The Triumph of Hilary Blachland

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER TEN.

  AS GOOD AS HER WORD.

  It was post day at Lannercost, and whereas the delivery of Her Majesty'smails was only of weekly occurrence, the fact constituted a small event.Such delivery was effected by the usual harmless necessary native, whoconveyed the mail bag by field and flood from the adjacentField-cornet's--in this instance from Earle's.

  "It's just possible, Bayfield, I may hear something by this post whichmay necessitate my leaving you almost immediately."

  "Oh, hang it, Blachland! Are you at that game again? Where do youthink of moving to next, if not an impertinent question?"

  "Up-country again. I've interests there still. And things arebeginning to look dickey. Lo Ben's crowd is turning restive again.We've most of us thought all along that they were bound to force the oldman's hand. It's only a question of time."

  "So?" And then they fell to talking over that and kindred questions,until finally a moving object, away down the valley, but rapidly drawingnearer, resolved itself into a mounted native.

  The two men were sitting in the shade at the bottom of one of thegardens, where Bayfield had been doing an odd job or two with a spade--cutting out a water furrow here, or clearing one there and so forth--pausing every now and then for a smoke and a desultory chat.

  "Hey, September! Bring the bag here," he called out in Dutch, as thepostboy was about to pass.

  The boy swung himself from his pony, and handed over the leathern bag tohis master.

  "Great Scott, here's a nuisance!" exclaimed the latter, fumbling in hispockets. "I believe I haven't got the key. It's up at the house.We'll have to send September for it--or go up ourselves and open the bagthere."

  The last thing that Blachland desired was either of these courses. Ifthey sent up for the key, Lyn would be sure to come down with itherself. If they went themselves, the bag would be opened in herpresence, and this, for good reasons of his own, he did not wish. Infact he had deftly manoeuvred Bayfield down here with the object ofintercepting it.

  "Ah, here it is!" cried the latter, disentangling a bunch of keys fromthe recesses of a pocket. "Got into the lining."

  In a trice the bag was unlocked and its contents extracted by the simpleprocess of turning them out on to the ground.

  "Here you are, Blachland," handing him two. "Miss Bayfield, MissBayfield," he read out, "that's all for Lyn. _Illustrated LondonNews_--George Bayfield--George Bayfield. Here's another, that's foryou--no, it isn't, it's me. Looked like Blachland at first. That'sall. Here you are, September. Take that on to Miss Lyn," replacing thelatter's correspondence in the bag.

  "_Ja, Baas_." And the Kaffir jogged off.

  Blachland stood there, outwardly calm, but, in reality, stirred throughand through. The blow had fallen. The writing on the enclosure whichhis friend had so nearly handed to him, how well he knew it; could itbe, he thought, in a flash of sardonic irony--there had once been a timewhen it was the most welcome sight his glance could rest upon? The blowhad fallen. Hermia had been as good as her word, but even then therewere mitigating circumstances, for a ghastly idea had occurred to himthat she might, in the plenitude of her malice, have written direct toLyn, whereas the addresses on the girl's correspondence were indifferent hands, and which in fact he had seen before. Indeed had itbeen otherwise he intended to warn Bayfield on no account to pass on theletter until that worthy had satisfied himself as to its contents.

  "Just as I thought. I've got to clear, and rather sharp too. In fact,to-morrow," running his eyes over his letters.

  "Have you, old chap? What a beastly nuisance," answered Bayfield,looking up. "We shall miss you no end."

  Would he? Why on earth didn't the man get on with his correspondence,thought Blachland, for the tension was getting upon his nerves. But theother went chatting on--partly regrets over his own departure--partlyabout some stock sale of which he had just had news.

  "Hallo! Who's this from?" he said at last. "I don't know that writinga hang. Well, it's soon settled," tearing the envelope open, with alaugh.

  But in a moment the laugh died. George Bayfield was grave enough now.A whistle of amazement escaped him, and more than one smotheredexclamation of disgust. Blachland, without appearing to, watched himnarrowly. Would he never get to the end of that closely written sheetand a half?

  "Have you any idea what this is about?"

  The tone was short. All the old cordiality seemed to have left it.

  "Very much of an idea, Bayfield. I expected something of the kind, andfor that very reason, to be quite candid with you, I manoeuvred weshould get the post out here away from the house."

  "I didn't think you'd have done that to us, Blachland. To think ofthis--this person, under the same roof with--even shaking hands with--myLyn. Faugh! Good Heavens! man, you might have spared us this!"

  "Wouldn't I--if it had been possible? But it was not. I give you myword of honour I had no more idea of that woman's presence at Earle's,or indeed in the neighbourhood, or even in this country, than you hadyourself. You'll do me the credit of believing that, won't you?"

  "Why, yes, Blachland. Anything you give me your word for I believeimplicitly."

  "Thanks. You are a true friend, Bayfield. You may believe anotherthing--and that is that had I known of her presence in theneighbourhood, I should have kept away from it. Why, she didn't evenknow of mine either. Each was about as surprised as the other when wemet, yesterday morning. What could I do then, Bayfield? Raise a sceneon the spot, and expose her--and kick up a horrible scandal, with theresult of simply bespattering the air with mire, around the very one weintend to keep from any such contact? No good purpose could be servedby acting otherwise than as I acted. Could it now?"

  "No. I suppose not. In fact, I quite see the force of all you say.Still, it's horrible, revolting."

  "Yes. Believe me, Bayfield, I am as distressed about it as you are.But there is this consolation. Not an atom of real harm has been doneso far. Lyn is in blissful ignorance as to who it was she met, andthere is no reason on earth why she should ever know."

  Even while he spoke there occurred to him another aspect of the case--and the probability that this had not been overlooked by Lyn's fatheroccurred to him too. Would not the latter regard him as upon much thesame plane as Hermia herself?

  "You see," he went on, "I shall be clearing out the first thing in themorning, so she," with a jerk of the thumb in the direction of far-awayEarle's, "is not likely to give you any further trouble. Besides, aftergiving herself away like this, she will have to go her way as well. Ifshe doesn't, I advise you to let Earle into the story. She won't belong there after that. By the way, would you mind letting me seeexactly what she has said? We shall know better where we are then."

  "Yes, I think so," said the other.

  Blachland took the letter and read it through carefully and deliberatelyfrom end to end. It was a narrative of their _liaison_, and that only.But the blame of its initiation the writer ascribed to himself. This hepointed out to Bayfield.

  "The boot was, if anything on the other foot," he said. "But let thatpass. Now, why do you suppose she has given all this away?"

  "To revenge herself upon you for leaving her."

  "But I didn't leave her. She left me--cleared with a young ass of aprospector, during one of my necessary absences, of which I notice,she's careful not to say one word. Clearly she never bargained for myseeing this at all."

  "By Jove! You don't say so?"

  "It's hard fact. Well, her motive is to revenge herself upon me, butnot for that. It is because she had entangled that young fool PercyWest--had made him engage himself to her. He told me this the night wewere at Earle's, and I put my foot down on it at once. I gave her thechance of drawing out of it, of releasing him, and she refused it.--Iput the alternative before her, and she simply defied me. `If you giveme away, I'll give you away,' those were her words. I couldn't allowthe youngster to enter into any such contract as
that, could I?"

  "Of course not. Go on."

  "So I told him the whole thing on our way out the other morning. Itchoked him clean off her--of course. I was as good as my word, and shewas as good as hers. That's the whole yarn in a nutshell."

  Bayfield nodded. He seemed to be thinking deeply, as he filled his pipemeditatively, and passed the pouch over to Blachland. There was onething for which the latter felt profoundly thankful. Remembering themore than insinuation Hermia had thrown out, he had noticed withunspeakable relief that there was no reference whatever to Lynthroughout the communication. Even she had shrunk from such an outrageas that, and for this he felt almost grateful to her.

  "This Mrs Fenham, or St. Clair, or whatever her name is," saidBayfield, glancing at the subscription of the letter, "seems to be a badegg all round. Seems to be omnivorous, by Jove!"

  "She has an abnormal capacity for making fools of the blunder-headedsex, as I can testify," was the answer, given dryly. "Well Bayfield, Idon't want to whitewash myself, let alone trot out the old Adamiteexcuse--I don't set up to be better than other people, and have been agood deal worse than some. You know, as a man of the world, that thereis a certain kind of trap laid throughout our earlier life to catch usat every turn. Well, I've fallen into a good many such traps, but Ican, with perfect honesty, say I've never set one. Do you follow?"

  "Perfectly," replied Bayfield, who thought that such was more thanlikely the case. He was mentally passing in review Blachland'sdemeanour towards Lyn, during the weeks they had been fellow inmates,and he pronounced it to be absolutely flawless. The pleasant,unrestrained, easy friendship between the two had been exactly all itshould be--on the part of the one, all that was sympathetic, courteousand considerate, with almost a dash of the paternal, for the girl wasnearly young enough to be his daughter--on that of the other, a liking,utterly open and undisguised, for Lyn liked him exceedingly, and made nosecret of it--and if hers was not a true instinct, whose was? Bayfieldwas not a man to adjudge another a blackguard because he had sown somewild oats, and this one he acquitted entirely--and he said something tothat effect.

  "Thanks," was the reply. "I don't care a rap for other people'sopinions about myself, good, bad, or indifferent, as a rule, but I'mrather glad you don't judge me too hardly, on account of this infernal_contretemps_?"

  "Oh, I don't judge you at all, old chap, so don't run away with thatidea. We ain't any of us silver-gilt saints if the truth were known, orif we are, it's generally for want of opportunity to become the otherthing, at any rate, that's my belief. And Lyn likes you so much,Blachland, and her instinct's never at fault."

  "God bless her!" was the fervent reply. "I don't wonder, Bayfield, thatyou almost worship that child. I know if she were my child I shouldrather more than entirely."

  "Would you?" said the other, his whole face softening. "Well, that'sabout what I do. Come along up to the house, Blachland, and let'sforget all about this rotten affair. I'll take jolly good care I keepit away from her by hook or by crook, anyhow. It's a beastly boreyou've got to clear to-morrow, but you know your own business best, andit never does to let business slide. You'll roll up again next timeyou're down this way of course. I say though, you mustn't go gettingany more fever."

  As a matter of fact, Blachland's presence was no more needed up-country,either in his own interests or anybody else's, than was that of the Shahof Persia. But, it would simplify matters to leave then, besidesaffording Bayfield a freer hand: and for another thing, it would enablehim to make sure of getting his young kinsman out of the toils.

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  Something of a gloom lay upon that household of three that evening, byreason of the impending departure of this one who had been so long aninmate in their midst, and had identified himself so completely withtheir daily life.

  "Mr Blachland, but I wish I was big enough to go with you," announcedsmall Fred. "Man, but I'd like to see those Matabele chaps, and have ashot at a lion."

  "Some day, when you are big enough, perhaps you shall, Fred. And, lookhere, when your father thinks you are big enough to begin to shoot--andthat'll be pretty soon now--I'm to give you your first gun. That's abargain, eh, Bayfield?"

  "_Magtig_! but you're spoiling the nipper, Blachland," was the reply."You're a lucky chap, Fred, I can tell you."

  Somehow, Lyn was not in prime voice for the old songs in the course ofthe evening, in fact she shut down the concert with suspiciousabruptness. When it became time to say good night, she thrust intoBlachland's hand a small, flat, oblong packet:

  "A few of my poor little drawings," she said, rather shyly. "You saidyou would like to have one or two, and these will remind you perhaps alittle of old Lannercost, when you are far away."

  "Why, Lyn, how awfully good of you. I can't tell you how I shall valuethem. They will seem to bring back all the good times we have hadtogether here. And, now, good night. I suppose it's good-bye too."

  "Oh no, it isn't. I shall be up to see you off."

  "But think what an ungodly hour I'm going to start at."

  "That doesn't matter. Of course I'm going to see you off."

  "Why, rather," struck in small Fred.

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  Morning dawned, frosty and clear, and the intending travellerappreciated the thick warmth of his heavy ulster to the full, as heprepared to mount to the seat of Bayfield's buggy, beside the native boywho was to bring back the vehicle after depositing him at the districttown, nearly fifty miles away. There was no apparent gloom about thetrio now. They were there to give him a cheery send off.

  "Well, good-bye, old chap," cried Bayfield, as they gripped hands. "Ithink there's everything in the buggy you'll want on the way."

  "Good-bye, Bayfield, old pal," was the hearty reply. "Good-bye, Lyn,"holding the girl's hands in both of his, and gazing down affectionatelyinto the sweet, pure face. "God bless you, child, and don't forget yourtrue and sincere old friend in too great a hurry. Fred--good-bye, oldchappie." And he climbed into his seat and was gone.

  The trio stood looking after the receding vehicle until it disappearedover the roll of the hill--waving an occasional hat or a handkerchief asits occupant looked back. Then Fred broke forth:

  "Man--Lyn, but Mr Blachland's a fine chap! _Tis waar_, I'm sorry he'sgone--ain't you?"

  He had pretty well voiced the general sense. They felt somehow, that avacant place had been set up in their midst.

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  Later that morning Bayfield chanced to return to the house from his workoutside. It seemed empty. Small Fred was away at the bottom of thegarden with a catapult, keeping down the swarming numbers of predatorymouse-birds and the wilier spreuw. But where was Lyn? Just then asound striking upon the silence brought him to a standstill, amazementand consternation personified, so utterly strange and unwonted was sucha sound in that household, and it proceeded from the girl's room.Gently, noiselessly, he opened the door.

  She was seated by her bed, her back towards him. Her face was buried inher hands, and her whole form was heaving with low convulsive sobs.

  "Lyn! Great Heaven! What's the matter? Lyn--My little Lyn!"

  She rose at her father's voice and came straight into his arms. Thenshe looked up at him, through her tears, forcing a smile.

  "My little one, what is it? There, there, tell your old father," hepleaded, a whirlwind of tenderness and concern shaking his voice as heheld her to him. "Tell me, sweetheart."

  "It's nothing, dearest," she answered but quaveringly, and still forcingherself to smile. "Only--No, it's nothing. But--when people are here along time, and you get to like them a lot and they go away--why it's--oh, it's beastly. That's all, old father--" dashing away her tears, andforcing herself to smile in real earnest. "And I'm a little fool,that's all. But I won't be any mor
e. See, I'm all right now."

  "My little Lyn! My own little one!" he repeated, kissing her tenderly,now rather more moved than she was.

  And Lyn was as good as her word. All his solicitous but furtivewatching, failed to detect any sign or symptom that her outburst ofgrief was anything more than a perfectly natural and childlikemanifestation of her warm little heart.

  And yet, there were times, when, recurring to it in his own mind, honestGeorge Bayfield would grow grave and shake his head and ejaculate softlyto himself:

  "My little Lyn! No--it can't be. Oh, Great Scot!"

  End of Book II.