Читать книгу Waif of the River - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 24

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The chicken (stuffed) with all that followed had become a happy memory; Phyllinda had retired to prepare for the road, with Susan's motherly aid; and the two friends sat neither looking at the other and in a pensive silence nowise induced by the late chicken nor even its memory.

"Yes!" said Robin at last.

"What?" enquired the Viscount.

"She is an amazingly beautiful creature!"

"Yes!" said the Viscount.

"Though, of course, her eyes are quite wrong!"

"Eh? Wrong? Now what the devil——?"

"I mean they're the wrong colour to go with her glorious hair. With such splendour they should be blue instead of brown—if they are brown."

"Violet!" said the Viscount.

"Well, with such hair her eyes should——"

"No! With such eyes any hair would be perfect!"

"However, I fail to see what possible objection you can have to my escorting her to Clia's tender care—to Abbeymead."

"It's perfectly obvious, m' dear fellah. We, you and I, are committing a serious felony, crime and what not."

"Are we, b'jingo? And how so?"

"By abducting a young lady from her home and legal guardian and she still an infant in the eyes of the law."

"Ha! Well, what has this to do with Abbeymead?"

"The fact that Abbeymead is the home of your governor, Sir Oliver Dale, who is a magistrate and, as you know, a rare stickler for law and order, duty for duty's sake and so on——"

"Very well, then why object to my escorting her to Aunt Rosamond for the time being?"

"Because the 'Waterman' is no fit place——"

"Not fit? Now what the devil——"

"It being in the very worst part of the riverside squalor. And, what's more, Lady Rosamond, God bless her, has work and anxieties enough already, and——"

"And why," demanded Robin, leaning across the table to frown, "should you drive with her to your governor at Storringdean?"

"Sam will drive her there in his gig; I shall ride Tempest——"

"Don't palter, man! Why should I permit you to carry her off to Storringdean?"

"Again it's all perfectly obvious," said the Viscount, flicking a breadcrumb from his shirt-frill. "Storringdean is nearer London; my father, as I've told you, is friendly with the Duchess; and consequently Miss Phyllinda will——"

"Have the pleasure of your company, eh, Ragworth? Is that your game? Is it?"

"'Game'?" enquired the Viscount, glancing up at angry Robin beneath raised brows.

"Game, yes! You know, you understand what I meant, damme!"

"No!" murmured the Viscount. "Damn you, I refuse to understand!"

"Then, b'gad, I'll tell you plainly as I can. You would ride off with Beauty and leave Friendship in the lurch. You'll make your confounded hay in the infernal sunshine and leave me in the mire, the very Slough of Despond! You love her already and——"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, so do I, most truly—sincerely and for only the second time in my life."

"Same here!" murmured the Viscount.

"Well now, seeing this is so, my life's happiness being at stake, I shall fight for it—to my last breath."

"Again, same here!"

"Consequently, Ragworth, I will not permit you to go—gallivanting off with her to Storringdean, London, and the Lord knows where, making your cursed sheep's-eyes at her and urging your suit behind my back. I say you shall not! Now do I make myself clear?"

The Viscount nodded, saying:

"Too plainly, very coarsely and without warrant. For I'm no such headlong wooer or hasty amorist as yourself and should scorn to take advantage of any man."

"Tush and the devil, Ragworth! There's that foul saying that 'all's fair in love and war'——"

"Yes, it is an adage very foul, Dale! So vile and unsportsmanlike, indeed, that it is beneath the conception of such as myself—if only for my father's sake and most honourable name."

"Very fine!" sneered Robin. "But even you, despite the noble earl your father, your ancestry, blue-blood and all the rest of it, even you, my lord Viscount, are only human, she is beautiful and——"

"Stop!"

The Viscount's tone was not loud, his brow quite unruffled, but in voice and look was that which checked Robin's outburst and caused him to open those grey eyes of his rather wider than usual, though his frown grew the blacker as the Viscount continued.

"I have allowed you to say more than I would take from any other man alive, and therefore I suggest you change the subject or quit my company, for I will endure no more of your clumsy insults!"

Up started Robin so violently that over went his chair with a resounding crash.

"Ragworth," said he thickly, "damme but I'm minded to throw you out of the window!"

"Then," said the Viscount, with slight though eloquently contemptuous gesture, "I suggest you change your mind, for both our sakes. If you are determined to force a quarrel, do so, but at least—like a gentleman or as much so as you find possible."

Robin crouched and clenched his fists; the Viscount sighed and took up the empty wine bottle. But at this moment the door, which had been ajar, swung wide to show Phyllinda cloaked and bonneted; and once again she glanced at handsome stalwart Robin, but gazed at the slender Viscount. Then, before she could speak, in at the open lattice came Sam's bristly head to announce:

"Me and my gig be awaiting, m' lord!"

"So am I!" said Phyllinda, and, taking his hand, she led him where Robin stood gazing blankly at nothing in particular, to whom she now proffered her hand, saying and very tenderly:

"Dear Mr. Dale, I want to thank you, so won't you please bid us farewell?"

So Robin took this small, appealing hand in both his own, raising it to his lips, then, uttering no word, strode out into the sunny garden.... And presently, seated in the shady arbour, he heard Susan call a cheery goodbye and thereafter the crack of Sam's whip, then the sound of hoofs and wheels growing ever fainter with distance till all around him was silence except for the drowsy hum of insects, sleepy twitter of sparrows and the plaintive song of a blackbird.

So in this same arbour, where years ago another man as youthful had sat^[5] feeling just as hopeless, as solitary and desolate, but in no such evil temper, here now gloomed young Robin.

Insects hummed, birds twittered, day mellowed to evening, while Robin sighed and scowled, until came Susan at last to enquire with motherly solicitude:

"Why, Master Robin, my dearie, whatever be wrong with ee to look so sadly fearsome?"

"Fearsome? Do I, Sue?"

"Ay and so murder-like as my Sam's nasty blunderbush! What be troubling of ee? Come now," said she, stroking his close-cut auburn curls, "tell thy Soosan as have loved ee since ever ee were a boy, is she thy grief, yon lovesome young lady?"

"Ah, Susan," he groaned, "she is the only other woman I could have loved and—she's gone! Again—yes, again it seems love is not for me. Ha, and all because of Ragworth, damn him!"

"Hush now, and fie, Master Robin; that be no way to talk——"

"I tell you he's been making confounded sheep's-eyes at her ever since she appeared—she, the only other woman—and Ragworth! He and she are together now and I—alone, left in the lurch as usual! Why the devil should others win and I always lose? There's a curse on me, it seems."

"Whatever do ee mean? A curse? Such wicked nonsense! Come now indoors wi me, my dearie. I be agoing to brew tea, so come thy ways now! Tea be good for most ills, 'specially curses, so come along o' Soosan."

So it was in glow of late sunset that Robin mounted his horse, eager to be gone, but, seeing how Susan stared up at him with an almost dreadful anxiety, he checked his restive animal to enquire:

"What is it, my dear?"

"You!" she replied, clasping her hands. "'Tes you, Master Robin. Changed you be and—changing!"

"Well, all earthly things must change, Susan, and I'm confoundedly earthly. There's nothing heavenly about me; there never was."

"Oh, but yes, my dearie! There was times years ago, afore you growed so big and strong, when you could show like a very angel o' God, wi' your golden curls and them lovely eyes! Ah, but now—you'm changed!"

"More like a devil nowadays, eh, Sue?"

"I never say so, Master Robin."

"But your eyes did, Susan, and they are telling me so at this moment. Oh well, angel or devil, I shall always love you, Susan, for those boyhood days that seem so far and long ago. You with your dear motherly ways and Sam with his blunderbuss. D'you remember the day he let me fire it, bless his heart, and how you boxed his ears?"

"Ay, dearie, I mind the day, and so I did sure-ly, though not very hard."

"D'you still—pray for me, Susan?"

"And always shall, Master Rob!"

"Well, that's a comfort, considering."

"What, my dearie?"

"How very uncertain life is."

"Whatever do ee mean now?"

"One of us, Sue, may be fated to die, and I hope to God it will be myself, my fairly useless self."

"No—no!" she cried, lifting her hands as if in prayer. "You be too young to die; you that be so hale and strong, how could ee die?"

"By a stroke most likely—and suddenly, I hope! Ha, now damme what a pitiful fool am I to trouble you with such confounded nonsense. Forgive it, my dear; forgive it and forget." Then, stooping from his saddle, he kissed her as he had not done since boyhood days, then rode away through the sunset that was so very like blood.

[5]	See The Crooked Furrow.