Читать книгу Our Admirable Betty - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 8
ОглавлениеWHICH DESCRIBES, AMONG OTHER THINGS, A POACHER
The Major rubbed his chin with dubious finger, pushed back his wig and taking up the letter from the desk before him, broke the seal and read as follows:
"MY VERY DEAR UNCLE:
"Being in a somewhat low state of health and spirits—"
"Spirits!" said the Major. "Ha!"
"—induced by a too close application to my duties—"
"Hum!" quoth the Major, rubbing his chin harder than ever.
"—I purpose (subject to your permission) to inflict myself upon you—"
"The devil he does!"
"—having been ordered rest and quiet and country air."
"Hum! I wonder!" mused the Major.
"Pray spare yourself the fatigue of writing as I leave London at once and well knowing your extreme kindness I hope to have the felicity of greeting you within a day or so,
Your most grateful, humble and obedient nephew,
TOM."
Having read this through the Major fell to profound meditation.
"I wonder?" he mused and pulled the bell.
"Sergeant!" said he, as the door opened.
"Sir?" said the Sergeant advancing three paces and coming to attention.
"Are there any—er—strangers in the village?"
"Last time I chanced to drop into the 'George and Dragon' there was a round dozen gentlemen a-staying there, sir."
"Young gentlemen?"
"Aye, sir, them as I ob-served was, and very fine young gents too—almost as fine as their lackeys, sir."
"A dozen of 'em, Zebedee!"
The Major rubbed his chin again and frowned slightly.
"Then my nephew will make the thirteenth. Tell Mrs. Agatha to have a chamber ready for him to-night."
"The Viscount a-comin' here, sir? Always thought same couldn't abide country!"
"He hath changed his mind it seems or——"
The Major paused suddenly and glanced toward the open window, for, upon the air without was a distant clamour of voices and shouting pierced, ever and anon, by a wild hunting yell. As the uproar grew nearer and louder the Major rose, and crossing to the casement, beheld his lodge-gates swung wide before an insurging crowd, a motley throng, for, among rustic homespun and smock-frock he espied velvet coats brave with gold and silver lace. Before this riot a tall and slender gentleman strode waving a richly be-laced hat in one hand and flourishing a whip in the other.
"Hark away! Hark away!" he yelled, while from those behind came boisterous laughter and shouts of "Yoick!" "Tally-ho!" "Gone away!" and the like.
At the terrace steps the concourse halted and out upon this clamorous throng the quiet figure of the Major limped, his wig a little askew as usual. As he came, the clamour subsided and the crowd, falling back, discovered half-a-dozen stalwart keepers who dragged between them a slender youth, bruised and bloody.
"Ah," said the Major, surveying the scene with interest, "and what may all this be?"
"O demmit, sir!" cried the slender young gentleman, clapping hat to gorgeous bosom and bowing, "Step me vitals, sir—what should it be but a demmed rogue and a rebbit, sir!"
"O, a rabbit?" said the Major.
"And a rogue, sir! Pink me, 'tis the demmdest, infernal, long-leggedest rascal and led us the demmdest chase I promise you! Hill and dale, hedge and wall, copse and spinney, O demn! Better than any fox I ever hunted, there was only Alvaston, Marchdale, your humble and one or two keeper-fellows in at the death—pace too hot, sir—strike me dumb!"
"And pray, sir," enquired the Major, "whom have I the fortune to address?"
"O Ged, sir, to be sure—I'm Alton—very obedient, humble—gentleman yonder blowing his nose like a demmed trumpet is my friend Tony Marchdale of Marchdale—big fellow in the purple coat and nose to match is Sir Benjamin Tripp" (here Sir Benjamin bowed, spluttering mildly) "gentleman with the sparrow-legs is Lord Alvaston" (here his lordship posturing gracefully with his slender legs, bowed, cursing amiably)—"stand-and-deliver gentleman with hook-nose, Captain West of the Guards—die-away gentleman in lavender and gold, Mr. Dalroyd—fat fellow in abominable scratch-wig who looks as if he'd swallowed a lemon the wrong way, don't know—and there we are, sir—demme!"
"And I, gentlemen, am John d'Arcy, at your service. What can I do for you?"
"O egad, sir—strike me everlasting blue, 'tis we have been doing for you! Here we've caught your rogue for you—chased him high—chased him low—here, there and everywhere—bushes, burrs and briers, dirt and dust sir—O demmit!
"If," began the Major, "if you will have the goodness to be a little more explicit——"
But here the short, plump, fierce-eyed gentleman in the scratch-wig, elbowing aside the yokels who stood near strode forward excitedly:
"You are Major d'Arcy?" he challenged.
The Major bowed.
"Why then, sir, give me leave to say we've had the extreme good fortune to catch a poacher on your land. You'll know me of course. I'm Sir Oliver Rington of Chevening."
"No!" said the Major.
"Then you'll have heard of me, to be sure?"
"I fear not."
"Sir, I'm your member—and——"
"I rejoice to know it!"
"And justice o' the peace."
"I felicitate you!"
"As such, sir, 'tis my present endeavour to get an enactment passed making the law more rigorous against poaching——"
"A noble work!" sighed the Major.
"In the which, sir, I am being vigorously supported by the neighbouring gentry. You are a stranger in these parts, I think?"
"I have resided at the Manor precisely a month and two days, sir."
"Then, sir, permit me to say that the quality hereabouts are united against such miserable rogues as this damned poaching rascal."
"You are something in the majority, 'twould seem!" said the Major, glancing from the blood-smeared face of the solitary captive to the shuffling throng.
"We are determined to put down such roguery with a firm hand, sir," answered Sir Oliver, truculently, "I have already succeeded in having four such rascals as yon transported for life, sir."
"For a dem rebbit—O Ged!" exclaimed Lord Alton.
"You forget, Alton," interposed Mr. Dalroyd, languidly, "you forget, the rabbit may be a sheep next week, a horse the next, your purse the next and——"
"And this, sir, was merely a rabbit, I believe, which happens to be mine," said the Major, turning to glance at the speaker.
Mr. Dalroyd was tall and slim and pallidly handsome; from black periwig to elegant riding boots he was point-de-vice, a languid, soft-spoken, very fine gentleman indeed, who surveyed the Major's tall, upright figure, with sleepy-lidded eyes. So for a long moment they viewed each other, the Major serene of brow, his hands buried in the pockets of his threadbare Ramillie coat, Mr. Dalroyd cool and leisuredly critical, yet gradually as he met the other's languid gaze, the Major's expression changed, his black brows twitched together, his keen eyes grew suddenly intent and withdrawing a hand from his pocket, he began absently to finger the scar that marked his temple; then Mr. Dalroyd smiled faintly and turned a languid shoulder.
"Gentlemen," said he, "our sport is done, the play grows wearisome—let us be gone."
At this, Sir Oliver Rington approached the Major and in his eagerness tapped him on the arm with his whip.
"With your permission, Major, I'll see this rogue set in the stocks and after safely under lock and key. You'll prosecute, of course."
Very gently the Major set aside Sir Oliver's whip and limped over to the prisoner:
"He looks sufficiently young!" said he.
"A criminal type!" nodded Sir Oliver, "I've convicted many such—a very brutal, desperate rogue!"
"To be sure he's very bloody!" said the Major.
"Aye," growled Sir Oliver, "and serve him right—he gave enough trouble for six."
"And something faint!"
"Aye, feint it is sir—the rascal's shamming."
"And dusty!"
"O, a foul beast!" agreed Sir Oliver.
"And hath a hungry look. So shall he go wash and eat——"
"Wash—eat—how—what in the devil's name, sir——"
"Sergeant!"
"Sir!" answered the Sergeant, very upright and stiff in the back.
"Take the fellow to the stables and when he's washed—feed him!"
"Very good, sir!" Saying which, the Sergeant advanced upon the drooping prisoner, set hand to ragged coat-collar, and wheeling him half-left, marched him away.
"Strike me everlasting perishing purple!" exclaimed the Marquis.
"Damnation!" cried Sir Oliver, his whip quivering in his fist, "d'ye mean to say, sir—d'ye mean——" he choked.
"I mean to say, that since the prisoner stole my property I will dispose of him as I think fit——"
"Fit sir—fit—as you think fit!" spluttered Sir Oliver.
"Or as it pleases me, sir."
"You sir—you!" panted Sir Oliver in sudden frenzy, "and who the devil are you that dare run counter to the law—a beggarly half-pay soldier——"
"O demmit, sir!" exclaimed the Marquis, restraining plump ferocity, "try to be a little decent, I beg, just a little—remember you are not in the House now, sir!"
Sir Oliver sulkily permitted himself to be drawn a little aside, then, halting suddenly, wheeled about and pointed at the Major with his whip.
"Gentlemen all," he cried, "behold a man who hath no respect for the Constitution, for Church, State or King God save him! Behold a—a being who is traitor to his class! A man who—who'd—O damme—who'd—shoot a fox!"
The Major laughed suddenly and shook his head.
"No," said he, "no, I'll shoot neither foxes—nor even fools, sir—if—I say if—it may be avoided. And so, gentlemen, thanking you for your extreme zeal on my behalf in the matter of my poacher, I have the honour to bid you, each and every, good day."
So saying, the Major bowed and turning, limped into the house.
