momentary glimpses of the stately Towers, seen from end
to end in a flash, as a bursting rocket spattered the sky with a million
sparks that changed colour as they floated to the earth. And there was
the feeling, never before this moment entirely unmixed, that after all
it was better to be the Duke of St. Osmund's than Happy Jack of New
South Wales.
"You were right!" he exclaimed, in an attempt to voice what he felt to
Olivia; "you were quite right that day in the hut to say 'I wonder,' to
what I said about not minding if I woke up and found myself on Carara
after all. You set _me_ wondering at the time, and now I rather think
that I should mind a good deal. This place grows upon you. I feel it
more and more every morning when I get the first glimpse of it, coming
through the pines. But I never felt it as I do to-night--look at that!"
The entire front of the building was lit up by an enormous Roman candle,
playing like a fountain on the terrace. Turret and spire and battlement
were stamped sharp and grey against the darkling sky. The six Corinthian
columns of the portico stood out like sentinels who had taken a step
forward as one man. And in the tympanum overhead the shield of the six
eagles that was carved there showed so plainly that Olivia and Jack
pointed it out to each other at the same moment.
"You mustn't think I've no respect for the fowls," said the Duke, when
they were both left blinking in the chaste light of the reproving moon;
"I'm proud enough of them at the bottom of my heart. I may be slow at
catching on to new ideas. I know I didn't at first take to everything
like a duck to water. I couldn't, after the life I'd led; it was too
much for one man. But I am getting used to it now. As old Claude says,
I'm beginning to appreciate it. I am so! This has been the proudest day
of my life; I'm proud of everything, of the place, the people----"
"And yourself most of all!" cried a thick voice at his elbow, while
Olivia's fingers tightened on his other arm.
It was Matthew Hunt. He was flushed with wine, but steady enough on his
legs. Only his tongue was beyond control, and a crowd was at his heels
to hear what he would say next.
"Yes, I remember you," he continued savagely. "I shan't forget that
morning in a hurry----"
"Yet you seem to have forgotten who you are speaking to," put in the
Duke quietly.
Hunt laughed horribly.
"Forgotten? I never knew! All I know is as I'm _not_ speaking to his
Grace the Duke----"
Olivia was not shaken off. She only felt a quivering in the arm she
held; she only guessed it was the other arm that shot out too quick for
her sight from his further shoulder: and all she saw was the dropping of
Hunt at their feet, as if with a bullet through his brain. She conquered
her impulse to scream, and she found herself saying instead, "Well done!
It served him right!" And the voice sounded strange in her own ears.
But her opinion was freely echoed by those who had followed in Hunt's
wake. A dozen hands raised him roughly, and kept their hold of him even
when he was firm upon his feet, half stunned still, but wholly sobered.
He tried to shake them off, but they answered that he must first
apologise to his Grace. He refused, and they threatened him with the
pond. He gave in then, in a way, speaking one thing, but looking
another, which was yet the plainer of the two to the Duke. It meant that
all was not yet over between him and Hunt. And Jack was very silent as
he led Olivia back to the terrace.
"You were quite right," she said as they went; "had I been a man I would
have done it for you."
"You're a splendid girl," he replied, to her confusion; but that was
all; nor did he seem conscious of what he said.
Already it was late, and in another hour the band had stopped; the
fireworks were over; the people all gone, and gone the memory of their
ringing cheers from the heart of the Duke, who stood alone with Claude
Lafont on the moonlit terrace. Claude had heard of Hunt's insolence and
summary chastisement; he regretted the incident extremely; but his state
of mind was nothing to that of the Duke, who was now a prey to
reactionary depression of the severest order.
"Are there any revolvers in the house?" said he. "I shall want a loaded
one to-night."
"What in the world for?" cried Claude in dismay.
"Not for my own brains; you needn't alarm yourself. But you see what a
bitter enemy I've made; he might get me at his mercy out there at the
hut. There was murder in his eye to-night, or else truth in his words,
and that you won't allow. But there was one or the other. So I want a
shooter before I go over."
"If only you wouldn't go over at all! What's the use, when there are
dozens of good rooms lying idle in the house? It does seem a madness!"
"Well, I am half thinking of giving it up; but not to-night, or that
brute may go killing my cats. He's capable of anything. Give me a
revolver like a good chap."
Claude fetched one from the gun-room. He it was who still knew the
whereabouts of all things, who kept the keys, and who arranged most
matters for the Duke. He was Jack's major-domo as well as his guide,
philosopher, and friend.
To-night they walked together as far as the shores of the lake. Claude
then returned, but for some reason the pair shook hands first. No word
was said, save between eye and eye in the pale light of the new harvest
moon. But Claude had never yet seen his cousin gaze so kindly on the
home of their common ancestors as he did to-night before they separated.
And that look was a consolation to the poet as he returned alone to the
house.
"This is the last link with that miserable bush life," said Claude to
himself; "and it's very nearly worn through. He's beginning to see that
there wasn't so much after all in the inheritance of Esau. After
to-night we shall have no more of this nonsense of camping out in a
make-believe bush hut; he will sleep under his own roof, like a sane
man, and I'll get him to burn the bush hut down. After that--after
that--well, I suppose the wedding-bells and the altar rails are only a
question of time!"
And Claude went within, to talk of art and of books until bookman and
artist went to bed; but he himself returned to the terrace instead of
following their example. A dark depression was brooding over his spirit,
his mind was full of vague forebodings. He had also a hundred regrets,
and yet the last and the least of these was for the moment the most
poignant too. He was sorry he had yielded to Jack in the matter of that
revolver. And even as the thought came into his head--by some strange
prescience--surely never by coincidence--he heard a shot far away in the
direction of the lake. He held his breath, and heard a single throb of
his own heart; then another shot; and then another and another until he
had counted five.
Now it was a five-chambered revolver that Claude had handed fully loaded
to his cousin.