With a throbbing heart, Mary obeyed her companion, and they walked side by side by the edge of the grassy bank and under the tall trees — the distance between them and the two mounted figures momentarily diminishing.
“I say he’s as lame as a hop-jack,” cried the well-known voice of Nicholas Blarden, as they approached— “hav’n’t you an eye in your head, you mouth, you — look there — another false step, by Jove.”
Just at this moment the girls, looking neither to the right nor left, and almost sinking with fear, were passing them by.
“Stop you, one of you, will you?” said Blarden, addressing them, and at the same time reining in his horse.
Flora Guy stopped, and making a slight curtsey, awaited his further pleasure, while Mary Ashwoode, with faltering steps and almost dead with terror, walked slowly on.
“Have you light enough to see a stone in a horse’s hoof, my dimber hen? — have you, I say?”
“Yes, sir,” faltered the girl, with another curtsey, and not venturing to raise her voice, for fear of detection.
“Well, look into them all in turn, will you?” continued Blarden, “while I walk the beast a bit. Do you see anything? is there a stone there? — is there?”
“No, sir,” said she again, with a curtsey.
“No, sir,” echoed he— “but I say ‘yes, sir,’ and I’ll take my oath of it. D —— n it, it can’t be a strain. Get down, Ashwoode, I say, and look to it yourself; these blasted women are fit for nothing but darning old stockings — get down, I say, Ashwoode.”
Without awaiting for any more formal dismissal, Flora Guy walked quickly on, and speedily overtook her companion, and side by side they continued to go at the same moderate pace, until a sudden turn in the road interposing trees and bushes between them and the two horsemen, they renewed their flight at the swiftest pace which their exhausted strength could sustain; and need had they to exert their utmost speed, for greater dangers than they had yet escaped were still to follow.
Meanwhile Nicholas Blarden and Sir Henry Ashwoode mended their pace, and proceeded at a brisk trot toward the manor of Morley Court. Both rode on more than commonly silent, and whenever Blarden spoke, it was with something more than his usual savage moroseness. No doubt their rapid approach to the scene where their hellish cruelty and oppression were to be completed, did not serve either to exhilarate their spirits or to soothe the asperities of Blarden’s ruffian temper. Now and then, indeed, he did indulge in a few flashes of savage exulting glee at his anticipated triumph over the hereditary pride of Sir Henry, against whom, with all a coward’s rancour, he still cherished a “lodged hate,” and in mortifying and insulting whom his kestrel heart delighted and rioted with joy. As they approached the ancient avenue, as if by mutual consent, they both drew bridle and reduced their pace to a walk.
“You shall be present and give her away — do you mind?” said Blarden, abruptly breaking silence.
“There’s no need for that — surely there is none?” said Ashwoode.
“Need or no need, it’s my humour,” replied Blarden.
“I’ve suffered enough already in this matter,” replied Sir Henry, bitterly; “there’s no use in heaping gratuitous annoyances and degradation upon me.”
“Ho, ho, running rusty,” exclaimed Blarden, with the harsh laugh of coarse insult— “running rusty, eh? I thought you were broken in by this time — paces learned and mouth made, eh? — take care, take care.”
“I say,” repeated Ashwoode, impetuously, “you can have no object in compelling my presence, except to torment me.”
“Well, suppose I allow that — what then, eh? — ho, ho!” retorted Blarden.
Sir Henry did not reply, but a strange fancy crossed his mind.
“I say,” resumed Blarden, “I’ll have no argument about it; I choose it, and what I choose must be done — that’s enough.”
The road was silent and deserted; no sound, save the ringing of their own horses’ hoofs upon the stones, disturbed the stillness of the air; dark, ragged clouds obscured the waning moon, and the shadows were deepened further by the stooping branches of the tall trees which guarded the road on either side. Ashwoode’s hand rested upon the pommel of his holster pistol, and by his side moved the wretch whose cunning and ferocity had dogged and destroyed him — with startling vividness the suggestion came. His eyes rested upon the dusky form of his companion, all calculations of consequences faded away from his remembrance, and yielding to the dark, dreadful influence which was upon him, he clutched the weapon with a deadly gripe.
“What are you staring at me for? — am I a stone wall, eh?” exclaimed Blarden, who instinctively perceived something odd in Ashwoode’s air and attitude, spite of the obscurity in which they rode.
The spell was broken. Ashwoode felt as if awaking from a dream, and looked fearfully round, almost expecting to behold the visible presence of the principle of mischief by his side, so powerful and vivid had been the satanic impulse of the moment before.
They turned into the great avenue through which so lately the fugitives had fearfully sped.
“We’re at home now,” cried Blarden; “come, be brisk, will you?” And so saying, he struck Ashwoode’s horse a heavy blow with his whip. The spirited animal reared and bolted, and finally started at a gallop down the broad avenue towards the mansion, and at the same pace Nicholas Blarden also thundered to the hall door.
CHAPTER LX.
THE UNTREASURED CHAMBER.
Their obstreperous summons at the door was speedily answered, and the two cavaliers stood in the hall.
“Well, all’s right, I suppose?” inquired Blarden, tossing his gloves and hat upon the table.
“Yes, sir,” replied the servant, “all but the lady’s maid; Mr. Chancey’s been calling for her these five minutes and more, and we can’t find her.”
“How’s this — all the doors locked?” inquired Blarden vehemently.
“Ay, sir, every one of them,” replied the man.
“Who has the keys?” asked Blarden.
“Mr. Chancey, sir,” replied the servant.
“Did he allow them out of his keeping — did he?” urged Blarden.
“No, sir — not a moment — for he was saying this very minute,” answered the domestic, “he had them in his pocket, and the key of Miss Mary’s room along with them; he took it from Flora Guy, the maid, scarce a quarter of an hour ago.”
“Then all is right,” said Blarden, while the momentary blackness of suspicion passed from his face, “the girl’s in some hole or corner of this lumbering old barrack, but here comes Chancey himself, what’s all the fuss about — who’s in the upper room — the — the boudoir, eh?” he continued, addressing the barrister, who was sneaking downstairs with a candle in his hand, and looking unusually sallow.
“The Reverend Ebenezer and one of the lads — they’re sitting there,” answered Chancey, “but we can’t find that little girl, Flora Guy, anywhere.”
“Have you the keys?” asked Blarden.
“Ay, dear me, to be sure I have, except the one that I gave to little Bat there, to let you in this minute. I have the three other keys; dear me — dear me — what could ail me?” And so saying, Chancey slapped the skirt of his coat slightly so as to make them jingle in his pocket.
“The windows are all fast and safe as the wall itself — screwed down,” observed Blarden, “let’s see the keys — show them here.”
Chancey accordingly drew them from his pocket, and laid them on the table.
“There’s the three of them,” observed he, calmly.
“Have you no more?” inquired Blarden, looking rather aghast.
“No, indeed, the devil a one,” replied Chancey, thrusting his arm to the elbow in his coat pocket.
“D — n me, but I think this is the key of the cellar,” ejaculated Blarden, in a tone which energized even the apathetic lawyer, “come here, Ashwoode, what key’s this?”
“It is the cellar key,” said Ashwoode, i
n a faltering voice and turning very pale.
“Try your pockets for another, and find it, or —— .” The aposiopesis was alarming, and Blarden’s direction was obeyed instantaneously.
“I declare to God,” said Chancey, much alarmed, “I have but the three, and that in the door makes four.”
“You d —— d oaf,” said Blarden, between his set teeth, “if you have botched this business, I’ll let you know for what. Ashwoode, which of the keys is missing?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ashwoode led the way through the passage which Mary and her companion had so lately traversed.
“That’s the door,” said he, pointing to that through which the escape had been effected.
“And what’s this?” cried Blarden, shouldering past Sir Henry, and raising something from the ground, just by the doorpost, “a handkerchief, and marked, too — it’s the young lady’s own — give me the key of the lady’s chamber,” continued he, in a low changed voice, which had, in the ears of the barrister, something more unpleasant still than his loudest and harshest tones— “give me the key, and follow me.”
He clutched it, and followed by the terror-stricken barrister, and by Sir Henry Ashwoode, he retraced his steps, and scaled the stairs with hurried and lengthy strides. Without stopping to glance at the form of the still slumbering drunkard, or to question the servant who sat opposite, on the chair recently occupied by Chancey, he strode directly to the door of Mary Ashwoode’s sleeping apartment, opened it, and stood in an untenanted chamber.
For a moment he paused, aghast and motionless; he ran to the bed — still warm with the recent pressure of his intended victim — the room was, indeed, deserted. He turned round, absolutely black and speechless with rage. As he advanced, the wretched barrister — the tool of his worst schemes — cowered back in terror. Without speaking one word, Blarden clutched him by the throat, and hurled him with his whole power backward. With tremendous force he descended with his head upon the bar of the grate, and thence to the hearthstone; there, breathless, powerless, and to all outward seeming a livid corpse, lay the devil’s cast-off servant, the red blood trickling fast from ears, nose, and mouth. Not waiting to see whether Chancey was alive or dead, Mr. Blarden seized the brandy flask and dashed it in the face of the stupid drunkard — who, disturbed by the fearful hubbub, was just beginning to open his eyes — and leaving that reverend personage drenched in blood and brandy, to take care of his boon companion as best he might, Blarden strode down the stairs, followed by Ashwoode and the servants.
“Get horses — horses all,” shouted he, “to the stables — by Jove, it was they we met on the road — the two girls — quick to the stables — whoever catches them shall have his hat full of crowns.”
Led by Blarden, they all hurried to the stables, where they found the horses unsaddled.
“On with the saddles — for your life be quick,” cried Blarden, “four horses — fresh ones.”
While uttering his furious mandates, with many a blasphemous imprecation, he aided the preparations himself, and with hands that trembled with eagerness and rage, he drew the girths, and buckled the bridles, and in almost less than a minute, the four horses were led out upon the broken pavement of the stableyard.
“Mind, boys,” cried Blarden, “they are two mad-women — escaped mad-women — ride for your lives. Ashwoode, do you take the right, and I’ll take the left when we come on the road — do you follow me, Tony — and Dick, do you go with Sir Henry — and, now, devil take the hindmost.” With these words he plunged the spurs into his horse’s flanks, and with the speed of a thunder blast, they all rode helter-skelter, in pursuit of their human prey.
CHAPTER LXI.
THE CART AND THE STRAW.
While this was passing, the two girls continued their flight toward Dublin city. They had not long passed Ashwoode and Nicholas Blarden, when Mary’s strength entirely failed, and she was forced first to moderate her pace to a walk, and finally to stop altogether and seat herself upon the bank which sloped abruptly down to the road.
“Flora,” said she, faintly, “I am quite exhausted — my strength is entirely gone; I must perforce rest myself and take breath here for a few minutes, and then, with God’s help, I shall again have power to proceed.”
“Do so, my lady,” said Flora, taking her stand beside her mistress, “and I’ll watch and listen here by you. Hish! don’t I hear the sound of a car on the road before us?”
So, indeed, it seemed, and at no great distance too. The road, however, just where they had placed themselves, made a sweep which concealed the vehicle, whatever it might be, effectually from their sight. The girl clambered to the top of the bank, and thence commanding a view of that part of the highway which beneath was hidden from sight, she beheld, two or three hundred yards in advance of them, a horse and cart, the driver of which was seated upon the shaft, slowly wending along in the direction of the city.
“My lady,” said she, descending from her post of observation, “if you have strength to run on for only a few perches more of the road, we’ll be up with a car, and get a lift into town without any more trouble; try it, my lady.”
Accordingly they again set forth, and after a few minutes’ further exertion, they came up with the vehicle and accosted the driver, a countryman, with a short pipe in his mouth, who, with folded arms, sat listlessly upon the shaft.
“Honest man, God bless you, and give us a bit of a lift,” said Flora Guy; “we’ve come a long way and very fast, and we are fairly tired to death.”
The countryman drew the halter which he held, and uttering an unspellable sound, addressed to his horse, succeeded in bringing him and the vehicle to a standstill.
“Never say it twiste,” said he; “get up, and welcome. Wait a bit, till I give the straw a turn for yees; not for it; step on the wheel; don’t be in dread, he won’t move.”
So saying, he assisted Mary Ashwoode into the rude vehicle, and not without wondering curiosity, for the hand which she extended to him was white and slender, and glittered in the moonlight with jewelled rings. Flora Guy followed; but before the cart was again in motion, they distinctly heard the far-off clatter of galloping hoofs upon the road. Their fears too truly accounted for these sounds.
“Merciful God! we are pursued,” said Mary Ashwoode; and then turning to the driver, she continued, with an agony of imploring terror— “as you look for pity at the dreadful hour when all shall need it, do not betray us. If it be as I suspect, we are pursued — pursued with an evil — a dreadful purpose. I had rather die a thousand deaths than fall into the hands of those who are approaching.”
“Never fear,” interrupted the man; “lie down flat both of you in the cart and I’ll hide you — never fear.”
They obeyed his directions, and he spread over their prostrate bodies a covering of straw; not quite so thick, however, as their fears would have desired; and thus screened, they awaited the approach of those whom they rightly conjectured to be in hot pursuit of them. The man resumed his seat upon the shaft, and once more the cart was in motion.
Meanwhile, the sharp and rapid clang of the hoofs approached, and before the horsemen had reached them, the voice of Nicholas Blarden was shouting —
“Holloa — holloa, honest fellow — saw you two young women on the road?”
There was scarcely time allowed for an answer, when the thundering clang of the iron hoofs resounded beside the conveyance in which the fugitives were lying, and the horsemen both, with a sudden and violent exertion, brought their beasts to a halt, and so abruptly, that although thrown back upon their haunches, the horses slid on for several yards upon the hard road, by the mere impetus of their former speed, knocking showers of fire flakes from the stones.
“I say,” repeated Blarden, “did two girls pass you on the road — did you see them?”
“Divil a sign of a girl I see,” replied the man, carelessly; and to their infinite relief, the two fugitives heard their pursuer, with a muttered curse, plu
nge forward upon his way. This relief, however, was but momentary, for checking his horse again, Blarden returned.
“I say, my good chap, I passed you before tonight, not ten minutes since, on my way out of town, not half-a-mile from this spot — the girls were running this way, and if they’re between this and the gate — they must have passed you.”
“Devil a girl I seen this —— Oh, begorra! you’re right, sure enough,” said the driver, “what the devil was I thinkin’ about — two girls — one of them tall and slim, with rings on her fingers — and the other a short, active bit of a colleen?”
“Ay — ay — ay,” cried Blarden.
“Sure enough they did overtake me,” said the man, “shortly after I passed two gentlemen — I suppose you are one of them — and the little one axed me the direction of Harold’s-cross — and when I showed it to them, bedad they both made no more bones about it, but across the ditch with them, an’ away over the fields — they’re halfway there by this time — it was jist down there by the broken bridge — they were quare-looking girls.”
“It would be d —— d odd if they were not — they’re both mad,” replied Blarden; “thank you for your hint.”
And so saying, as he turned his horse’s head in the direction indicated, he chucked a crown piece into the cart. As the conveyance proceeded, they heard the driver soliloquizing with evident satisfaction —
“Bedad, they’ll have a plisint serenade through the fields, the two of them,” observed he, standing upon the shafts, and watching the progress of the two horsemen— “there they go, begorra — over the ditch with them. Oh, by the hokey, the sarvint boy’s down — the heart’s blood iv a toss — an’ oh, bloody wars! see the skelp iv the whip the big chap gives him — there they go again down the slope — now for it — over the gripe with them — well done, bedad, and into the green lane — devil take the bushes, I can’t see another sight iv them. Young women,” he continued, again assuming his sitting position, and replacing his pipe in the corner of his mouth— “all’s safe now — they’re clean out of sight — you may get up, miss.”
Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated) Page 41
