Читать книгу Meadowsweet - Baroness Orczy - Страница 7

Table of Contents

It was a whole hour since tea-time, and Boadicea had not yet returned from her birds’-nesting expedition. Sir Baldwin Jeffreys would have liked to have seen her ere he left Old Manor Farm, because he was very fond of the child and was really sorry for her, though in a measure she had a very happy home, for Aunt Caroline, despite her habit of perpetual scolding, was a warm-hearted, kind, and generous woman; nevertheless, the girl’s life must of necessity be a very lonely one. There were but few neighbours round Old Manor Farm, and practically no young people of Boadicea’s age to consort with her, and since the marriage of her sister there was no doubt that she must have led a very isolated life.

It was therefore with deep regret that Sir Baldwin found himself forced to start his return journey without having embraced little Boadicea, but the hour was getting late if he desired to reach Ashford before evening. He had dispatched the coach homewards earlier in the day, and now he asked that his horse might be brought round forthwith.

To Aunt Caroline’s hospitable entreaties that he should stay at least until the morrow he opposed a steady refusal. The brief scene which he had just had with his wife had told him plainly how wide for the moment was the matrimonial breach, and that nothing but absence could tighten the bonds of affection which were threatening to snap.

Old Manor Farm, though commodious and soundly built, was none too roomy. If Sir Baldwin now elected to stay, he would perforce be thrown greatly in his wife’s company — not to say intimacy — and he believed that in her present highly irritable mood and his own sense of wrong both he and she might be tempted to say things which would render the breach irreparable.

Olive had retired to her room after the violent passage of arms in the hall. Sir Baldwin could entertain no hope that she would come down again before his departure in order to bid him farewell.

But Aunt Caroline fussed round him, garrulous and kindly as usual, offering him various kinds of refreshment, despite the fact that he had not yet had time to digest his tea, and incidentally inventing a hundred apologies for Olive’s conduct, which in her own heart she felt had been very blameworthy indeed.

Just when Sir Baldwin was leaving, his horse being at the door with Topcoat — the outdoor man — at his head, Barnady Crabtree came up those few steps which lead from the hall to the dining-room and kitchen of Old Manor Farm. He had spent the last half-hour in polishing off the muffins and tea which had been set aside on the hob for Boadicea when she returned.

Barnaby Crabtree was very dyspeptic, which ailment made his complexion muddy and the whites of his eyes yellow, but it did not make him thin. He was a huge, fat man, with a big bald head, round the base of which sparse hair of a faded sandy colour made an uneven fringe from ear to ear.

He had very few teeth in his mouth, which caused his jaw to look loose and flabby, and the colour of his eyes was of a nondescript yellowish grey. He was invariably dressed in loose, ill-fitting clothes, with long trousers that reached midway down his shins, disclosing four inches of pink and white striped cotton socks, and half the day he went about with carpet slippers on his feet and with a napkin tied round his neck like a bib.

Sir Baldwin, who had not previous to this day been acquainted with him, thought him the most extraordinary-looking man he had ever seen. During dinner, however, Aunt Caroline had so monopolised his attention that he had not paid much heed to Mr. Crabtree, who, on the other hand, was far too deeply engrossed in the business of eating and drinking to bestow any attention on Sir Baldwin.

Thus, meeting in the hall, and with Sir Baldwin just on the point of departure, even Barnaby Crabtree — ill-mannered though he was — could not help but pause a moment in order to bid him farewell.

“You are wise,” he said blandly, “to make an early start; horse exercise is exceedingly unwholesome after a heavy meal.”

“Oh, as to that,” remarked Sir Baldwin, “I would gladly have ridden after supper had the distance been less great or the moon at its full! As it is, and with so much thunder in the air, I must make for Ashford before nightfall,”

“And you are not taking your wife away with you?”

“Certainly not!” interposed Aunt Caroline. “Sir Baldwin, I am happy to say, has brought our dear Olive down here for a lengthy stay.”

“Ah!” said Cousin Barnaby; “I am sorry to hear that.”

“Sorry!” ejaculated Aunt Caroline in great indignation. “Well, really, Cousin Barnaby! . .”

And, despite his sorrowful mood, Sir Baldwin himself could not help but smile at the man’s impudence.

“Females in a household are a greatly disturbing element, Caroline,” rejoined Mr. Crabtree, quite unperturbed, “and it is a strange and regrettable fact that, though I came here solely for peace — for this place is otherwise neither amusing nor exhilarating — I have been troubled on one and the same day with the two things I have always tried to avoid.”

“And what may these two things be, sir?” asked Sir Baldwin politely.

“Females and sailors,” said Mr. Crabtree curtly.

“Sailors?”

“Aye! Females and sailors, sir, are equally objectionable, and, like headache and biliousness, you seldom get one without the other.”

“Sailors?” reiterated Sir Baldwin, who, indeed, now seemed gravely disturbed. The frown on his brow had deepened, and his eyes travelled restlessly and as if suspiciously from one face to the other.

“Will you kindly explain, sir?” he said courteously, trying his best to appear calm.

With her usual garrulousness Aunt Caroline quickly interposed.

“Nay, nay, Sir Baldwin,” said she; “I pray you take no heed of Cousin Barnaby. . . . His bark, as the saying is, is more vicious than his bite . . .”

“Oh, is it?” muttered Cousin Barnaby.

“He is as pleased as we all are that our dear Olive will stay with us for awhile.”

“Oh, am I?”

“But he has been a little upset since yesterday, when H. M. S. Dolphin put into Ramsgate Harbour.”

“The Dolphin!” exclaimed Sir Baldwin, and for the first time to-day his good manners deserted him, and he swore a very ugly oath, which greatly distressed Aunt Caroline, for she could not understand its cause, though she did know that fashionable gentlemen in London had a way of swearing at all times, in and out of season. She supposed that as he was gesticulating somewhat vigorously with his riding-crop he must have struck his ankle with it; and everybody knows how painful such a blow can be.

However, she thought it would be more polite to pretend not to have heard the vigorous expletive at all, so she rejoined quite placidly:

“Yes, the Dolphin. Some of her officers are lodging in the town; they came ashore yesterday.”

“And demoralised the entire female population of Thanet,” concluded Mr. Crabtree acidly.

“As for me,” said she, “I am pining to see the son of my old friend Mamie Carrington.”

This time Sir Baldwin did not swear, but had Aunt Caroline not been so absorbed in her own conversation she would have been startled by the expression on his face. His eyes nearly disappeared under the frown, and his lips were set so tightly that they formed just one narrow dark streak above his chin.

“You must remember Mamie Carrington, Sir Baldwin,” continued Aunt Caroline volubly. “She was Mary Janet Calverston, you know — such a pretty girl— and she made a splendid match. Squire Carrington is the richest man in Lincolnshire, so they say, and they have an only son, Jack, who is a lieutenant on the Dolphin now. When last I saw him he was a baby in long clothes, and — But what is the matter, Sir Baldwin?” she said, the tone of her voice suddenly changing, for she had caught sight of the wrathful expression in his face. “You seem upset.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing!” he said, trying to master himself and to speak quietly. “I — I must speak with my wife.”

He made a movement as if desiring to go upstairs to his wife’s room, and Aunt Caroline intercepted him, saying hurriedly:

“Let me go and tell her, and do you sit down awhile, Sir Baldwin. I declare, you seem to be trembling all over. I’ll go and tell Olive.”

But now it was he who detained her, placing his hand on her arm.

“I thank you,” he said. “That is — I pray you do not go. I’ll not disturb her now — not just at this moment. I —”

He paused a moment, and then resumed quite calmly:

“Dear Mrs, Hemingford, you have been so kind, and your kindness renders me presumptuous. I think that, in effect, the heat has been rather too much for me. I was in the saddle some hours under the glare of the midday sun. I think, if you would allow me, I would like to change my mind and stay until I can get home in the cool of the evening.”

“Change your mind, Sir Baldwin, by all means!” exclaimed Aunt Caroline, who was highly delighted, and in the simplicity of her heart never thought of connecting Sir Baldwin’s caprice with his curious behaviour of a moment ago. “Glad indeed am I to have the pleasure of your company a little longer!”

“Positively idiotic!” was Cousin Barnaby’s muttered comment.

“Won’t you,” she added, “change your mind yet further and stay the night?”

“No, no!” said he more cheerily. “Thank you a thousand times! And, if I may, I will just tell your man to put up my horse again until after supper. What time will that be, dear Mrs. Hemingford?”

“Half-past six, Sir Baldwin, if quite convenient to you.”

“Then, if you will allow me, I will order my horse for half-past seven o’clock. It will be a beautiful bright night, and I can reach Ashford, even with a good long rest at Canterbury, well before midnight.”

He seemed to have quite regained his composure, and Aunt Caroline — than whom there was not a less observant person — never noticed that the angry flush still lingered in his cheeks and that the frown had, if anything, deepened on his brow.

Barnaby Crabtree, much disappointed that at least one of the unwelcome visitors would not be going just yet, had unceremoniously walked upstairs in the direction of his room.

Sir Baldwin Jeffreys went to the door and gave Topcoat half a sovereign, telling him to bring the horse round again at half-past seven. He had a burning desire in his heart to speak yet once more with his wife. He wanted to assure himself that her submission when leaving London had not been a clever mask to hide her duplicity and her wilfulness. He could not imagine that she had prearranged this journey to Thanet with a view to meeting young Carrington clandestinely.

In his heart of hearts he believed her to be incapable of such a vulgar intrigue, but he wished to speak with her, just once again, in order to make sure.

At the same time, he did not wish to meet her now in the first flush of his anger and whilst jealous suspicions were tearing at his heart, and might cause him to say things which he afterwards would regret. His friend, Mr. Culpepper, was for the moment in residence at the Abbey, distant just over two miles from Old Manor Farm. Sir Baldwin in his mind decided that the best thing he could do would be to walk down and visit his friend, and then to return in about two hours’ time, sobered from his anger and his temper quite cool.

He expressed his wish to Aunt Caroline, who, feeling reassured as to his health, gave him directions how to take short cuts through certain fields the sooner to reach the Abbey.

Then she nodded pleasantly to him from the doorstep, assured him that she would in the meanwhile explain to Olive that he had decided to tarry until the cool hours of the evening, and finally, when he walked away in the direction of Minster, she waved him a last adieu, and then carefully closed the front door.

After which she went in search of her darning basket.