Starvecrow Farm

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXVII

  BISHOP CAUGHT NAPPING

  "I will not do it! I will not do it!" Those had been Clyne's lastwords on the subject; uttered and repeated with a heat which provedthat, in coming to this decision, he fought against his own heart asmuch as against her arguments. "I will not do it! But do you," withsomething of his former violence, "tell me where he is! Tell me atonce, and I will go and question him."

  "And I," she had answered with spirit, "will not tell you."

  At that he had looked at her with the old sternness, but her eyes hadno longer fallen before his. And then he had been called away tofollow one of the hasty clues, the wild-goose scents which werereported from hour to hour--by pedlars coming in from the dales, or byhazy parish constables who took every stranger for a rogue. Twice hehad turned in his saddle, twice reined in his horse, before he passedout of sight; and she had known that he wrestled with himself, that hewas near, very near, to giving way, and sacrificing her upon the altarof his child. But he had gone on, and not returned. And though it hadgrieved her to see how drawn and haggard was his face, how near tofailing the wiry strength of his frame, she had rejoiced on her ownaccount. He might say what he liked, forbid as he chose, it would gohard with her if she could not find the opportunity she needed, ifshe, who had suffered all along and in the esteem of all, did not makeuse of the means of clearing herself that remained to her.

  Courage at least should not be wanting; and she would be cunning, too.Already she dreamed of a happy return with the child; and her cheeksgrew warm and her eyes soft as she conjured up the scene, and imaginedherself leading the boy to his father and receiving his thanks. Thenhe would confess--more fully than he had yet confessed--how he hadwronged her, how far from her thoughts had been harm to the boy. Andshe--ah, but she must first do her part. She must first do that whichshe had to do.

  So she went craftily about her task, counting up those whom she had tofear and ticking them off. Before Clyne had left the house a milebehind him she had learned where Nadin was, and a second officer whomshe suspected of watching her movements. They were abroad and she hadnaught to fear from them. There remained Mr. Sutton and Bishop. Forthe former, "Horrid man!" she thought in her ingratitude, "I supposehe will look to be thanked every time I see him!" And she wasconfirmed in this, when she marked him down. He was walking to and frobefore the door.

  "I must go out at the back!" she concluded.

  But there still remained the bluff but civil Bishop. She had littledoubt that he was the Cerberus left to guard her. And no doubt at allwhen she learned from Modest Ann that he was taking his early dinnerin the coffee-room with the door wide open.

  "Waiting to see if I go out," she said.

  "Well, miss," Ann answered, "I shouldn't wonder if he was!"

  Henrietta looked at her very kindly.

  "Don't you think," she asked slowly, "that you could somehow get ridof him, Ann?"

  The woman looked as much troubled as one of her hard features couldlook.

  "No, miss, I don't think I could," she said.

  "You are afraid?" gently.

  "I'm not afraid of him," with some asperity. "Bless the man, no! I'mnot afraid of no man nowhere! But I am afraid of the missus?"

  "Ah! And you don't think that you could tell him that I wish to seehim upstairs? And then when he comes up and finds the room empty--thatI shall be down from my bedroom in five minutes?"

  "It wouldn't be true."

  "No," softly. "Perhaps not."

  Modest Ann looked dreadfully perplexed.

  "You'll get me into trouble, miss," she said. "I know you will."

  "Then I'll get you out again," the fair tempter retorted. "I willindeed, Ann."

  "But if you get into trouble yourself, miss? What then?"

  Henrietta turned with the air of a martyr to the window and lookedout.

  "I thought you liked me a little," she murmured presently, and dried atear that was not there. "I thought you would do a small thing forme."

  The woman took her hand and kissed it softly.

  "I will, miss, drat me if I don't!" she said. "I'll do what you wish,come what may of it! So there."

  Henrietta turned to her, her face in a glow. "You dear, kind thing!"she cried, "I'll never forget it. You are the only one who is notagainst me."

  Ann shook her head.

  "I hope I'll not be the one to repent it!" she muttered, with a lastspark of doubt.

  "Indeed, indeed you won't! But now"--naively--"shall I lock him in ornot?"

  "In the room?"

  "Yes."

  "Here, miss? Why, miss, he'd rouse the house!"

  "Not if we tied up the bell-pull first!" she suggested.

  But Modest Ann was aghast at the thought. "Lord, miss, he'd only haveto open the window and shout! And there's the parson walking up anddown the road, and the fat'd be in the fire in two twos!"

  "So it would," Henrietta admitted reluctantly. "I see. So you mustjust entice him here, and say I'll be down from my bedroom in threeminutes. And I hope he'll be patient. As for you, you'll know no morethan that I asked you to fetch him, and said I should be with him atonce."

  "Well, they can't touch me for that," Modest Ann said; and she agreed,but with hesitation. "I don't think he'll be so simple," she said."That's a fact. He'll not come up."

  But he did. He walked straight into the trap, and Henrietta, who waswaiting in ambush in the dark passage while he passed, speddownstairs, and would have escaped by the back door without meeting asoul, if Mrs. Gilson had not by bad luck been crossing the yard. Thelandlady caught sight of the girl, and raising her voice cried to herto stop. For an instant Henrietta hesitated. Then she thought itprudent to comply. She returned slowly.

  "Come, come, miss, this won't do!" the landlady said tartly. "You'renot going off like that all of a hurry! You bide a bit and considerwho's bail for you."

  "Not you!" Henrietta retorted mutinously. And as this was true, forthe Gilsons' bail had been discharged, the first hit was hers.

  "Oh, so you're saucy now, miss!" the landlady retorted. "Brag's thedog, is it?"

  "No, but----"

  "It's so, it seems! Any way, you'll please to tell me, young lady,where you are going in such a hurry."

  But Henrietta was at bay. She knew that if she were delayed even twominutes her chance was gone; for Bishop would be on her heels. So,"That's my business!" she answered. And determined to escape, even byforce, she turned about, light as a roe, tossed her head defiantly,and was off through the gate in a twinkling.

  Mrs. Gilson was left gaping. She was not of a figure to take up thechase, for like many good housewives of her time, she seldom left herown premises except to go to church. But she was none the less certainthat Henrietta ought to be followed. "There's a fine trollop!" shecried. "It won't be long before she runs her head into harm! Where'sthat blockhead, Bishop?" And she bundled away to the coffee-room totell him that the girl was gone.

  She arrived scant of breath--and he was not there. The coffee-room wasempty, and the landlady, knowing that he had stayed in the house onpurpose to keep an eye on Henrietta's movements, swept out again,fuming. In the passage she caught sight of Modest Ann and called her."Where's that man, Bishop?" she asked.

  Ann stared as if she had never heard the name.

  "Bishop?" she repeated stolidly.

  "What else did I say?"

  "He's with the young lady."

  "He's nothing of the kind!" Mrs. Gilson retorted, her temper rising.

  "Well, he went to her," Ann returned. "He went----"

  But Mrs. Gilson did not stay to hear. She had caught sight of Mr.Sutton walking past the open door, and aware that a second now wasworth a minute by and by, she hurried out to him. "Your reverence!Here!" she cried. And when he turned surprised by the address, "Theyoung lady's gone!" she continued. "Slipped out at the back, andshe'll be God knows where in two minutes! Do you follow, sir, and keepher in sight or there's
no knowing what may happen!" And she pointedthrough the house to indicate the nearest way.

  Mr. Sutton's face turned a dull red. But he did not move, nor make anyshow of acting on the suggestion. Instead, "Miss Damer has gone out?"he said slowly.

  "To be sure!" the landlady cried, in a fume at the delay. "And if sheis not followed at once----"

  "Where's the officer?" he asked, interrupting her.

  "Heaven knows, or I should not come to you!" Mrs. Gilson retorted. "Doyou go after her before she's beyond catching!"

  But Mr. Sutton shook his head with an obstinate look. "No," he said."It's not my business, ma'am. I'd like to oblige you after yourkindness yesterday, but I've made up my mind not to interfere with theyoung lady. I followed her once," he continued, in a lower tone andwith a conscious air--"and I've repented it!"

  "You'll repent it a deal more if you don't follow her now!" thelandlady retorted. She was in a towering passion by this time. "You'llrepent it finely if anything happens to her. That you will, my man!Don't you know that Captain Clyne left word that she wasn't to be letgo out alone? Then go, man, after her, before it is too late. Anddon't be a sawny!"

  "I shall not," he answered firmly.

  She saw then that he was not to be moved; and with a half-smotheredword, not of the politest, she turned short about to find Bishop;though she was well aware that so much time had been wasted that thething was now desperate. Again she asked Ann, who had been listeningto the colloquy, where Bishop was.

  "He went up to the young lady," Ann answered.

  "He did not, I tell you. For she is not up but out!"

  "Perhaps he has followed her."

  "Perhaps you're a liar!" Mrs. Gilson cried. And advancing on Ann witha threatening gesture, "If you don't tell me where he is, I'll shakeyou, woman! Do you hear?"

  Ann hesitated; when who should appear at the foot of the stairs butBishop himself, looking foolish.

  "Where's the young lady?" he asked. "Where's your wits?" Mrs. Gilsonretorted. "She's out by the back-door this five minutes. If you wantto catch her you'd best be quick!" And as with a face of consternationhe hurried through the house, "She didn't turn Ambleside way!" shecalled after him. "That's all I know!"

  This was something, but it left, as Bishop knew, two roads open. For,besides the field-path which led up the hill and through the wood, andso over the shoulder to Troutbeck, a farm lane turned short to theright behind the out-buildings, and ran into the lower road towardsCalgarth and Bowness. Which had the girl taken? Bishop paused indoubt, and gazed either way. She was not to be seen on the slopeleading up to the wood; but then, she was not to be seen on the otherpath. Still, he espied something there which gave him hope. On thehillside the snow had melted, but here and there on the north side ofa wall, or in a sheltered spot, it lay; and a little way along thefarm-road was such a patch extending across its width. Bishop hastenedto the place, and a glance told him that the girl had not gone thatway. With rising hopes he set off up the hill.

  He was stout and short-winded, more at home in Cornhill than on realhills, and he did not expect to gain upon her. But he felt sure thathe should find her track: and its direction where the fells were sosparsely peopled must tell him much. He remembered that it was at theupper end of the wood that he had surprised her on the occasion whenher agitation had led him to question her. He resolved to make asquickly as possible for that point.

  True enough, where the path entered the wood he came upon herfootsteps imprinted in the snow; and he pushed on, through the covertto the upper end. Here, just within the wicket which opened on theroad, lay some drifted snow; and as much to recover his breath, asbecause he thought it needful, he stopped to note the direction of herfootprints. Alas, the snow bore no trace of feet! No one, it wasclear, had passed through the gate that day.

  This was a check, and he turned his back on the road, and mopped hisforehead with a handkerchief which he took from his hat. He gazed,nonplussed, into the recesses of the wood through which he had passed.The undergrowth, which was of oak--with here and there a clump ofhollies--still carried a screen of brown leaves, doomed to fall withthe spring, but sufficient in the present to mask a fugitive.Moreover, in the damp bottom, where the bridge spanned the rivulet, acompany might have lain hidden; and above him, where the wood climbedthe shoulder, there were knolls and dells, and unprobed depths ofyellow bracken, that defied the eye. Between him and this backgroundthe brown trunks stood at intervals, shot with the gold of thedeclining sun, or backed by a cold patch of snow: and the scene hadbeen beautiful, in its russet livery of autumn blended with winter, ifhe had had eyes for it, or for aught but the lurking figure he hopedto detect.

  That figure, however, he could not see. And again he stooped, andinspected the snow beside the gate. No, she had not passed, that wascertain; and baffled, and in a most unhappy mood, he raised himselfand listened. Above him a squirrel, scared by his approach, wasangrily clawing a branch; a robin, drawn by the presence of a man,alighted near him, and hopped nearer. But no rustle of flying skirts,no sound of snapping twigs or falling stones came to him. And, a cityman by training, and much at a loss here, he mopped his brow andswore. Every second was precious, and he was losing minutes. He waslosing minutes, and learning nothing!

  Was she hiding in the wood pending his departure? Or had she doubledback the way she had come, and so escaped, laughing and contemptuous?Or had she passed out by some gate unknown to him? Or climbed thefence? Or was she even now meeting her man in some hiding-place amongthe hollies, or in some fern-clad retreat out of sight and hearing?

  Bishop could not tell. He was wholly at a loss. For a few seconds heentertained the wild notion of beating, the wood for her; but he hadnot taken a dozen steps before he set it aside, and went back to thegate. Henrietta on the occasion when her bearing had confirmed hissuspicions had descended the road to the wood. He would go up theroad. And even as he thought of this, and laid his hand on the gate toopen it, he heard a footstep coming heavily down the road.

  He went to meet the man; a tall, grinning rustic, who bore a sheep onhis shoulders with its fore and hind feet in either hand, so that itlooked like a gigantic ruff. At a sign from the officer he stopped,but did not lower his burden.

  "Meet anybody as you came down the road, my lad?" Bishop asked.

  "Noa," the man drawled.

  "Where have you come from? Troutbeck?"

  "Ay."

  "You haven't met a young lady?"

  "Noa! Met no soul, master!" the man answered, in the accent not onlyof Westmoreland, but of truth.

  "Not even a pretty girl?"

  The man grinned more widely.

  "Noa, not nobody," he said.

  And he went on down the road, but twice looked back, turning sheep andall, to see what the stranger would be at.

  Bishop stood for a few moments pondering the question, and then hefollowed the man.

  "If she is not up the road," he argued, "it is ten to one that shestarted up the hill to throw us off the scent. And she's slipped downherself towards Calgarth. It's that way, too, she went to meet him atnight."

  And gradually quickening his steps as the case seemed clearer and hishopes grew stronger he was soon out of sight.