Starvecrow Farm

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XI

  CAPTAIN CLYNE'S PLAN

  For a full hundred yards Henrietta walked on with her head in the air,too angry to accost or even to look at her companion; who, on hispart, tripped meekly beside her. Then a sense of the absurdity of theposition--of his position rather than her own, for she had whirled himoff whether he would or no--overcame her. And she laughed.

  "Was ever anything so ridiculous?" she cried. And she looked at himaskance and something ashamed. The quick movement which had enabledher to escape had loosened the thick mass of her fair hair, and this,with her flushed cheeks and kindled eyes, showed her so handsome thatit was well the impetuous justice was no longer with her.

  The stranger was apparently less impressionable.

  "I am glad," he said primly, "that my coming was so opportune."

  "Oh! I was not afraid of him," Henrietta answered, tossing her head.

  "No?" he rejoined. "Indeed. Still, I am glad that I came soopportunely."

  He was a neat, trim man in black, of a pale complexion, and with thesmall features and the sharp nose that indicate at once timidity andobstinacy; the nose that in the case of the late Right HonourableWilliam Pitt, whom he was proud to resemble, meant something more. Butfor a pair of bright eyes he had been wholly mean, and whollyinsignificant; and Henrietta saw nothing in him either formidable orattractive. She had a notion that she had seen him somewhere; but itwas a vague notion, and how he came to be here or commissioned to hershe could no more conjecture than if he had risen from the ground.

  "You are a stranger here?" she said at last, after more than oneside-long glance.

  "Yes, I descended from the coach an hour ago."

  "And came in search of me?"

  "Precisely," he replied. "Being empowered to do so," he continued,with a slight but formal bow, "by Captain Anthony Clyne, to whom Ihave the honour--my name is Sutton--of being related in the capacityof chaplain."

  She coloured more violently with shame than before with anger: and allher troubles came back to her. Probably this man knew all; knew whatshe had done and what had happened to her. It was cruel--oh, it wascruel to send him! For a moment she could not collect her thoughts ormaster her voice. But at last,

  "Oh!" she said confusedly. "I see. A lovely view from here, is itnot?"

  "Yes, to be sure," he replied, with the same precision with which hehad spoken before. "I ought to have noticed it."

  "And you bring me a letter?"

  "It was Captain Clyne's wish that I----" he hesitated, and was plainlyembarrassed--"that I should, in fact, offer my company for a day ortwo. While you are under the care of the good woman at the inn."

  She turned her face towards him, and regarded him with a mixture ofsurprise and distaste. Then,

  "Indeed?" she said coldly. "In what capacity, if you please?"

  But the words said, she felt her cheeks grow hot. They thought so illof her, she had so misbehaved herself, that a duenna was not enough;a clergyman must be sent to lecture her. By-and-by he would talkgoody-goody to her, such as they talked to Lucy in _The FairchildFamily!_ Save that she was grown up and Lucy was not!

  "But it does not matter," she continued hurriedly, and before he couldanswer, "I am obliged to you, but Mrs. Gilson is quite able to takecare of me."

  "And yet I came very opportunely--just now," he said. "I am glad Icame so opportunely."

  Reminded of the insolence to which her loneliness had exposed her,Henrietta felt her cheek grow hot again.

  "Oh," she said, "I did not need you! But I thought you said youbrought a letter?"

  "I have a letter. But I beg leave--to postpone its delivery for a dayor two."

  "How?" in astonishment. "If it is for me?"

  "By Captain Clyne's directions," he answered.

  She stopped short and faced him, rebellion in her eyes.

  "Then why," she said proudly, "seek me out now if this letter is notto be delivered at once?"

  "That, too, is by his order," Mr. Sutton explained in the same tone."And pardon me for saying," he continued, with a meaning cough, "thatI have seen enough to be assured of Captain Clyne's forethought. Apartfrom which, in Lancashire, at any rate, the times are so troubled, theroads so unsafe, the common people so outrageous, that for a younglady to walk out alone is not safe."

  "He should have sent a servant, then!" she answered sharply.

  A faint colour rose to the chaplain's cheeks.

  "He thought me more trustworthy, perhaps," he said meekly. "And it ispossible he was under the impression that my company might be moreacceptable."

  "If I may be plain," she answered tartly, "I am in no mood for astranger's company."

  "And yet," he said, with a gleam of appeal in his eyes, "I would fainhope to make myself acceptable."

  She gave him no direct answer; only,

  "I cannot understand, I really cannot understand," she said, "of whathe was thinking. You had better give me the letter now, sir. I mayfind something in that which may explain."

  But he only cast down his eyes.

  "I am afraid," he said, "that I must not disobey the directions whichCaptain Clyne laid upon me."

  "Very good," she retorted; "that is as you please. Only--our pathsseparate here. The road we are on will take you to the inn--you cannotmiss it. My path lies this way."

  And with a stiff little bow she laid her hand on the gate which gaveentrance to the field-path; the same path that led down through thecoppice to the back of the Low Wood inn. She passed through.

  He hesitated an instant, then he also turned in at the gate. And asshe halted, eyeing him in displeasure--

  "I really cannot let you stray from the high-road alone," he said."You will pardon me, I am sure, if I seem intrusive. But it is notsafe. I have seen enough," with a smirk, "to know that--that beautyunattended goes in danger amid these lovely"--he waved his hand inkindly patronage of the lake--"these lovely, but wild surroundings."

  "You mean," she answered, with a dangerous light in her eyes, "thatyou will force your company on me, sir? Whether I will or no?"

  "Not force, no! No! No! But I must, I can only do as I am ordered. Ishould not presume of myself," he continued, with a touch of realhumility--"even to offer my company. I should not look so high. Ishould think such an honour above me. But I was led to believe----"

  "By Captain Clyne?"

  "Yes, that--that, in fact, you were willing to make what amends youcould for the injury done to him. And that, if only for that reason, Imight expect a more favourable reception at your hands."

  "But why, sir?--why?" she cried, cut to the quick. To suffer this man,this stranger, to talk to her of making amends!" What good will it doto Captain Clyne if I receive you ever so favourably?"

  He looked at her humbly, with appeal in his eyes.

  "If you would deign to wait," he said, and he wiped his forehead, "Ithink I could make that more clear to you afterwards."

  But very naturally his persistence offended her. That word amends,too, stuck in her throat. Her pride, made restive by her encounterwith Hornyold, was up in arms.

  "I shall not wait a moment," she said. "Not a moment! Understand, sir,that if you accompany me against my will, my first act on reaching theinn will be to complain to the landlady, and seek her protection."

  "Surely not against Captain Clyne's pleni--plenipotentiary?" hemurmured abjectly. "Surely not!"

  "I do not know what a pleni-plenipotentiary is," she retorted. "But ifyou follow me, you follow at your peril!"

  And she turned her back on him, and plunged downwards through thewood. She did not deign to look behind; but her ears told her that hewas not following. For the rest, all the beauty of the wood, shotthrough with golden lights, all the cool loveliness of the dell, withits emerald mosses and flash of jewelled wings, were lost upon hernow, so sore was she and so profoundly humiliated. Twice in onemorning she had been insulted. Twice in one hour had a man shown herthat he held her
fair game. Were they right, then, who preached thatoutside the sanctum of home no girl was safe? Or was it her story, herconduct, her disgrace, known to all for miles round, that robbed herof the right to respect?

  Either way she was unhappy, frightened, nay, shocked; and she longedto be within doors, where she need not restrain herself. Too proud toconfide in Mrs. Gilson, she longed none the less for some one to whomshe could unburden herself. Was she to go through the world exposed tosuch scenes? Must she be daily and hourly on her guard against rudeinsult, or more odious gallantries? And if these things befell her inthis quiet spot, what must she expect in the world, deserted as shewas by all those who would once have protected her?

  She looked to gain her room without further unpleasantness; for thepath she followed led her to the back door, and she could enter thatway. But she was not to be so fortunate. In the yard, awaiting herwith his hat in his hand and the flush of haste on his pallid face,was Mr. Sutton.

  Poor Henrietta! she ground her small teeth together in her rage, andher face was scarlet. But her mind was made up. If Mr. Sutton countedon her being worse than her word she would show him his mistake.

  "I shall send for the landlady," she said; and beckoning to astable-help who was crossing the yard with a bucket, "Fetch Mrs.Gilson," she said. "Tell her----"

  "One moment!" Mr. Sutton interposed with meek firmness. "I am going togive you the letter. It will explain all, and I hope justify myconduct, which I cannot believe to have been offensive."

  "That is a matter of opinion," Henrietta said loftily. She held outher hand. "The letter, sir, if you please."

  "One favour, I beg," he said, with a gesture that deprecated herimpatience. He waved the groom out of hearing. "This is not a fitplace for you or"--with a return of dignity--"for the business onwhich I am here. Do me the favour of seeing me within or of walking afew yards with me. There is a seat by the lake, if you will not admitme to your apartments."

  She frowned at him. But she saw the wisdom of concluding the matter,and she led the way into the road and turned to the right.Immediately, however, she remembered that the Ambleside road wouldlead her to the spot where Captain Clyne had taken leave of her, andshe turned and walked the other way until she came to the place wherethe Troutbeck lane diverged. There she stood.

  "The letter, if you please," she said. She spoke with the contemptuoushardness which youth, seldom considerate of others' feelings, is proneto display.

  He held it an instant in his hand as if he could not bear to part withit. But at last, with a dismal look and an abject sentence or two, hegave it up.

  "I beg you, I implore you," he muttered as she took it, "to announceno hasty decision. To believe that I am something more and better thanyou think me now. And that ill as I have set myself before you, Iwould fain labour to show myself more--more worthy!"

  The words were so strange, his manner was so puzzling, that theypierced the armour of her dislike. She paused, staring at him.

  "Worthy!" she exclaimed. "Worthy of what?"

  "The letter----"

  "Yes, the letter will tell me."

  And with a haughty air she broke the seal. As she read she turnedherself from him, so that he saw little more of her face than herfirmly moulded chin. But when she had carried her eyes some way downthe sheet he noticed that her hands began to shake.

  "Henrietta," so Captain Clyne began,--"for to add any term ofendearment were either too little or too much--I have thought long andpainfully, as becomes one who expected to be by this time yourhusband, on the situation in which you have placed yourself by anescapade, the consequences of which, whatever action be taken, must bepermanently detrimental. Of these, as they touch myself, I saynothing, the object of these lines being to indicate a way by which Itrust your honour and character may be redeemed. The bearer, whom Iknow for a man of merit and respectability, saw you by chance on theoccasion of your visit to my house, and, as I learned by a wordindiscreetly dropped, admired you. He has been admitted to the secretof your adventure, and is willing, without more and upon myrepresentation of the facts of the case, to make you his wife and togive you the shelter of his name. After long thought I can devise nobetter course, whereby, innocent of aught but folly, as I believe youto be, the honour of the family can be preserved. Still, I would notsuggest or advise the step were I not sure that Mr. Sutton, thoughbeneath us by extraction, is a person of parts and worth in whosehands your future will be safe, while his material prosperity shall bemy care. I have advised him to take such opportunities as offer ofcommending himself to you before delivering this note. Gladly would Icounsel you to take the advice of your brother and his wife were I notaware how bitter is their resentment and how complete theirestrangement. I, on the other hand, whose right to advise you mayquestion---- But it were idle to say more than that I forgive you, asI hope to be forgiven. Nor will your interests ever be indifferent to

  "Your kinsman,

  "ANTHONY CLYNE."

  Mr. Sutton noted the growing tremour of the hands which held thepaper--he could hear it rustle. And his face, usually so pallid,flushed. Into the greyness of a life that had been happier if thechaplain had possessed less of those parts for which Captain Clynecommended him, had burst this vision of a bride, young, beautiful, andbrilliant; a daughter of that world which thought him honoured by thetemporary possession of a single finger, or the gift of a carelessnod. Who could blame him if he succumbed? Aladdin, on the point ofmarriage with the daughter of the Sultan, bent to no greatertemptation; nor any barber or calendar of them all, when on the vergeof a like match. He had seen Henrietta once only, he had viewed herthen as a thing of grace and refinement meet only for his master. Atthe prospect of possessing her, such scruples as rose in his mindfaded quickly. He told himself that he would be foolish indeed if hedid not carry the matter through with a bold face; or if for fear of afew hard words, or a pouting beauty, he yielded up the opportunity ofa life.

  On the hill he had proved himself equal to the call. Not so now. Hehad pictured the girl taking the news in many ways, in scorn, inanger, with shallow coquetry, or in dull resignation. But he had neveranticipated the way in which she did take it. When she had read theletter to the end she turned her back on him and bent her head.

  "Oh!" she cried; and broke into weeping--not passionate nor bitter, hewas prepared for that--but the soft and helpless weeping of a brokenthing.

  That they, that Anthony Clyne, above all, should do this to her! Thathe should think of her as a chattel to be handed from one to another,a girl so light that all men were the same to her, if they were men!That they, that he should hold her so cheap, deem her so smirched bywhat had passed, misread her so vilely as to think that she had fallento this! That with indifference she would give herself to any man, nomatter to whom, if she could that way keep her name and hold up herhead!

  It hurt her horribly. Nay, for the time it broke her down. The mid-daycoach swept by to the inn door, and the parson, standing beside her,ashamed of himself and conscious of the passengers' curious glances,wished himself anywhere else. But she was wounded too sorely to carewho saw or who heard; and she wept openly though quietly until thefirst sharpness of the pain was blunted. Then he thought, as hersobbing grew less vehement, that his time was come, that he might yetbe heard. And he murmured that he was grieved, he was sorely grieved.

  "So am I!" she said, dabbing her eyes with her wet handkerchief. Shesobbed out the words so humbly, so weakly, that he was encouraged.

  "Then may I--may I return presently?" he murmured, with a nervouscough. "You must stand in need of advice? And--and by some one nearyou? When you are more composed perhaps? Yes. Not that there is anyhurry," he added quickly, frightened by a movement of her shoulders."Not at all. I'll not say another word now! By-and-by, by-and-by, dearyoung lady, you will be more composed. To-morrow, if you prefer it, oreven the next day. I shall wait, and I shall be here."

  She gave her eyes a last dab a
nd turned.

  "I do not blame you," she said, her voice broken by a sob. "You didnot know me. But you must go back--you must go back to him at once andtell him that I--that he has punished me as sharply as he could wish."She dabbed her face again. "I do not know what I shall think of himpresently, but I---- Oh, oh!" with a fresh burst of tears, "that heshould do this to me!--that he should do this!"

  He did not know her, as she said; and, small blame to him, he misreadher. Because she neither stormed nor sneered, but only wept in thisheart-broken fashion, like a child cowed by a beating, he fancied thatthe task before him was not above his powers. He thought her plastic,a creature easily moulded; and that already she was bending herself tothe fate proposed for her. And in soothing tones, for he was genuinelysorry for her, "There, there, my dear young lady," he said, "I know itis something hard. It is hard. But in a little while, a very littlewhile, I trust, it will seem less hard. And there is time before us.Time to become acquainted, time to gain knowledge of one another.Plenty of time! There is no hurry."

  She lowered her handkerchief from her eyes and looked at him, over it,as if, without understanding, she thanked him for his sympathy. Withher tear-washed eyelashes and rumpled hair and neck-ribbon she lookedmore childish, she seemed to him less formidable. He took heart ofgrace to go on.

  "Captain Clyne shall be told what you feel about it," he said,thinking to soothe and humour her. "He shall be told all in good time.And everything I can say and anything I can do to lighten the burdenand meet your wishes----"

  "You?"

  "----I shall do, be sure!"

  He was beginning to feel his feet, and he spoke earnestly. He spoke,to do him justice, with feeling.

  "Your happiness," he said, "will be the one, at any rate the first,and main object of my life. As time goes on I hope and believe thatyou will find a recompense in the service and devotion of a life,although a humble life; and always I will be patient. I will wait, mydear young lady, in good hope."

  "Of what?"

  The tone of the two words shook Mr. Sutton unpleasantly. He reddened.But with an effort,

  "In what hope?" he answered, embarrassed by the sudden rigidity of herface. "In the hope," with a feeble smile, "that in no long time--I ampresumptuous, I know--you will see some merit in me, my dear younglady. And will assent to my wishes, my humble, ardent wishes, andthose of my too-generous patron."

  There were no tears in her eyes now. She seemed to tower above him inher indignation.

  "Your wishes, you miserable little man?" she cried, with a look whichpierced his vanity to the quick. "They are nothing to me! Go back toyour master!"

  And before he could rally his forces or speak, she was gone from himinto the house. He heard a snigger behind the hedge, but by the timehe had climbed the bank--with a crimson face--there was no one to beseen.

  He stood an instant, brooding, with his eyes on the road.

  "A common man would give up," he muttered. "But I shall not! I am nocommon man. I shall not give up."