On Thursday afternoon at three o'clock Cornelia retired to her bedroom,
and with the help of the devoted Mary proceeded to make an elaborate
toilette for the drive. Those wonderful trunks seemed to contain
garments suitable for every possible occasion which could arise; for
every fluctuation of weather, for every degree of festivity. From one
of the number out came a long driving coat, snowy white, light of
texture, an ideal garment for a warm yet dusty summer's day, which being
fastened down the side by huge pearl buttons, displayed a degree of
smartness nothing short of uncanny in an untrimmed garment. To wear
with the coat there was a jaunty cap, and a pair of driving gloves with
wide, gauntleted cuffs. Cornelia made faces at herself in the glass as
her custom was the while she arranged the "set" of her hat, puffed out
her shaded locks, and affably cross-questioned her attendant on her
private affairs.
"Mury, how's your friend?"
"He isn't so well as he was, miss, thank you all the same. He's been a
bit upset in his indigestion."
"Think of that now! Isn't that sad! You buy him a bottle of physic and
send it along. I'll pay! It's not a mite of use having a friend with
indigestion. He'll be just as doleful, and you want him to give you a
real good time. ... How's your mother getting along?"
"Nicely, thank you, miss. She said she didn't know how to thank you
enough for the shawl. Her poor old bones haven't ached half so much
since she's had it to hap round her of a night."
"Isn't that sweet! Hustle up now with my high shoes, and don't mind
buttoning in bits of flesh as you did last time. I'd just as lief be
left out. See here, Mury, I want everything put back in its place after
I'm gone! I hate to find a muss when I get back, and that blue muslin
has got to be pressed out for to-night, and those bits of lace washed,
and the parcels changed at the shop. Mind, it's got to be all done by
the time I am back. And see here, next time you go out to meet your
friend, there's that taffetas waist you can have for yourself! You'll
look dandy in it, and he'll be so proud. Maybe it will help the
indigestion better than physic."
Mary was incoherent with delight, and promised ardently to execute all
the young lady's orders, knowing full well that it was the silver
afternoon, and that her time should of rights be fully occupied with
household duties. She promised, and she intended to perform. By dint
of smiles, pleasant words, kindly interests in "friends," and ceaseless
doles of finery and physic, Cornelia had established such a hold upon
the affections of the staff, that her wish already took precedent of her
aunt's law. Mary mentally condemned half the contents of the silver
cupboard to neglect, the while she ironed out foaming frills and
floating sash ends.
Mrs Ramsden accompanied Elma to the gate of The Nook, and stood beside
Miss Briskett looking on with dubious eyes, while the two girls took
their places in the high dog-cart. A groom had driven the horse from
the livery stable, and both good ladies expected him to take possession
of the back seat, in the double capacity of chaperon and guide. It
came, therefore, as a shock, when Cornelia dismissed the man with a
smile, and a rain of silver dropped into an eager hand, but
protestations, feeble and stern, were alike disregarded.
"How do you suppose we are going to talk, with him perched there, with
his ears sticking out, listening to every word we say? We don't want
any men poking round, this journey!" laughed Cornelia, settling herself
in her seat, and taking the reins in her gauntleted hands. Miss
Briskett was dismayed to feel a thrill of pride mingling with her
displeasure, for the girl looked so fresh, so trim, so sparklingly alive
perched up on her high driving seat. Elma Ramsden, for all her superior
beauty, looked tame and insignificant beside her. Although she would
not condescend to look around, Miss Briskett divined that behind the
curtains of the neighbouring houses the occupants were looking on with
admiring curiosity, and noting every detail of the girl's attire. If
Cornelia were self-willed and defiant, in appearance at least she was a
worthy representative of her race. The stern lines of the spinster's
mouth relaxed into an unwilling smile as she said urgently--
"But, my dear, the horse! I am responsible for your safety. Are you
quite sure that you are capable of managing him?"
Cornelia's ripple of amusement was sufficiently expressive. "One old
mare in a hired trap, when I've driven a four-in-hand over some of the
wickedest roads in America! If we are smashed, Aunt Soph, you can lay
it to providence, and not to my driving. Don't get to worrying if we
are late. If we're killed you'll hear all about it soon enough. You
can only die once, and a carriage spill is a good slick way of getting
it over."
"Cornelia, I insist--"
"Miss Cornelia, I beg--"
The cart dashed suddenly onward in response to a flip of the whip,
leaving the two old ladies upon the roadway, the unfinished appeal
frozen upon their lips. Elma turned round to wave an abashed adieu, the
long habit of servitude struggling with a delicious new sense of liberty
and adventure.
"Oh--oh, Cornelia, if you could only _see_ them! They are standing
stock-still, staring after us. They look petrified! ... It _was_
naughty of you. You frightened your aunt on purpose."
"That's so!" assented Cornelia, frankly. "I meant to do it. It's going
to hurt me a lot more than it does her, as the mommar said when she
spanked the nipper, but she's got just as set as a fossil, paddling
along in this little backwater, and imagining it's the whole big ocean,
and there's no one on hand to rouse her but myself. It's my mission.
Wake up, England!" and she flourished her whip dramatically as the mare
trotted through the south gateway of the park.
Outside the gate lay a smooth wide road stretching uphill, and in
response to a movement of Elma's outstretched hand, Cornelia turned the
mare in this direction, flashing a radiant smile into the pink-and-white
face.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"How do you feel?"
"Excited!--As if something were going to happen!"
Cornelia nodded sagely.
"Perhaps it is; there's no saying. I've seen horses I'd sooner trust in
a scrimmage, but a little spill would do you no harm. You're skeery as
a cat. You want nerve, my dear, nerve!" Cornelia flicked her whip
round the horse's ears to give emphasis to her words, and chuckled with
mischievous amusement as Elma clutched the seat, and gasped in dismay.
"I call this crawling, not driving. When we get out into the real
country I'll make her go, so we get some fresh air into our lungs, then
you can hold on if you like, but don't pay before the show begins. Now,
then--where are we bound?"
Elma cast down her eyes, faintly blushing beneath her hat. Surely there
was something infectiously electric in the air this afternoon, or why
should her thoughts fly as an arrow from the bow to just that very spot
which it should have been her maidenly duty to avoid? She blushed at
her own audacity; telling herself sternly that she ought to be ashamed;
held the temptation afar off, looking at it, longing after it,
regretfully deciding to cast it aside, then with a sudden impetuous
change of front, hugged it to her breast. Yes, she would! For one
afternoon, one golden, glorious afternoon, she would send prudence to
the winds, and follow her own instincts. After all, why not? Because a
certain person happened to be squire of a certain district it did not
follow that other people could not drive over his land without being
suspected of personal designs. It was to the last degree unlikely that
one would happen to meet anyone one knew, but if one _did_--Elma
acknowledged to herself that a lift of the hat, a glance of pleased
recognition, would remain in memory as the pleasantest episode of the
afternoon.
As a palliative to her conscience, Elma suggested a farther village as
the termination to the drive, directing the course with a thrill of
guilty triumph at each fresh turning.
"Ain't this dandy!" cried Cornelia, preening her little head, and
showing her white teeth in a smile of delight. "This England of yours
is just a 'cute little garden, with the roads rolled out like gravel
paths. You'd stare to see the roads about my home. Over here it's all
grass and roses. You are a rose, too--a real, sweet garden rose, with
the dewdrops on its leaves. If I were an artist I'd paint a picture of
you on one panel, and Aunt Soph on the other, as two types of English
life, and the people could look on, and learn a lesson. It's kinder
sweet and touching to dream along so long as you're young, but if you go
on keeping your eyes shut, it don't pan out well in old age. It's best
to have 'em wide open, and realise that there are two or three more
people in the world beside yourself."
Elma smiled in vague, preoccupied fashion. Her own thoughts were all
engrossing, and at every fresh winding of the road she held her breath
in suspense, while the wild rose colour deepened in her cheeks.
Suppose--suppose they met him! How would he look? What would he do?
What would he think? Even the compliment to herself faded into
insignificance beside such questions as these.
The mare was trotting briskly along a high level road, on the right side
of which lay the boundary wall of a large estate--_the_ estate, every
inch of which was thrilling with interest to one onlooker, at least; to
the right a bank of grass sloped gradually to a lower road, beneath
which again could be seen a wide-stretched panorama of country.
Cornelia slackened the reins, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of
the moment.
Up to now decorous toddles to and fro the outlying villas had been her
only form of exercise, and she was amazed and delighted with the verdant
beauty of the scene. As Elma did not seem inclined for conversation she
made no further remark, and for the next quarter of an hour the two
girls drove onward in silence, each happy in her own thoughts, in the
sunshine, in the sweet, balmy air, fragrant with the scent of the
flowering trees. Then of a sudden one of the lodges of the park came
into view, and on the roadside beside the door a dazzling golden object,
at sight of which Cornelia puckered puzzled brows.
"What in the land's name is that? The sun dazzles so that I can't see."
"It's a--a cage, I think! I see something like bars."
"What fool-trick are they up to, then, putting a gilt cage on the high
road in the blazing sunshine? They might use the sense they were born
with. Steady, old lady, steady!" cried Cornelia, soothingly, as the
mare pricked up her ears and shied uneasily to the farther side of the
road. "Yes, it's a cage right enough, and a poll parrot inside. Guess
I'll pull up at that house, and tell the inmates that it looks for all
the world like a blazing firework on the side of the path; enough to
scare any horse in creation. This old lady is as nervous as a cat!"
The fact was painfully apparent even to Elma's inexperience, for the
mare, refusing to be soothed by Cornelia's cajoling words and chuckles,
shied still nearer the opposite hedge, her ears cocked nervously erect.
Seen nearer at hand, and out of the direct dazzle of sunlight, the cage
looked innocent enough with its grey inmate swinging solemnly to and fro
on its perch, but as the cart swung rapidly past, Mistress Poll
evidently felt that it was time to assert herself, and opened her mouth
to emit a shrill, raucous cry, at the sound of which the mare bounded
forward in a headlong gallop.
"I knew it!" cried Cornelia, shortly. "I just guessed that had to come
next." She sat bolt upright, twisting the reins round her fingers, her
lips pressed into a thin red line, her eyes ashine with an excitement in
which was more than a spice of enjoyment. She shook herself impatiently
free from Elma's frenzied grasp. "Now, then, none of that! You leave
my arms alone. I'll need all my strength before we're through with this
trouble. My stars and stripes, how she does pull."
"Oh, oh, Cornelia! What shall we do? What shall we do? Shall we be
thrown? What's going to happen? _Cornelia_?"
Not by a fraction of an inch did Cornelia turn her head in answer to
this frenzied appeal. Upright as a dart she sat in her seat, her
slender wrists straining at the reins.
"Don't yelp!" she said shortly. "Keep that till you're hurt. Say! what
happens to the road after the next turn?"
"I don't know. ... Oh, what shall we do? Why did we ever come? ...
Cornelia, can you hold her back?" ...
"No!" snapped Cornelia, shortly. "I can't!--Not for many minutes
longer, at this rate. My wrists are about broken as it is. What
happens after this turning, I say? You must know. Use your brains, for
goodness' sake--if you want any left to use another day. Is it a good
road--better than this? What's on the sides--hedgerows, walls, water?
For the land's sake, child, sort your ideas!"
Thus admonished, Elma made a violent effort to pull herself together.
For reasons already mentioned, this particular bit of country was
clearly imprinted on her memory, and she had but to collect her
scattered wits to see a clear picture of the path ahead.
"The road is quite good. There is a wall--two walls. Some farm
buildings on the right. At the end there is a hill; it leads down into
the next village."
"Humph!" Cornelia's nostrils dilated widely, and two spots of pink
showed on her white cheeks. "Then I guess this is the end of the
volume. A grass bank is better than a wall any day of the week. ...
Now then, young woman, if you've got any grit stowed away, get it out,
and use it. _It's coming_! Are you ready?"
"No, no!" shrieked Elma, wildly. She clutched the seat with despairing
hands, as with a sudden convulsive movement Cornelia switched the mare
violently to the right. "Help, help! Oh, help--"
The bank rose before her eyes in a sudden mountainous sweep; the mare,
instead of being in front, soared suddenly on the top of the trap; the
hinges creaked and strained; and the seat assumed a perpendicular
position. It was all over in a couple of minutes, but to Elma it seemed
as many hours. She had time to hear the rush of approaching footsteps,
to see over the top of the hedge three startled masculine faces; to
recognise the nearer of the three with a great throb of relief, and to
stretch out her arms towards him with a shrill cry of appeal--then the
crash came, and she was shot headlong into space.
Fireworks! that was the first impression. Little dots of flame flitting
about before her eyes, forming into circles of light and whizzing
rapidly round and round. Then when her eyes were open, a heavy confused
stupor, in which she saw, but refused to understand. Why was she lying
on the grass in the middle of the day? Why did Cornelia look so queer,
with her face stained with soil, and her hat on one side? Why did they
offer her things to drink? She wasn't thirsty; the tea was bad; it
stung her mouth. It wasn't tea at all, but something hot and nasty. It
was brandy out of a flask! Elma lifted big, lovely eyes of a pansy
blue, and stared vacantly into the face by her side, but at the sight of
it memory came back in a rush. She sat up stiffly, moving her limbs in
nervous, tentative fashion--gasped, sighed, and quavered out a
tremulous--
"What happened? Is it all over? Are we saved?"
Cornelia loomed above her, alert even in this moment of shock and
dishevelment. One cheek was plastered with soil; patches of green stain
discoloured her coat, her hair hung rakishly askew, yet never had her
manner been more composed nor complacently matter of fact.
"We've had a pretty lucky let-off. You are alive all right, and I guess
there's not much the matter with you but nerves. There's nothing wrong
with your lungs, anyway. You scared the mare pretty near as much as the
bird--yelping like a crazed thing, and hanging on to my arm. The grass
is soft enough. It hasn't hurt you any. You needn't worry feeling all
over to see if there's a break. You'd know it fast enough if there
were."
"Miss Ramsden is feeling stunned. I think it would be wiser to allow
her to recover gradually. It is a shock to--er--to most systems, to be
shot out of a cart, however short the distance!"
The masculine voice was thunderous with indignation, and the arm which
supported Elma's back tightened its hold, as if to protect her against
the world. Cornelia turned aside, her red lips twisted into a smile,
and walked along the bank to where the other two men were unharnessing
the mare, which lay on her side trembling with fright, the blood oozing
from several ugly-looking cuts and scratches. As Cornelia walked she
held her right wrist tightly with her left hand, as if she still felt
the strain of that wrestle with the reins, but there was no flinching in
voice or manner as she stood over the men, issuing instructions in
brisk, incisive tones. The nearer of the two was impressed to the
extent of ceasing work to touch his cap; the second darted one
contemptuous glance in her direction, and placidly continued to disobey.
Cornelia promptly knelt on the grass by his side, with intent to
demonstrate her own greater efficiency, but the first movement of the
strained wrist brought a flush of pain to her cheeks. She sat back,
pursing her lips together to restrain an involuntary groan, while the
stranger flashed a second look in her direction. He was a tall, lean,
somewhat cadaverous--looking man, with steel-like eyes shaded by haughty
eyelids, perpetually adroop as though no object on earth were worthy of
his regard. Cornelia took him in in a swift, comprehensive glance, and
with youthful ardour decided that she loathed the creature.
"Hurt yourself?"
"Not a bit, thanks. I guess there's enough of you to do the work
without me, but I'm used to seeing things done in a hurry, and you
seemed pretty deliberate--"
"A little caution is not thrown away sometimes. What induced you to
come out driving alone if you could not manage a horse?"
There being no reply to this question, and the last buckle of the
harness being unstrapped, the speaker turned an inquiring glance over
his shoulder, to behold a rigid figure and a face ablaze with
indignation.
There was something in the girl's face at that moment so vital, so
bizarre and arresting, that so long as Rupert Guest lived, it remained
with him as one of the most striking pictures in his mental picture-
gallery. He had but to pass a high green hedge in the June sunshine, to
catch the fragrance of the honeysuckle and roses, and it rose up before
him again--the white, furious face, with the red, roughened locks, and
the gleam of white teeth through the scarlet lips. There was no
admiration in his thoughts; this was not at all the type of girl whom he
admired, but she was a being by herself, different from anyone whom he
had met. He stared at her with curious attention.
"Do you mean," said Cornelia, in the slow, even tones of intense anger,
"that you think this was my doing--that I upset the cart by my bad
driving? If that's so, you are a little out in your reckoning. If I
hadn't been used to horses all my days we might have been in kingdom
come by this time. I _pulled_ her into the bank before worse things
happened!"
"Then what sent her off in the first instance?"
"A poll parrot, screeching in its cage, set right out in the roadway by
some fool owner, who ought to be had up for murder."
The stranger pursed up his lips in an expressive whistle, then suddenly
sprang upwards as the mare, freed from her harness, rolled on her side
and struggled to her feet, where she stood shivering and tossing her
head, displaying fresh cuts and bruises in her dusty coat. The labourer
put his hand on her neck, soothing her with gentle words and touches,
while his master surveyed her with kindly concern.
"Poor brute! Better take her to the stables, James, and send off for a
vet. Mrs Greville can no doubt spare a carriage to take these ladies
home." He turned towards Cornelia with an impulse of provocation which
seemed to spring from some source outside himself. As a rule he was
chivalrous where women were concerned, but there was something in the
personality of this girl which aroused his antagonism. It seemed almost
a personal offence that she should be so alert and composed while the
mare bled and trembled, and that pale, lovely thing lay like a broken
snowdrop on the bank. He felt a growing desire to annoy, to wound, to
break down this armour of complacent vanity.
"So you could not hold her till she tired herself out? Well! the
experiment seems to have answered less successfully from her point of
view than your own. She'll need a considerable time to recover her
nerves and give these scratches time to heal."
"Skin deep!" sneered Cornelia, with a curl of the lip. "I'll drive her
back in a day or two; and up and down this road until she learns not to
play that trick again. I've never given in to a horse yet, and I'm not
going to begin with a hack mare!"
The stranger eyed her with cold disapproval.
"Perhaps her owner may refuse to allow her to be experimented upon
again. I should, in his place! It may be foolish, but I hate to see a
brute suffer, even for the noble purpose of proving my own superiority."
He swung away as he spoke, thus failing to see the stunned blankness of
Cornelia's expression. Straight as a dart she stood, with head thrown
back, scarlet lips pressed tightly together, and dark brows knitted
above the wounded tragedy of her eyes. The labourer standing by the
mare's side looked towards her with honest sympathy. He had had
personal experience of the "length of the Captain's tongue," and was
correspondingly sympathetic towards another sufferer. A tender of dumb
animals, he was quick to understand the expression on the girl's face,
and to know that she had been wrongfully accused.
"Don't you take on, miss!" he said, touching his cap with the unashamed
servility at which the American girl never ceased to wonder. "I'll look
after her meself, and if the dirt is washed out of the sores at once,
she'll come to no harm. Likely as not there'll be nothing for the vet
to do by the time he arrives. At the worst it'll be only a few
stitches. She'll soon get over that."
Cornelia shivered, and bit hard on her lower lip. She slipped her hand
into an inside pocket of the white coat, and, coming a step nearer,
dropped a coin into the man's hand. He cast down his eyes, started, and
flushed a deep red.
"Thank you, miss. Beg pardon, but you've made a mistake!"
A sovereign lay brightly on his grimy palm; he stared at it with
respectful awe, scarcely regretful, since it did not enter his mind to
conceive that such a munificent gift could seriously have been offered
for his acceptance. It had seldom happened that he had had the handling
of such a fortune, since his whole weekly earnings reached a total of
eighteen shillings, but Cornelia in her turn looked abashed and
discomfited, thrusting her hand once again into the tightly-buttoned
little pocket.
"I'm sorry! I ken't get used to your money over here. Will that make
it enough?"
To the man's utter stupefaction she placed a second sovereign beside the
first in his outstretched palm. He stared at it with distended eyes,
thrilled by the discovery that she _had_ meant it after all, awed by the
revelation of such munificence.
"Beg pardon, miss, I was thinking as you'd mistook it for a shilling,
not making so bold as to complain. I thank your ladyship kindly! I'm
sure I can't rightly say what I ought--"
He stuttered, incoherent with excitement, but even as he spoke he held
out the second sovereign, and Cornelia understood that his good feeling
permitted him to accept only what had been originally offered. She
would have felt the same in his place, and realising as much, took back
the coin without a demur.
"Well! it's waiting for you next time I come, if you've done your duty
by that mare."
She turned, and walked slowly back to where the two men were standing
talking together, some eight or ten yards away. Their backs were turned
towards her, and her assailant of a few minutes past was evidently
answering an appeal from his friend. She caught the last words as she
drew near: "I will go to the stable and look after the mare. ... You
can take them up to the house without my help. I can't stand any more
of that girl--"
He wheeled round as he spoke, and found himself face to face with
Cornelia. They stared each other full in the eyes, like two combatants
measuring strength before a battle.