Читать книгу The Honourable Jim - Baroness Orczy - Страница 8

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All of a sudden there was a tragedy. Some thirty yards from the willow tree where Babs and Tubal were sitting Dina had discovered a wasps’ nest, and the wasps had discovered Dina. In the instant they were buzzing around her, one of them had already stung her on the nose, the others were loudly clamouring—in the way that wasps and gnats and such like creatures have—trying to find a spot on poor little Dina’s body where her long hair would not be in the way of a comfortable sting. Dina, realising her danger, had quickly enough turned tail and was flying like the wind; unfortunately, however, she was running with the wind and not against it, and the wasps were buzzing round her, threatening what would certainly have meant death. Babs was the first to see the impending tragedy. She woke from her love-dream to see her dear little Dina surrounded by a thousand enemies who were intent on her destruction. Babs gave an agonised cry for help and jumped to her feet. Tubal did the same, but he did not scream. Indeed he did not lose his presence of mind; being a country-bred lad he knew the danger that would threaten any one who attempted to interfere on Dina’s behalf. Indeed what was a dog’s life worth under the circumstances? One might rush to its assistance and be blinded for life for one’s pains.

Therefore Tubal, self-possessed and cautious, took Babs by the hand and said with the authority of his nineteen years:

“Come, Babs. You will do no good by screaming and the dog is past help already.”

He was so strong and masterful and he held Babs so tightly by the wrist that she was forced to follow him. The whole thing had happened in far less time than it takes to tell. Babs felt miserable and helpless and, when Tubal ran on towards the house, she continued to run after him, even though he no longer held her by the wrist. But her heart ached for Dina and at one moment, like Lot’s wife, she looked back.

The scene had suddenly changed. There was Jim Fiennes—come Heaven knows when and whence—but there of a certainty, and at the very moment that Babs turned to look, she saw him stoop, pick up the dog, and, with it in his arms, run, as fast as any human creature could run, towards the lake. Babs had come to an abrupt standstill; she had not even the time to utter another scream, for the next instant Jim had taken a plunge and he and Dina disappeared beneath the water.

The next second he reappeared—that is to say his head emerged above the water and his hands holding up Dina. Babs at once started to run back towards him, but he shouted to her not to stir.

“Keep still on your life, Babs!” was what he said. “The brutes have lost us and will presently settle down.”

Babs thereupon came to a halt; indeed she had already found running difficult; her little knees were shaking under her, her hands felt clammy and her head hot. Tubal was some distance off at the top of the terrace steps. He probably had not an idea of what had happened, nor that Babs was no longer with him. But he must have heard Jim’s voice, for he turned at once and shouted to Babs to come.

But she did not move; she just stood and stared at Jim’s head with his hair all flattened round his head and dripping into his eyes and at Dina, whom he was holding out of the water and who looked for all the world like a big rat. And all at once she was seized with an uncontrollable desire to laugh. She sat down upon the wet grass and laughed and laughed till her sides ached and her temples began to throb. She had never seen anything quite so funny as Jim looked at the moment.

After that she did not exactly remember how it all happened. Presently she saw Jim wading out of the pond, with the water pouring away from his clothes. He had Dina under one arm and as soon as he reached the bank he flung her on the dry ground, cursing her for a “spiteful little brute,” which at once roused Babs’ indignation. She had thought at first to go up to Jim and perhaps help him to get safely on to the bank, but he was so horrid about the dog that she hardened her heart against him. Poor little Dina. What was the good of saving her from the wasps, only to risk her life by flinging her about like a bale of goods? Forgetful of Jim, Babs was fondling her dog, who, after shaking the water out of her hair and scattering showers about her, appeared ready for another adventure.

Then Tubal came running along and with his big, warm hands he rubbed Dina’s hair and stroked her ears because, as he said, there was nothing so dangerous as moisture in a dog’s ears; it produced canker, which was very painful and almost impossible to cure. Oh! he was marvellously thoughtful and Babs felt tears of gratitude come to her eyes whilst she watched him being so kind and gentle with the dog.

“I think,” he said after a while, “if I were you I would take little Dina back to the house now and have her thoroughly dried by the kitchen fire.”

Babs’ tears choked her, and she could only nod, smiling through her tears while Tubal fondled and patted the little creature with marvellous gentleness. It was most unfortunate that Dina, not realising how kind Tubal was being to her, should have chosen that very moment to turn on him and snap at him; indeed she bit him very severely in the left hand and the blood began to flow freely from the back of it. Babs had a tiny lace handkerchief in the pocket of her gown; she had it out in a moment and tied it round Tubal’s poor wounded hand. But what a contrast to Jim’s savage, unreasoning fury against the poor, innocent little dog. Tubal never uttered a word of complaint and never as much as slapped Dina; he just turned away from her, and when his wound, though tied up in a gossamer rag, continued to bleed, all he did was to drop on one knee and kiss Barbara’s hand.

“This handkerchief,” he vowed, “shall lie next my heart until I die.”

It really was beautiful! Babs watched Tubal’s tall figure till he was out of sight. Then only did she turn to look at Jim. He was lying flat on the bank, face downwards, and he kept on dipping his hands alternately in the water and then holding them up to his face. Barbara felt a twinge of remorse. Jim had risked being stung by the wasps even if he was unkind to Dina afterwards, and it had been cruel of her to laugh so, when first she saw his head bob up so funnily out of the water, so she went up to him and called him by name, quite gently, and when he didn’t say anything she knelt down beside him.

“Jim!” she called to him again.

He turned over on his back and then looked up at her; she almost screamed with horror: his shirt was stained with blood, one of his eyes was closed with a great swelling above it, his nose was shapeless, and he had a lip as thick as her thumb.

“Jim!” Babs cried again, full of remorse now and of pity, and threw her arms round his neck. “You’ve been stung!”

Quietly he disengaged his neck from her arm, then he pulled himself up to a sitting position and deliberately started taking off his shoes and turning the water out of them.

“Jim!” said Babs reproachfully.

“Well!” he queried in his slow way, but never once looked at her. “What is it?”

“You—you are hurt!” Babs said, and was ready to cry. “You’ve been stung whilst you—you—”

“Why, yes! I’ve been stung,” he said drily. “’Tis no use making a to-do about it. Go back to bed, Babs, and in Heaven’s name take that fool of a dog out of my sight!”

And that was the end of the incident. Obviously it was not for Babs to say anything more after that. She was—or rather had been—very grateful to Jim for what he had done. He had without a doubt saved Dina’s life—she was still very sorry that he had been so badly stung. But so had Tubal been hurt—badly hurt—a dog’s bite might turn to anything, and yet he had been so kind, so gentle, so chivalrous! But if Jim was going to be so spiteful about Dina, there was nothing more to be said. Wounded dignity only permitted the cold query:

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

Whereat he replied:

“No, thank’ee! I shall be all right.”

“I will ask Tubal to come back and look after you,” she said.

And I am sorry to have to put it on record that in answer to this amiable suggestion the Honourable Jim Fiennes actually swore:

“If you send that d——d fellow here, Babs,” he said, “I’ll—I’ll throw him in the pond.”

After which show of temper on Jim’s part what could Babs do but walk majestically away.

But here was a fine beginning for a wedding day!