Читать книгу The Way Beyond - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 8

Sir Peter rode slowly through the sleepy village but so lost in thought that he seemed quite heedless of the little old woman, who curtseyed to him so repeatedly, until he had passed her some distance, but then becoming suddenly aware of her he instantly reined his mettlesome animal about to salute the aged dame, hat in hand.

"How are you, Mrs. Lethbridge?" he enquired, smiling down into the small, wrinkled face with its rosy cheeks and bright eyes. "Pretty well, I hope?"

"La and thankee kindly, S'Peter, I be wonnerful spry 'cept for me chacketin' o' nights an' th' axey as ketches me crool in me pore old knees and elbers, and me baccy arl gone an' me pore b'y Tummus, sir."

"Why now what's the matter with Tom? Isn't he back home again with you?"

"'Las, no, dearie sir," sighed the little, old woman, shaking her head woefully, "y'see th' Ab'mere keepers do ha' swore a afferdavit again 'im,—and arter your honour a-lettin' of 'im off,—took my Tum t'jail, they 'ave, S'Peter, an' left 'is pore, old mother t'starve,—like the 'eartless ruffians as they be, sir."

"Lord Abbeymere's keepers?" murmured Sir Peter, frowning. "But Tom was caught on my land."

"Which do be Gospel true, dearie sir, but they Ab'mere keepers do swear as e' were a-poachin' o' th' Earl's land likewise, which can't nowise be no'ow. An' if they proves pore Tum guilty this time, sir, they do say as my b'y 'll be sent overseas t' Botany Bay." Here the bright, old eyes were dimmed by sudden tears.

"There, there my good soul don't grieve! Hope for the best. I'll speak to the Earl on Tom's behalf ... and ... do pray get yourself some tobacco to comfort you." So saying, Sir Peter drove hand into pocket rather hastily and set divers coins in the work-gnarled hand the old creature lifted up to him, and wheeling his impatient horse, left her pouring benedictions on his head.

And now as he traversed this broad road he viewed the trim cottages and well-cared-for gardens glad-eyed and was yet gladder for the smiling faces that peeped from lattices and doorways with such shy but very evident welcome as he passed. His folk, these and many more, to be watched over and thought for; his the land from the blue line of downs to the sea, a great heritage and grave responsibility and all to be young Richard's ... someday. Richard ... his son ... the coming Vibart. Sir Peter sighed, knit his brows in anxious thought, then spurring his horse to faster gait, galloped upon his way.

He was still grimly thoughtful when, some while later he rode between a pair of tall, massive iron gates and was frowning at the great many-windowed house that seemed to scowl back at him, when he was arrested by a bellowing "view hallo" and turning about, saw in the shade of a tree, a large, cushioned chair on wheels and in this a no less great personage than my lord the Earl of Abbeymere himself.

"What, Vibart, is it you?" he cried. "I mistook ya for an old friend, but y'are welcome none the less, m' dear fellow, the more the merrier,—how do?" Sir Peter rode forward, returning this somewhat boisterous greeting with more than his usual stately dignity, and for a long moment while the Earl smiled up at him, Sir Peter, grave and sombre, looked down on the Earl. A tall gentleman of commanding presence this, large in gesture, form and feature, though the eyes that twinkled in the large ruddiness of his comely face, these small, narrow-set eyes, so much at odds with the full-lipped, smiling mouth, the hearty, chuckling voice, seemed to belie the very largeness of the whole man, as it were; and it was into these eyes that Sir Peter was looking, and thought to read malevolence there even while the smiling mouth chuckled jovial welcome.

"Light down, Vibart, we'll crack a bottle presently and—ha you, Clipsby—are ya there?"

"At your service, my lord," answered a voice and something pallid, neat and gentleman-like bowed itself into view.

"Well, find Sir Peter a seat and then bid Travers bring wine."

"Thank you, no," said Sir Peter, "my business will be soon despatched, Abbeymere, and besides my horse won't stand."

"Business,—tush!" exclaimed the Earl, largely jovial. "Down with ya, m'dear fellow, I insist. Clipsby take Sir Peter's horse and tell Travers two bottles."

So Sir Peter dismounted watched by the Earl, who sighed gustily:

"Damme, Vibart, but y' wear well! Nimble as a boy and devil the vestige of a paunch or grey hair! Are ya never cursed wi' gout?"

"Never, thank God!"

"Then it's a damned injustice," groaned the Earl, glancing down at his own swathed foot. "A very vile injustice, for it's to be supposed you had ancestors! There's Carnaby, too, sound as a bell, damme! Y'know Sir Mortimer, I think, friend o' yours, hey?"

"On the contrary I've never met him."

"But I've heard him speak o' ya ... or your cousin, Maurice, was it?"

"Very probably. But I'm here, Abbeymere, in reference to your——"

"Hold hard now!" cried the Earl, large hand up-thrown, "m'dear fellow I can guess,—you come on behalf o' that young rascal Tom Lethbridge, hey?"

"Well, this among other matters," nodded Sir Peter. "I understand you have caused him to be apprehended again and——"

"I have, m'dear Vibart, I most certainly have, and must also inform ya that m'duty to the county, m' neighbours and myself requires I press the matter rigorously, indeed, I hope to get the rogue transported this time."

"For poaching a rabbit, my lord?"

"And to strike terror into like hardened reprobates. You, my dear Vibart, being a man o' sentiment may deem this a little, well—hard, shall we say."

"I think it entirely damnable! To doom any young man to such hellish suffering for crime so paltry, if indeed crime it be—

"But, m'dear Vibart, our ancestors, yours and mine, would ha' used him infernally harder."

"To be sure," nodded Sir Peter, "blinded him, cut off his hands or feet or mercifully hanged him. To-day merely chains, the hell of a convict ship, soul-destroying labour and the whip. By God, Abbeymere, the barbarian dies hard in us, it seems! However, I shall interest myself on your victim's behalf and should he be condemned, shall carry the matter to a higher court. But enough of this, sir, my errand here is to demand the reason of this letter I had from you this morning and, having heard your explanation, to tear it up."

"Good God, Vibart, surely the meaning's plain enough."

"Not to Richard Vibart's father, sir. And as to your suggestion of Fallowdean Copse, pray understand I am not accustomed to spy upon my son. Under these circumstances I beg you will expound the matter fully."

"Love!" quoth the Earl, and chuckled throatily. "Love, my dear neighbour, the Grande Passion universal, and most charming and vital of 'em all. Calf-love if ya will, but to the poor calf a very serious business, a soul-shaking agony, a sweet madness may culminate in such fierce desperation to plunge him to damnation. I speak feelingly, Vibart, for not only is your son Richard thus afflicted but my son Iford also. The game's afoot, m'dear sir, one lovely she ... your son and mine ... dogs on the scent, snarling on each other wi' snapping fangs."

"Do I gather, my lord, that you are suggesting that my son is involved in some vulgar amour?"

"An amour most certainly, Vibart, but not necessarily vulgar. No, no—two hot-blooded young fellows in love with the same bewitching object. And, damme, after all—why not? It's nature, man, and 'nature her custom holds' hey? And then again, how goes the old merry song? 'We all love a pretty girl under the rose.' I did, ay by heaven and do yet! You did! We all do and always shall so long as men be men and women the dear, shy, sweet-provoking witches they are."

"To which, my lord, I beg to take exception, at least so far as my son and myself are concerned. However, permit that I express my thanks for warning me of this folly. At the same time I must ask that you won't trouble yourself to notice my son in any further communication you may address to me." Lord Abbeymere laughed so heartily that his eyes seemed to vanish altogether.

"Oh, Vibart! My dear fellow, why blind yourself? Why blink the fact? Your son Dick's a fine fellow, no better and no worse than other fine fellows, a skittish young colt feeling his oats, no more. Be human, my dear Vibart, be human,—wink and laugh at it as I do, for my lad's the same. Ay, begad, my Iford's as bad or worse than your Dick, hot on the scent and in full cry. And by heavens, Vibart, no wonder! For I do protest the she in question is altogether the most captivating, demd alluring armful o' warm loveliness, ah—damme if she isn't Beauty's very perfection——"

"And, according to your letter, a domestic."

"Eh? A domestic? Did I so describe her? Amazing! She is governess to my sister Bedingham's imps and urchins, Vibart. And there's the devil of it, for my sister will stay here for some time, and with her this walking tantalization, and the more Iford sees of her the madder he grows, and small wonder, for as I say she is——"

"My lord," said Sir Peter, rising, "I beg to——"

"Wait, man, wait!" cried the Earl. "Hear the vital reason of my letter, sit down, my dear Vibart and let me tell ya——"

"I can hear as well standing, my lord."

"Well then, Vibart, I wrote to prevent possible bloodshed, an excellent, sufficing reason, hey?"

"Pray be explicit, Abbeymere."

"Well then, to prevent your son and mine from maiming or killing each other. And your Dick's a dead shot, I hear."

Sir Peter sat down again.

"You mean that Lord Iford and Richard have quarrelled?"

"Ay, damme, but I do! They never quite hit it off at Oxford, as you may know, but now—eged, matters are desperate, Vibart. Y'see, Iford feels that your son's conduct is not,—well, altogether sportsmanlike."

"Pray how so, my lord?" enquired Sir Peter, suddenly grim.

"Well, Iford, having flushed the lovely prey, feels that your Dick is poaching on his preserves, as it were."

Here once again Sir Peter rose.

"My lord," said he, with gesture of stately finality, "you need say no more. Lord Iford shall be relieved of all or any imagined rivalry henceforth. And permit me to remark——"

"Wait, Vibart! Yonder comes the butler at last with—ha damme and there's m' sister Bedingham in full sail ... ay, she's seen us!" As he spoke, towards them paced a sleek and portly butler bearing, and with most tender care, two wicker cradles wherein reposed as many dusty bottles, while after him strode a smart footman carrying tray and glasses; but behind these stately menials, with them but not of them, fluttered a lady befrilled and beflounced, herself a shape of dominating femininity, slightly ponderous, extremely sparkling and vivacious, yet a little overripe.

"Lavinia, my dear," quoth the Earl, with large gesture, "I think you must remember our neighbour, Sir Peter Vibart,—my dear fellow, you've met m' sister, Lady Bedingham!"

"Why, of course, Valentine," said her ladyship curtseying graciously to Sir Peter's stately bow. "I met Sir Peter on my last visit, for indeed. Sir Peter, I am frequently here, I so adore the sweet country, its peace and bowery seclusion, oh, these are wine of life to me."

"Especially at the end o' the season when London's a dooced wilderness, eh, Lavvy?" chuckled the Earl.

"Indeed, Val, but you know I always doated on the country even as a tiny child."

"Which reminds me, Lavinia, where are they—your small imps? I should like Vibarrt to see 'em. Send and let their governess bring 'em—do."

"Impossible, Val, the darlings are gone for a drive and Ford is out taking the air."

"Ford's the luscious governess, Vibart."

"Valentine! I beg your pardon, but—that adjective!"

"Eh? Luscious?" enquired my lord, mouthing the word. "Well then we'll substitute the word 'perilous',—ay, Miss Beauty Perilous,—this man's delight, temptation and destruction incarnate, like Troy's golden Helen, like Cleopatra, Phryne, Roxana——"

"My dear Valentine,—really!"

"Damme, Lavinia, but she's Beauty's perfection and ya know it!"

"Well, but gracious goodness, don't swear at me! Indeed, Sir Peter, look at his eyes,—so baleful! And truly, Sir Peter, as I say, I adore beautiful things in art or nature, pictures, flowers, music, the darling birds, a sunbeam, a twinkling star, moonshine—my soul feeds on them, expands, soars! I love to surround myself with things beautiful, my garden, my house, my furniture,—and my Ford harmonizes with them all ... and such a highly superior young person, so accomplished! My sweet mites doat on her——"

"And our wine waits!" cried the Earl, boisterously. "Fill, Travers, fill man,—bumpers to Beauty, eh, Vibart?"

"I fear you must pardon me, Abbeymere," answered Sir Peter, drawing on his gloves. "I never take wine in the afternoon."

"Eh? You don't? Good God! Man's a puritan! Any time's the time for such wine as this. Dooce take me, but y'miss a lot, Vibart."

"Possibly," sighed Sir Peter, "but amongst them—gout! Lady Bedingham, I bid you good afternoon! Adieu, Abbeymere——"

"But y' horse, Vibart."

"I'll go get it, my lord."

And, having made his bows, Sir Peter went forthwith.

"Fellow's a fish!" snorted the Earl, ogling his wine.

"But how elegant!" sighed my lady Bedingham. "How strangely handsome! What eyes!"