CHAPTER VI. THE CHAMPION
As vainglorious was Richard Westmacott's retreat from the field ofunstricken battle as his advance upon it had been inglorious. He spokewith confidence now of the narrow escape that Wilding had had athis hands, of the things he would have done to Wilding had not thatgentleman grown wise in time. Sir Rowland, who had seen little ofRichard's earlier stricken condition, was in a measure imposed upon byhis blustering tone and manner; not so Vallancey, who remembered thesteps he had been forced to take to bolster up the young man's couragesufficiently to admit of his being brought to the encounter. Richard sodisgusted him that he felt if he did not quit his company soon, he wouldbe quarrelling with him himself. So, congratulating him, in a causticmanner that Richard did not relish, upon the happy termination of theaffair, Vallancey took his leave of him and Blake at the cross-roads,pleading business with Lord Gervase, and left them to proceed withouthim to Bridgwater.
Blake, whose suspicions of some secret matter to which Vallanceyand Richard were wedded, had been earlier excited by Westmacott'sindiscretions, was full of sly questions now touching the business whichmight be taking Vallancey to Scoresby. But Richard was too full ofthe subject of the fear he had instilled into Wilding to afford hiscompanion much satisfaction on any other score. Thus they came to LuptonHouse, and as Richard swaggered down the lawn into the presence of theladies--Ruth and her aunt were occupying the stone bench, Diana thecircular seat about the great oak in the centre of the lawn--he was avery different person from the pale, limp creature they had beheld theresome few hours earlier. Loud and offensive was he now in self-laudation,and so indifferent to all else that he left unobserved the little smile,half wistful, half scornful, that visited his sister's lips when hesneeringly told how Mr. Wilding had chosen that better part of valourwhich discretion is alleged to be.
It needed Diana, who, blinded by no sisterly affection, saw him exactlyas he was, and despised him accordingly, to enlighten him. It may alsobe that in doing so at once she had ends of her own to serve; for SirRowland was still of the company.
"Mr. Wilding afraid?" she cried, her voice so charged with derision thatit inclined to shrillness. "La! Richard, Mr. Wilding was never afraid ofany man."
"Faith!" said Rowland, although his acquaintance with Mr. Wilding wasslight and recent. "It is what I should think. He does not look like aman familiar with fear."
Richard struck something of an attitude, his fair face flushed, his paleeyes glittering. "He took a blow," said he, and sneered.
"There may have been reasons," Diana suggested darkly, and Sir Rowland'seyes narrowed at the hint.
Again he recalled the words Richard had let fall that afternoon. Wildingand he were fellow workers in some secret business, and Richard had saidthat the encounter was treason to that same business, whatever it mightbe. And of what it might be Sir Rowland had grounds upon which to foundat least a guess. Had perhaps Wilding acted upon some similar feelingsin avoiding the duel? He wondered; and when Richard dismissed Diana'schallenge with a fatuous laugh, it was Blake who took it up.
"You speak, ma'am," said he, "as if you knew that there were reasons,and knew, too, what those reasons might be."
Diana looked at Ruth, as if for guidance before replying. But Ruth satcalm and seemingly impassive, looking straight before her. She was,indeed, indifferent how much Diana said, for in any case the mattercould not remain a secret long. Lady Horton, silent too and listening,looked a question at her daughter.
And so, after a pause: "I know both," said Diana, her eyes strayingagain to Ruth; and a subtler man than Blake would have read that glanceand understood that this same reason which he sought so diligently satthere before him.
Richard, indeed, catching that sly look of his cousin's, checked hisassurance, and stood frowning, cogitating. Then, quite suddenly, hisvoice harsh:
"What do you mean, Diana?" he inquired.
Diana shrugged and turned her shoulder to him. "You had best ask Ruth,"said she, which was an answer more or less plain to both the men.
They stood at gaze, Richard looking a thought foolish. Blake, frowning,his heavy lip caught in his strong, white teeth.
Ruth turned to her brother with an almost piteous attempt at a smile.She sought to spare him pain by excluding from her manner all suggestionthat things were other than she desired.
"I am betrothed to Mr. Wilding," said she.
Sir Rowland made a sudden forward movement, drew a deep breath, and assuddenly stood still. Richard looked at his sister as she were mad andraving. Then he laughed, between unbelief and derision.
"It is a jest," said he, but his accents lacked conviction.
"It is the truth," Ruth assured him quietly.
"The truth?" His brow darkened ominously--stupendously for one so fair."The truth, you baggage...?" He began and stopped in very fury.
She saw that she must tell him all.
"I promised to wed Mr. Wilding this day se'night so that he saved yourlife and honour," she told him calmly, and added, "It was a bargain thatwe drove." Richard continued to stare at her. The thing she told himwas too big to be swallowed at a mouthful; he was absorbing it by slowdegrees.
"So now," said Diana, "you know the sacrifice your sister has made tosave you, and when you speak of the apology Mr. Wilding tendered you,perhaps you'll speak of it in a tone less loud."
But the sarcasm was no longer needed. Already poor Richard was veryhumble, his make-believe spirit all snuffed out. He observed at lasthow pale and set was his sister's face, and he realized something ofthe sacrifice she had made. Never in all his life was Richard so nearto lapsing from the love of himself; never so near to forgetting hisown interests, and preferring those of Ruth. Lady Horton sat silent, herheart fluttering with dismay and perplexity. Heaven had not equipped herwith a spirit capable of dealing with a situation such as this. Blakestood in make believe stolidity dissembling his infinite chagrin andthe stormy emotions warring within him, for some signs of which Dianawatched his countenance in vain.
"You shall not do it!" cried Richard suddenly. He came forward and laidhis hand on his sister's shoulder. His voice was almost gentle. "Ruth,you shall not do this for me. You must not."
"By Heaven, no!" snapped Blake before she could reply. "You are right,Richard. Mistress Westmacott must not be the scapegoat. She shall notplay the part of Iphigenia."
But Ruth smiled wistfully as she answered him with a question, "Where isthe help for it?"
Richard knew where the help for it lay, and for once--for just amoment--he contemplated danger and even death with equanimity.
"I can take up this quarrel again," he announced. "I can compel Mr.Wilding to meet me."
Ruth's eyes, looking up at him, kindled with pride and admiration. Itwarmed her heart to hear him speak thus, to have this assurance that hewas anything but the coward she had been so disloyal as to deem him; nodoubt she had been right in saying that it was his health was the causeof the palsy he had displayed that morning; he was a little wild, sheknew; inclined to sit over-late at the bottle; with advancing manhood,she had no doubt, he would overcome this boyish failing. Meanwhileit was this foolish habit--nothing more--that undermined the inherentfirmness of his nature. And it comforted her generous soul to have thisproof that he was full worthy of the sacrifice she was making for him.Diana watched him in some surprise, and never doubted but that his offerwas impulsive, and that he would regret it when his ardour had had timeto cool.
"It were idle," said Ruth at last--not that she quite believed it, butthat it was all-important to her that Richard should not be imperilled."Mr. Wilding will prefer the bargain he has made."
"No doubt," growled Blake, "but he shall be forced to unmake it." Headvanced and bowed low before her. "Madam," said he, "will you grantme leave to champion your cause and remove this troublesome Mr. Wildingfrom your path?"
Diana's eyes narrowed; her cheeks paled, partly from fear for Blake,partly from vexation at the promptness of an offer that afforded a fresha
nd so eloquent proof of the trend of his affections.
Ruth smiled at him in a very friendly manner, but gently shook her head.
"I thank you, sir," said she. "But it were more than I could permit.This has become a family affair."
There was in her tone something which, despite its friendliness,gave Sir Rowland his dismissal. He was not at best a man of keensensibilities; yet even so, he could not mistake the request towithdraw that was implicit in her tone and manner. He took his leave,registering, however, in his heart a vow that he would have his way withWilding. Thus must he--through her gratitude--assuredly come to have hisway with Ruth.
Diana rose and turned to her mother. "Come," she said, "we'll speed SirRowland. Ruth and Richard would perhaps prefer to remain alone."
Ruth thanked her with her eyes. Richard, standing beside his sister withbent head and moody gaze, did not appear to have heard. Thus he remaineduntil he and his half-sister were alone together, then he flung himselfwearily into the seat beside her, and took her hand.
"Ruth," he faltered, "Ruth!"
She stroked his hand, her honest, intelligent eyes bent upon him ina look of pity--and to indulge this pity for him, she forgot how muchherself she needed pity.
"Take it not so to heart," she urged him, her voice low and crooning--as that of a mother to her babe. "Take it not so to heart, Richard.I should have married some day, and, after all, it may well be that Mr.Wilding will make me as good a husband as another. I do believe," sheadded, her only intent to comfort Richard; "that he loves me; and if heloves me, surely he will prove kind."
He flung himself back with an exclamation of angry pain. He was white tothe lips, his eyes bloodshot. "It must not be--it shall not be--I'll notendure it!" he cried hoarsely.
"Richard, dear..." she began, recapturing the hand he had snatched fromhers in his gust of emotion.
He rose abruptly, interrupting her. "I'll go to Wilding now," he cried,his voice resolute. "He shall cancel this bargain he had no right tomake. He shall take up his quarrel with me where it stood before youwent to him."
"No, no, Richard, you must not!" she urged him, frightened, rising too,and clinging to his arm.
"I will," he answered. "At the worst he can but kill me. But at leastyou shall not be sacrificed."
"Sit here, Richard," she bade him. "There is something you have notconsidered. If you die, if Mr. Wilding kills you..." she paused.
He looked at her, and at the repetition of the fate that would probablyawait him if he persevered in the course he threatened, his purelyemotional courage again began to fail him. A look of fear creptgradually into his face to take the room of the resolution that had beenstamped upon it but a moment since.
He swallowed hard. "What then?" he asked, his voice harsh, and, obeyingher command and the pressure on his hand, he resumed his seat besideher.
She spoke now at length and very gravely, dwelling upon the circumstancethat he was the head of the family, the last Westmacott of his line,pointing out to him the importance of his existence, the insignificanceof her own. She was but a girl, a thing of small account where theperpetuation of a family was at issue. After all, she must marrysomebody some day, she repeated, and perhaps she had been foolish inattaching too much importance to the tales she had heard of Mr.Wilding. Probably he was no worse than other men, and after all he wasa gentleman of wealth and position, such a man as half the women inSomerset might be proud to own for husband.
Her arguments and his weakness--his returning cowardice, which made himlend an ear to those same arguments--prevailed with him; at least theyconvinced him that he was far too important a person to risk his life inthis quarrel upon which he had so rashly entered. He did not say thathe was convinced; but he said that he would give the matter thought,hinting that perhaps some other way might present itself of cancellingthe bargain she had made. They had a week before them, and in any casehe promised readily in answer to her entreaties--for her faith inhim was a thing unquenchable--that he would do nothing without takingcounsel with her.
Meanwhile Diana had escorted Sir Rowland to the main gates of LuptonHouse, in front of which Miss Westmacott's groom was walking his horse,awaiting him.
"Sir Rowland," said she at parting, "your chivalry makes you take thismatter too deeply to heart. You overlook the possibility that my cousinmay have good reason for not desiring your interference."
He looked keenly at this little lady to whom a month ago he had beenon the point of offering marriage. His coxcombry might readily havesuggested to him that she was in love with him, but that his conscienceand inclinations urged him to assure himself that this was not the case.
"What shall that mean, madam?" he asked her.
Diana hesitated. "What I have said is plain," she answered, and it wasclear that she held something back.
Sir Rowland flattered himself upon the shrewdness with which he readher, never dreaming that he had but read just what she intended heshould.
He stood squarely before her, shaking his great head. "Not plain enoughfor me," he said. Then his tone softened to one of prayer. "Tell me," hebesought her.
"I can't! I can't!" she cried in feigned distress. "It were toodisloyal."
He frowned. He caught her arm and pressed it, his heart sick withjealous alarm. "What do you mean? Tell me, tell me, Mistress Horton."
Diana lowered her eyes. "You'll not betray me?" she stipulated.
"Why, no. Tell me."
She flushed delicately. "I am disloyal to Ruth," she said, "and yet I amloath to see you cozened."
"Cozened?" quoth he hoarsely, his egregious vanity in arms. "Cozened?"
Diana explained. "Ruth was at his house to-day," said she, "closetedalone with him for an hour or more."
"Impossible!" he cried.
"Where else was the bargain made?" she asked, and shattered his lastdoubt. "You know that Mr. Wilding has not been here."
Yet Blake struggled heroically against conviction.
"She went to intercede for Richard," he protested. Miss Horton lookedup at him, and under her glance Sir Rowland felt that he was a man ofunfathomable ignorance. Then she turned aside her eyes and shrugged hershoulders very eloquently. "You are a man of the world, Sir Rowland. Youcannot seriously suppose that any maid would so imperil her good name inany cause?"
Darker grew his florid countenance; his bulging eyes looked troubled andperplexed.
"You mean that she loves him?" he said, between question and assertion.
Diana pursed her lips. "You shall draw your own inference," quoth she.
He breathed heavily, and squared his broad shoulders, as one who braceshimself for battle against an element stronger than himself.
"But her talk of sacrifice?" he cried.
Diana laughed, and again he was stung by her contempt of hisperceptions. "Her brother is set against her marrying him," said she."Here was her chance. Is it not very plain?"
Doubt stared from his eyes. "Why do you tell me this?"
"Because I esteem you, Sir Rowland," she answered very gently. "I wouldnot have you meddle in a matter you cannot mend."
"Which I am not desired to mend, say rather," he replied with heavysarcasm. "She would not have my interference!" He laughed angrily. "Ithink you are right, Mistress Diana," he said, "and I think that morethan ever is there the need to kill this Mr. Wilding."
He took his departure abruptly, leaving her scared at the mischief shehad made for him in seeking to save him from it, and that very night hesought out Wilding.
But Wilding was from home again. Under its placid surface the WestCountry was in a ferment. And if hitherto Mr. Wilding had disdained theinsistent rumours of Monmouth's coming, his assurance was shaken now byproof that the Government, itself, was stirring; for four companies offoot and a troop of horse had been that day ordered to Taunton by theDeputy-Lieutenant. Wilding was gone with Trenchard to White Lackingtonin a vain hope that there he might find news to confirm his persistingunbelief in any such rashness as was alleged
on Monmouth's part.
So Blake was forced to wait, but his purpose suffered nothing by delay.
Returning on the morrow, he found Mr. Wilding at table with NickTrenchard, and he cut short the greetings of both men. He flung hishat--a black castor trimmed with a black feather--rudely among thedishes on the board.
"I have come to ask you, Mr. Wilding," said he, "to be so good as totell me the colour of that hat."
Mr. Wilding raised one eyebrow and looked aslant at Trenchard, whoseweather-beaten face was suddenly agrin with stupefaction.
"I could not," said Mr. Wilding, "deny an answer to a question set socourteously." He looked up into Blake's flushed and scowling face withthe sweetest and most innocent of smiles. "You'll no doubt disagree withme," said he, "but I love to meet a man halfway. Your hat, sir, is aswhite as virgin snow."
Blake's slow wits were disconcerted for a moment. Then he smiledviciously. "You mistake, Mr. Wilding," said he. "My hat is black."
Mr. Wilding looked more attentively at the object in dispute. He was ina trifling mood, and the stupidity of this runagate debtor afforded himopportunities to indulge it. "Why, true," said he, "now that I come tolook, I perceive that it is indeed black."
And again was Sir Rowland disconcerted. Still he pursued the lesson hehad taught himself.
"You are mistaken again," said he, "that hat is green."
"Indeed?" quoth Mr. Wilding, like one surprised and he turned toTrenchard, who was enjoying himself. "What is your own opinion of it,Nick?"
Thus appealed to, Trenchard's reply was prompt. "Why, since you askme," said he, "my opinion is that it's a noisome thing not meet for agentleman's table." And he took it up, and threw it through the window.
Sir Rowland was entirely put out of countenance. Here was a deliberateshifting of the quarrel he had come to pick, which left him all at sea.It was his duty to himself to take offence at Mr. Trenchard's action.But that was not the business on which he had come. He became angry.
"Blister me!" he cried. "Must I sweep the cloth from the table beforeyou'll understand me?"
"If you were to do anything so unmannerly I should have you flung outof the house," said Mr. Wilding, "and it would distress me so to treata person of your station and quality. The hat shall serve your purpose,although Mr. Trenchard's concern for my table has removed it. Ourmemories will supply its absence. What colour did you say it was?"
"I said it was green," answered Blake, quite ready to keep to the point.
"Nay, I am sure you were wrong," said Wilding with a grave air."Although I admit that since it is your own hat, you should be the bestjudge of its colour, I am, nevertheless, of opinion that it is black."
"And if I were to say that it is white?" asked Blake, feeling mightyridiculous.
"Why, in that case you would be confirming my first impression of it,"answered Wilding, and Trenchard let fly a burst of laughter at sightof the baronet's furious and bewildered countenance. "And since we areagreed on that," continued Mr. Wilding, imperturbable, "I hope you'lljoin us at supper."
"I'll be damned," roared Blake, "if ever I sit at table of yours, sir."
"Ah!" said Mr. Wilding regretfully. "Now you become offensive."
"I mean to be," said Blake.
"You astonish me!"
"You lie! I don't," Sir Rowland answered him in triumph. He had got itout at last.
Mr. Wilding sat back in his chair, and looked at him, his faceinexpressibly shocked.
"Will you of your own accord deprive us of your company, Sir Rowland,"he wondered, "or shall Mr. Trenchard throw you after your hat?"
"Do you mean..." gasped the other, "that you'll ask no satisfaction ofme?"
"Not so. Mr. Trenchard shall wait upon your friends to-morrow, and Ihope you'll afford us then as felicitous entertainment as you do now."
Sir Rowland snorted, and, turning on his heel, made for the door.
"Give you a good night, Sir Rowland," Mr. Wilding called after him."Walters, you rascal, light Sir Rowland to the door."
Poor Blake went home deeply vexed; but it was no more than the beginningof his humiliation at Mr. Wilding's hands--for what can be morehumiliating to a quarrel--seeking man than to have his enemy refuse totreat him seriously? He and Mr. Wilding met next morning, and beforenoon the tale of it had run through Bridgwater that Wild Wilding was athis tricks again. It made a pretty story how twice he had disarmed andeach time spared the London beau, who still insisted--each time morefuriously--upon renewing the encounter, till Mr. Wilding had been forcedto run him through the sword-arm and thus put him out of all case ofcontinuing. It was a story that heaped ridicule upon Sir Rowland and didcredit to Mr. Wilding.
Richard heard it, and trembled, enraged and impotent. Ruth heard it, andwas stirred despite herself to a feeling of gratitude towards Wildingfor the patience and toleration he had displayed.
There for a while the matter rested, and the days passed slowly. But SirRowland's nature--mean at bottom--was spurred to find him some otherway of wiping out the score that lay 'twixt him and Mr. Wilding, a scoremightily increased by the shame that Mr. Wilding had put upon him inthat encounter from which--whatever the issue--he had looked to cullgreat credit in Ruth's eyes.
He had been thinking constantly of the incautious words that Richardhad let fall, thinking of them in conjunction with the startling rumoursthat were now the talk of the whole countryside. He laid two and twotogether, and the four he found them make afforded him some hope. Thenhe realized--as he might have realized before had he been shrewder--thatRichard's mood was one that made him ripe for any villainy. He thoughtthat he was much in error if a treachery existed so black that Richardwould quail before it, if it but afforded him the means of riddinghimself and the world of Mr. Wilding. He was considering how best toapproach the subject, when it happened that one night when Richard satat play with him in his own lodging, the boy grew talkative throughexcess of wine. It happened naturally enough that Richard sought anally in Blake, just as Blake sought an ally in Richard. Indeed, theirfortunes--so far as Ruth was concerned--were bound up together. Thebaronet saw that Richard, half-fuddled, was ripe for any confidencesthat might aim at the destruction of his enemy. He questioned himadroitly, and drew from him the story of the rising that was beingplanned, and of the share that Mr. Wilding--one of the Duke ofMonmouth's chief movement-men--bore in the business that was toward.
When, towards midnight, Richard Westmacott went home, he left in SirRowland's hands an instrument which the latter accounted potential notonly for the destruction of Anthony Wilding, but perhaps also for layingthe foundations to the building of his own fortunes anew.
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