However this might be, there was no doubt that for Joscelyn too the Duke had the most alarming intelligence. I was myself, as you know, a little prepared for it, on the score of what I had learned from young Tom Grindell. But the Duke had further news – and such as one might have expected to hear from the melodramatists of Drury Lane rather than from a great English nobleman! Being concerned by what he had heard of the ill odour into which Edward’s freak was leading him, he had caused discreet inquiries to be made elsewhere. And Joscelyn’s pillage, he found, was strongly conjectured, although perhaps not positively known in a quarter which, although exalted, was accustomed to the exercise of absolute power, and took small account of law. Moreover the theft that had been perpetrated was like to be regarded, in that same circle, less as a misdemeanour than an insult; and the punishment visited upon it might well be arbitary, violent, and much in disregard of the Queen’s peace. It would be, perhaps, the black eye first, and the Black Book thereafter!
It was at this point that I began – and that with some indignation – to smoke the Duke of Nesfield. His concern for us was perhaps genuine, and his proposals rational. But – incurably – he was a jester, and it was now his amusement to appal and dismay his foolish neighbours! That confidential inquiries were already being made after the treasure I believed to be true; that the accredited agents of a friendly Power, even if not of the most civilized, would venture to offer personal violence to an English Baronet, I judged absolutely not possible. But Joscelyn (I am ashamed to say) appeared otherwise persuaded; something of Edward’s unworthy panic appeared to be communicated to him; although sober, he was not collected; and a judgement which bad conscience rendered infirm, excessive trepidation now quite overthrew! He began to cry out in ignoble agitation, and to no reasonable purpose!
All this, I verily believe, was highly diverting to the Duke of Nesfield. But a nobleman always remembers the proprieties requisite in the society of ladies. Now, glancing at Lady Jory and myself, he seemed conscious that at any moment the night’s absurdities might take a turn so extravagant as to be wholly unfit for our notice. And at this he advanced upon my sister with gravity; announced that he now proposed, together with Sir Joscelyn and Mr Edward, to join once more the gentlemen in the other room; and expressed his wish that Lady Jory’s high sense of the duties of hospitality should not longer detain her, or her charming sister, from repose.
On this sufficient hint, we bade the Duke goodnight, and he bowed himself from the drawing-room, taking my brothers with him. It was now necessary that I should endeavour to calm Lady Jory, whose distress at his Grace’s alarming communications was not lessened by the fact of her making very little of them. For this purpose I sat down beside her, and it thus happened that we remained for a little time, downstairs and together, before finally parting for the night. I said what I could, and without great effort as to the choice of words. On such occasions, after all, it is the tone and demeanour that are of account.
Meanwhile my ear was less attentive to such remarks (and they were very little to the purpose) as my sister offered than to the sounds yet coming from the dining-room. It was to be supposed that the Duke’s endeavours would be directed to a quiet and expeditious dispersal of the party still gathered there. Once the gentlemen were climbed into their carriages (or tumbled into them) and away, he would then address himself to the task of extricating my brothers as quickly as possible from the impending consequences of their folly.
What I presently heard, however, was peculiar. The whole company appeared to be yet present – and to be now at a violent debate. There were many cries of indignation, and a few of alarm. Gradually the proportions of these changed, and I had the shocked impression of an entire besotted gathering in mounting panic! How could this come about? Were the high personages from Court, or were the unprincipled emissaries of the Czar already present and declaring themselves? I had only to ask myself such questions for the large truth to dawn upon me! I recalled what I had heard from time to time of previous sportive exploits of the Duke of Nesfield. The element of irresponsible levity in his attitude was much larger than I had suspected. He was in fact, subjecting my brothers and their guests to an elaborate and terrifying imposture! It was even conceivable that I had myself been the first of his victims, or butts, in crediting the extraordinary story of Tom Grindell!
My first impulse, when this humiliating perception came to me, was to pass at once into the dining-room and challenge the Duke to give his word that the alarms he had brought among us were authentic. But several circumstances restrained me. Of these the simplest was the fact that my sister, terrified by the clamour now arising, was clinging to my arm. The next was my realization that truth and falsehood were probably inextricably mingled in the affair; and that the Duke’s conduct, although fantastic and reprehensible, was yet directed, like some similar stratagem in a stage comedy, to the mirthful reproving of vice and reforming of manners. And finally, I had to acknowledge that the situation was grown suddenly beyond any hope of my controlling – for the hubbub was now frantic, and included indeed a great crashing of glass, as if some of the more frenetic of the company were blindly escaping out of window. But at least there was one duty that I could perform. I encouraged Lady Jory to rise, conducted her firmly out of the room and to the quietness of the service staircase, by which we then made our way to her own chamber. There her maid, a faithful creature enough, awaited her, so that presently I was blessedly able to withdraw to my own quarters. I was unfeignedly sorry for my sister. Yet in such extraordinary casualties as we were confronted with a stupid woman is but a tiresome companion. So soon as I was alone, I fell to considering what my next course of conduct should be.
There was still noise in the house; and there appeared to be further uproar both in the remoter offices and in the park. Several times I heard what I took to be a hunting-horn (an instrument which gentlemen delight to have recourse to when upon a frolic) but presently determined to be a bugle; and this was soon followed by what could only be a roll of drums! Was it conceivable that the Militia had been called out? It appeared to be much more likely that these loud alarums merely attested the further extravagance of the Duke’s jest.
I felt some commiseration for my brothers, and particularly for Joscelyn, at whom the whole country was likely to be laughing for a twelvemonth. Yet there was nothing that I could do to assist him, since his condition would be all the more humiliating were it to be added to the story that his maiden sister had been running demented about the park, whether fearing for her virtue at the hands of the invader, or endeavouring to recall her craven brothers to some sense of manliness and reason. It would be best, then, that I should remain invisible, until all this career of folly was run through and over. So much had I determined, when I remembered that which instantly called me to an imperative duty. There was the girl! Isolated from her sex in the abominable Temple of Diana, utterly bewildered (one might be sure) by the pandemonium now unloosed around her, was the unfortunate creature whom the caprice (and, it was to be feared, vice) of Edward had lured so far from the security of her home. It was intolerable that – even for the making of a ducal holiday – this hapless young person should be exposed, unattended, to such terrors. I caught up my cloak and passed rapidly downstairs.
Once in the open air, my route took me past the stables; and there I beheld an extraordinary scene. Outside the coach-house, and by the light of several uncertainly waving lanterns, a small group of gentlemen, still very drunk, were endeavouring to harness a pair of our carriage-horses to some species of cart or wagon. Others, it seemed, were hammering and banging within; and I could just detect through the din the voice of my brother Joscelyn urging his friends to a better speed. The Caucasian treasure, I supposed, was to be hurried away from Old Hall. But to this it appeared that there would be opposition – and that of the most bizarre kind. From somewhere not far off in the park there came a sound of trampling feet, and of commands shouted in a sort of gibberish which might, t
o persons who had lost all command of themselves, have passed as a foreign tongue! I was much disgusted, alike by this further evidence of the tasteless elaboration of the Duke’s jest, and by the wretched imbecility to which it had reduced my brother and his companions. But now the uproar, combined with the incompetence of the gentlemen at their task, had a further effect. First one, and then instantly the other, horse broke free and disappeared at a terrified gallop into the darkness. Ineffective curses and cries of dismay followed them. I tarried no longer. Snatching up from the ground an abandoned lantern that was yet alight, I made my way rapidly to the Temple.
Quite suddenly, and so that they barred my way, I found myself in the presence of three men – outlandishly dressed, and with ludicrous beards such as one might employ in a charade! I was in no mood to be again one of the duped or gulled, and I ordered them sternly to stand back. They hesitated. I added that it was to be presumed no part of their master’s frolic to affront one of the ladies of Old Hall. And at this they made me a sort of sheepish bow and moved aside. Another hundred yards and the Temple was before me. I had expected to find it perhaps yet deserted, and disturbed only by the general uproar pervading the air of our demesne. But here too there was a confusedly animated spectacle! Setting down my lantern, I moved into the shadow of a tree in order to take my bearings as I might.
At the door a further group of the mummers (as they must be called) was pounding with their fists, and at the same time crying for admittance (one supposed) in the same sort of ridiculous gibberish I had already heard. Even as I looked, the round window in the pediment above them opened, and I could see my brother Edward peering down with a pale and frightened face. He seemed then to call out directions to friends behind him; one of the mummers looked up and shouted; Edward hastily drew back his head and clapped the window to. At the same moment I thought I heard, from the back of the building, the creak of some light vehicle being moved softly over grass. You may remember that immediately behind the Temple the ground drops sharply to a narrow, concealed lane, and that upon this there look out several windows, modern in form, belonging to the upper living-rooms in this spuriously antique structure. It seemed to me likely that Edward and his companions – all as fuddled and bemused as himself – were proposing to make their escape through one of these. And no doubt the wretched girl would be obliged to accompany them.
So far, my resolution had not notably failed me; but I was now conscious of a nervous agitation possessing me to an ominous degree! Determined to master this if I could, I moved forward, skirting the side of the Temple, until I found myself at its farther end and leaning over the low stone parapet which there gives protection against the sharp declivity ending in the lane which I have just mentioned. I had neglected to resume possession of my lantern, and all was shadowy and obscure around me. Glancing sideways along the back of the building, I caught a gleam of candlelight at a window, and had the impression of a sash cautiously raised. I peered down into the darkness below. There was certainly a conveyance in the lane, but I was totally unable to determine its character. Then I heard whispers; a second sash had been thrown up; the candlelight, however, had disappeared, as if those within were persuaded that their safety called for absolute darkness. I could only listen. And presently I heard Edward’s voice, slurred but distinguishable, declare that they must trust her, by G—d, to the ropes. Instantly I guessed what was afoot – and I endeavoured (although it would have been of small avail) to cry out against this criminal folly. But no sound would come from my throat; my limbs trembled; a sensation of horrid vertigo overcame me!
For some moments (apart from the pounding and shouting that was yet going on at the front) there was no sound except further unintelligible whispers and heavy breathing, intermingled with here and there a smothered curse. Then I heard my brother call to lower away, for the b—ch was secure. I opened my eyes (which without my own awareness I must have closed in an effort to fight off my giddiness) and saw with horror a faint white blur descending through the darkness from the farthest window. It was unmistakably a woman’s form, with arms held out as if in protection against the rough stone down the face of which she was being lowered. But, even as I looked, it vanished! There was a crash, a cry, and then my brother’s voice raised briefly in a single abominable imprecation. I looked below, and supposed for a second that the world was spinning round me. Then I saw that what I faintly discerned was a wheel slowly turning in air. The vehicle below had been overset in the course of the appalling accident I had just witnessed. I glanced beyond and saw the glimmer of a pale figure, prostrate on the lane. My spirits could sustain no more. For what must have been a matter of some minutes, I fainted away!
Voices recalled me to myself – although not, it was to prove, for long. They came from below, and I realized that Edward and his companions had themselves, by one means or another, gained the lane. They were speaking now in hoarse undertones, and (I thought) upon a new note of terror. I distinguished the tones of Mr Kent, declaring that she had come down on the cart, and that bottom upwards; an unknown voice rejoining angrily that it was no occasion for jesting; and then Edward crying out suddenly that by G—d, he would be hanged. At this a deadly premonition came upon me; horror could no further go; it was without further access of emotion that I next heard Mr Kent call out roughly that there was nothing for it but to get her under ground.
‘Dear Miss Bird – does it surprise you that I knew no more? This time my state of insensibility, moreover, must have been of longer duration. When I came to, there was no further sound from the lane beneath. And I was not alone. Bending over me was none other than the Duke of Nesfield himself! I was assisted to rise; the Duke offered me a brandy-flask, from which I was glad to sip; he then handed me into a carriage which had been summoned, and himself accompanied me back to the Hall. He was very subdued, saying only that it had been something too much; that he hoped my brothers would get off to bed and forget their discomfiture; and that he would do his best to ensure that the bruit of the matter got very little about the country. I made him only the briefest replies, and finally bade him goodnight with the utmost reserve. He no doubt judges me offended, as I am very willing that he should do. But shock and horror were the actual occasion of my reticence!
I went immediately to my room, and for I know not how long lay, without undressing, on my bed. There was still some stir about the house, but it quickly died away. I fell into a light slumber, from which I was awakened by a sound of galloping hooves. It was not yet dawn, but at once I rose, unaccountably filled with a fresh access of uneasiness. I resolved to seek out Joscelyn, were he to be found, and attempt with him the sort of serious conference that his, and Edward’s, situation seemed to demand. Taking a candle, therefore, I made my way to his private apartments. There was a light in a dressing-room; I knocked, entered, and found only his personal servant, himself but half-dressed, composedly ordering the tumbled contents of a number of open drawers. I asked, where was his master? He answered me, impassively yet with a strange look, that Sir Joscelyn was ridden away, he believed to port and the packet-boat. I was much staggered, and inquired after Edward. Mr Jory, the man replied (now with the ghost of a grin), was also departed – he believed on foot and with Mr Kent, there having been a misfortune with the only horses available.
Such, then, is the fallen condition of this house! Both my brothers exposed, ridiculed, and ignominiously fled; and a young life, I too strongly fear, lost as the price of the younger’s folly! My poor sister is wholly bewildered; and it is my intention to take her, this very afternoon, to her brother’s in Yorkshire. She will be kindly received there, until our unfortunate situation is better understood, and if possible to some extent retrieved. I shall write no more at present. But you may be assured, dear Miss Bird, that I shall continue our correspondence, commonly so pleasing; and that, even in periods of such perturbation as this, you shall not fail at least of the fugitive and hurried confidences of your old pupil and devoted friend,
&n
bsp; SOPHIA JORY.’
Part Three
Old Hall
1
‘You see?’ Olivia Jory asked. She was driving Clout away from New Hall in a small car of dangerous antiquity. ‘He’s gone right over – as I said he had.’
‘Lumb?’
‘Yes – and your girl.’
Sadie’s not my girl. I don’t know why you should say such a thing.’
‘Very well – his girl. They’re one hundred per cent behind Sir John. It’s disgusting.’
‘Nobody could be precisely behind Sir John.’ Clout was feeling gloomy and disputatious. ‘Except in the sense that you can get behind a wheelbarrow. Sir John might be shoved one way or another, but I can’t imagine him taking an initiative, or giving a lead.’
‘Can’t you? I don’t think you know much about that sort of person.’ Olivia too was not in good humour.
‘I don’t claim to. That’s just what I think. And I think that Jerry Jory is another matter. He seems detached and ineffective. But he might take quite a vigorous hand in the affair. If there really is an affair.’
Old Hall, New Hall Page 16
