Читать книгу My Lord of Wrybourne - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 5

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Ralph, Lord Scrope, though a little more drunk than usual, was yet so well aware of it that, dreading to meet his lady's reproachful eyes, he reined his horse aside from the avenue of noble trees that led in gracious sweep to the front door and was such a splendid feature of this ancient Manor House and thus, by devious ways, reached the trim stable-yard, here to be met by his old head groom who shook grey head, sighing deeply, for his master was swaying in the saddle.

"T-Tom," he stammered thickly, straightening his powerful, shapely body with an effort, "Tom, ol' tulip, I'm shockin'ly d'sguised in liquor, so—question is"—here he glanced furtively about, very like a guilty schoolboy—"I'm ashkin' you—ish her la'ship anywhere 'bout, m'lady, eh, Tom?"

"No, m'lud, she ain't, I'm glad to say."

"Good ... sho'm I—mustn't shee me jush yet ... I'm trifle foxed ... shlightly bottled, eh, Tom, m' ol' pippin, eh?"

"Master Ralph, my lord," replied the old groom severely, "you are most owdacious fuddled, too dis-gustin' drunk to go anigh my dearie leddy yet. Lord love and comfort her loveliness and too tender 'eart! And 'er that anxious along o' you; been 'ere twice, she 'ave, to see if you were safe 'ome, poor, bootiful, too-fond creeter! Geedown, Master Ralph, afore you tumble down, my lud, quick afore she comes again and ketches of ee—come ee into my cottage and sleep it off."

"Oh—no, T-Tom, 's water, pure, plain w-water I want. Help me d-down——"

With old Tom's not too gentle assistance, my lord dismounted and staggering to the pump nearby, bared his handsome head, stooped it beneath the spout, and cried: "Go!" whereat pump clanked, water gushed and his lordship gasped, spluttered, swore, and presently stood dripping and thus, a little sobered and refreshed, accepted the towel old Tom now proffered and began drying himself with a quite unnecessary violence until he checked suddenly, then, recoiling, crept on tiptoe, with elaborate caution, for the nearest hiding-place, and this being the pump, he crouched behind it in desperate though vain endeavour to screen his too-large person from the stately lady who stood regarding him with such very beautiful but woeful eyes,—this golden woman whose radiant loveliness seemed to shed a glory all about her,—and yet whose presence had sent her lord and master to cower thus in this quite inadequate shelter of the old pump; thus presently, with her sad gaze upon his abject form, she spoke in tone grievous as her look:

"Oh, Tom, he's very bad again! Please take you the towel and dry him properly for me."

"No—no, Cec'ly, m'dear," said her husband with exaggerated jauntiness. "No need o' Tom—do it m'self ... though jus' at present I'm resting. Join you pres'nly indoors ... home sweet home ... dish o' tea ... revelry 'n' joy."

"Oh, Tom," she sighed again, closing her eyes as if unable to bear the sight of her besotted husband, or because of the tears that blinded her, "oh, today he is ... worse than usual! What am I to do with him? What can I do?"

"Go you indoors, my dearie leddy, and leave him to me!" replied the old groom very tenderly and blinking his keen old eyes that were moist for very sympathy. "Ar, leave him to me as have knowed and managed him ever since 'e were a squalling babby——"

"S'right, m' dear!" quoth his lordship brightly. "'S perfeckly, abs-lootly right, y' know ... ol' Tom ... m' first pony ... aha, and learned me t' box ... s-s-straight left ..." and clenching his powerful, quite terrible fists whereby he had won no little fame, his lordship began to box the pump, striking at it, ducking, weaving and side-stepping rather unsteadily but with the greatest spirit and gusto. Twice his wife called to him, but, finding her appeals unheard or quite unheeded, she sighed hopelessly and, with golden head bowed, went slowly and mournfully away. Meanwhile her lordly husband continued to dance, dodge and feint at the pump until a hard-driven fist tumbled him headlong.

"And there's for ye, m'lud, damn y'r eyes!" panted old Tom scowling down on his thus prostrated master who made no attempt to rise. "I ought b'rights to tek a hoss-whip to ee. This be second time this week as you've filled them lovely eyes o' hern wi' tears o' grief and bitter shame! You'm breakin' 'er too-gentle 'eart; killin' 'er b'inches, I tell ee—ar, and because she du love ee too well, like as few men be ever loved! And though you ain't worth it, she'll go on lovin' ee till she sinks into her grave—and then p'r'aps you'll begin to larn and know what you've lost—and be lost too!"

"Hold your curst tongue, Tom, or you'll have me in tears next."

"Ar—crockydile's tears!" snorted the old groom fiercely. "Master Ralph, m'lord, you bean't nowise fit to tie her shoe, no, nor even touch it, never nowise and nohow."

"Well, damme, I know that," groaned his lordship. "I've always known it."

"She takes ye out o' prison. She pays y'r debts. She marries ye, and arl as you give her in return is misery and shame ..."

Bowing curly head between clenched fists his lordship rocked himself to and fro while this aged groom, who had fathered him more truly than his own lordly sire ever had, now reproached and berated him until, words and breath alike failing, the old man turned and, with sound that may have been a sob, trudged heavily away.

But Ralph continued to sit crouched thus miserably on the flagstones, nor moved until, roused by a light step, he beheld his lady standing before him,—this young wife who nineteen short months ago had been merely a farmer's daughter (and drudge), yet who now showed sweetly proud and dignified as any lady in England.

Mutely she stood, and he, knowing her for all loveliness from dainty, sandalled foot to the crowning glory of her corn-coloured hair, gazed up at her with a wistful adoration and she down on him with such pitying sadness as smote him to a remorse beyond his utterance, therefore he bowed his head again between clenched fists and so remained until:

"My lord, stand up!" said this lady of months, and this gentleman of so many generations humbly obeyed. "My poor Ralph," she murmured, tenderly, "your dear eyes look so heavy, so very tired—is your head aching you so much?"

"Yes," he groaned.

"Then come indoors and let me bathe it for you; come, my poor love, do now."

And so dumbly he followed her, keeping his head averted lest she saw the tears that now were blinding him.