Читать книгу My Lord of Wrybourne - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 8
ОглавлениеWHICH TELLS OF A WARNING
Three days have elapsed, and there is a cloud of dust upon the London road sweeping rapidly south; and in this rolling cloud, his habitual modish languor quite forgotten, rides Mr. Harry Standish, private secretary (and much beside) to my lord the Earl of Wrybourne Feveril.
The road becoming steep, Mr. Standish, like the horse-master and lover that he is, eases his willing animal to a gentler pace, and thus it is at leisured amble that he reaches the hill-top and here, where the ways divide, beholds another horseman gazing up pensively at a weather-beaten fingerpost; at the sound of his approach this horseman turned, stares, smiles and salutes him with an airy flourish, saying as he does so:
"Ah, Standish, well met! I rejoice to see you! You remember me, I'm sure—and behold me, my dear fellow, most humbly at your service."
The Viscount is cool, immaculate as to person and perfectly assured,—Mr. Standish, on the contrary, is hot, dusty and somewhat dishevelled with hard riding, which may possibly account for his entire lack of cordiality as he responds:
"Viscount Twily ... it is?"
"Aha," rejoins that gentleman with smiling bow, "I rejoice that you should remember me, sir, considering I have not experienced the joy of your company since the Chalmers and Wrybourne affair, that quite preposterous business with—cutlasses! Perfectly absurd, you'll agree, I'm sure!"
"Ah, no!" murmurs Mr. Standish, becoming languid. "Don't 'gree,—can't! Your S'Robert didn't think so then, nor do I now. Oh no,—Chalmers fought to kill——"
"Oh, he did! Indeed yeh!" replies the Viscount airily. "Robert assured me repeatedly he intended to lay the Earl dead at his feet,—that nothing would satisfy him but his heart's blood."
"Well, well," sighed Mr. Standish, shortening his reins, "'twas dooced murd'rous 'ffair happily ended——"
"Is it?" enquires the Viscount, eyebrows raised.
"Isn't it?" demands Mr. Standish, eyebrows lowered. Thus for a space they smile and frown at one another until in widening smile is such veiled suggestion of gloating malice that the frown becomes darker as Mr. Standish at last, and as with an effort, contrives to shake languid head and murmurs:
"Venture t'quire what the devil y'mean?"
To which query the Viscount, drawling also, responds:
"My—dear—fellow, is it possible you—are not—aware?"
"Yes," sighs Mr. Standish, again preparing to ride on. "Oh yes, perfectly!"
The Viscount blinks, almost frowns, smiles instead, and enquires:
"Of what, pray?"
"That you're wastin' m'time damnably!"
The Viscount titters, nods and rejoins:
"My dear Standish, perhaps I do, yet if so—to good and friendly purpose, for I intend to—warn you!"
"Dev'lish kind 'f you! Accept gratitude and Goo'bye——"
"Though," continues the Viscount somewhat hastily and urging his horse a little nearer, "I must again express surprise at your continued ignorance of the fact that Sir Robert Chalmers has made himself your, or rather Lord Wrybourne's, neighbour!"
"Really?" murmurs Mr. Standish, drooping in his saddle with a languid grace. "And does this explain your presence—why you're so dooced far from Town?"
"Well," smiles the Viscount, "hardly. It does, and then again it does not. For—between you and me, my dear Standish, Beauty, as of course you are now perfectly aware, may be more devilish alluring here 'mid these rustical surroundings than in the fragrant glamour and artful voluptuousness of our dear, delightful Vanity Fair."
"In-deed?" murmurs Mr. Standish, slapping dust from coatskirts with his riding whip as though half minded to use it upon the speaker.
"And this," continued the Viscount meaningly, "naturally reminds me to ask if you can tell me my most direct route to Lord Scrope's place, Wrexham Manor?"
In the act of urging his willing horse forward, Mr. Standish reins him in rather forcibly, though his voice sounded almost slumbrous as he enquired:
"So you're 'quainted with his lordship?"
"I have that honour, indeed, yes! I have also the extreme felicity of knowing his most charming lady—a mag-nificent creature! Ah what a form! What voluptuous splendours! Venus personified! Indeed, my——" Mr. Standish's whip quivered in a grip anything but languid,—his horse reared suddenly, swerved and almost cannoned into the Viscount's animal which, rearing in turn, leaps away down hill at furious gallop while Mr. Standish, having soothed his nervous steed, watches hopefully, but, seeing the Viscount contrives to remain unthrown, sighs plaintively and rides upon his way, but now at slower pace like one heavy with thought....
Reaching the Great House, he summons divers grooms to take his horse and remove as much of the road from his dusty person as possible; which done, he goes in quest of the Earl and finds him in the library busied with plans for his new cottages.
"Well, Harry," said my lord, smiling a greeting, "I'm glad you're home. How are things in Town? Sit down and tell me, let's hear." Mr. Standish sank into the nearest chair, rose instantly as if it burnt him, shook his head and exclaimed:
"Ha, m'dear old lord—Sam, old f'lo', you've kicked up hell's delight in London! Fat's in the dooced fire! No end of to-do."
"Good!" nodded my lord. "I'm glad to know it."
"Eh—glad?"
"Heartily glad if I've made folks think."
"Ah, but they not only think but—talk!"
"So much the better."
"Yes, but—against you."
"Well, no matter."
"But, my lord—Sam—m'dear old Earl. I'm tryin' t' tell you ... if you knew what they are saying——"
"I do! The word is that I'm a rebel and what not, which of course is dam' nonsense, so I repeat—no matter."
"But damme, Sam, it—it does matter most infernally—to me at least!" said Mr. Standish, who, being greatly moved, became quite articulate or nearly so: "I'm doing my best t' inform you that you have come the devil and all of a social cropper! Vanity Fair is 'bout to close its doors 'gainst you with reverberating, everlastingly dooced bang! There's even talk of—of—oh, egad—of barring you from the clubs! Your prestige is a minus quantity—popularity nowhere—gone to the dogs, damme! You're becoming the rankest of outsiders! Consequently I'm devilish low and sinkin' lower, plumbing the dooced, abysmal, awful deeps of woe and shame."
"Ha—so!" exclaimed my lord, becoming Sam at his grimmest. "Shame, d'ye say? Then say I—cast adrift and right handily. If you're wishful to be quit o' me, free o' my service and cast off from the sinking hulk, my answer is—ay ay and good luck t'you."
Mr. Standish fell back a step, and in this moment the last vestiges of his languor vanished, his shoulders squared themselves, hands clenched and eyes flashed as he answered, enunciating each word with indignant care:
"My lord, your implication is an insult, a very real affront! I hastened to you with this depressing news, spurred on by—by Friendship, to avow myself more than ever at your service. But now, my lord, since you can so readily doubt my loyalty, all I desire to say is——"
"Belay!" cried Sam, joyously; then, rising as the Earl, bowed ceremoniously, saying: "Mr. Standish, I crave your pardon. Harry, good friend, give me your hand...."
Now after brief interlude, being seated again, Mr. Standish said:
"By the way, Sam, I met that Viscount f'ler Twily on the road, seemingly very full of oats, and, among other prattle and blythesome chit-chat, he took pleasure to inform me that S'Robert Chalmers is living in our neighbourhood and hinted at the possibility of more trouble."
"Oh?" murmured Sam, pondering this. "Ah? Strangely enough Ned mentioned him the other day ... yes ... he seemed to think Chalmers meant some sort of mischief."
"Pre-cisely!" exclaimed Mr. Standish, with fervour. "Captain Ned's man o' ripe judgment, foresight and so forth, y'know, smart as he looks, and I b'lieve he's perfectly right."
"Did you learn Chalmers' present whereabouts, Harry?"
"No,—didn't trouble t'ask, but shall very soon find out—first thing tomorrow! And, Sam, it seems this Viscount f'ler knows your cousin Ralph and is on visiting terms!"
"Ah?" murmured Sam, again.
"Exactly! And what's more, this f'ler has met Lady Cecily—boasted of it. Slavered over her beauty! Oh, b'gad, he made the description of her charms s'dooced, dev'lish suggestive that I felt compelled to shut his mouth."
"How so, Harry?"
"Tried to give him a tumble, but—no go! His horse bolted and downhill, but—f'ler can ride, y'know. So next time must try other and more direct means."
"No!" said my lord, becoming Sam. "We want no more duelling or chance o' bloodshed! So, Harry, you'll promise on your honour, here and now, to steer clear of any such chance."
"Eh? Why then, how would you have me act—how?"
"No how at all! To put it plainly, you'll lie to with a spring on your cable and guns double-shotted and stand by for orders."
"Sam, if all that means I'm not t'act on my own judgment——"
"Ay, it does so!"
"Then, my lord, I must beg leave to inform you that I cannot, and——"
"Messmate, avast!" quoth Sam, becoming slightly grim. "Belay all that and stand by! Are ye listening?"
"Of course, my lord."
"Very good! Then here are your orders: you will ply off and on well to wind'ard, keeping a sharp lookout for the first sign of hostilities in any shape, having sighted which, you will instantly bear up, go about and——"
"Old f'lo, hold hard! You're getting too confounded nautical."
"Plainly then, Harry, should violence threaten, you will leave me to deal with it alone and in my own way. Is this understood?"
"It is, my lord, and so dooced well that I utterly and positively refuse to accept such orders."
"Well—damme!" exclaimed Sam. "This is plain insubordination!"
"It is! Ex-actly, my lord. And so it is going to be!" Saying which, Mr. Standish nodded and folded his arms with an air of the utmost determination. "And," he added, "I don't know how you can ask or expect such conduct of me."
"For two reasons, Harry. Firstly, because I alone am concerned, d'ye see,—and secondly, because of Rowena, that young wife of yours."
"But, Sam, she would be the first to bid me support you to the uttermost in any foul business that may happen, and scorn me if I shirked. But you know this."
"Ay, I do, God love her! All the same, her husband shall never risk his blood in quarrel o' mine—and that's final!"
"But Sam, old f'lo'——"
"I repeat—final, Harry! If Chalmers means to risk his other hand against me, well and good,—you, I hope, will second me. But should he try other methods as, for instance, to set this Viscount Twily and others to decry and defame me, you will let it pass,—take no action that may lead to your being drawn into a duel, d'ye see? This you must promise on your honour."
"And how if I don't?"
"Then, Harry, my dear fellow, I vow by God—we part company."
Once again Mr. Standish leapt from his chair and, striding to the window, stood there a while, frowning out upon the sunny prospect.
"Come," said my lord, at last, "give me your word, Harry, for 'pon my life I should grieve to lose you. So now, will you promise?"
Mr. Standish turned, hesitated, then, striding forward, both hands outstretched, made answer:
"Yes, Sam, dear old lord, I'll dodge all chance of violence, speech or action, like the damnedest craven, if in return you promise to call on me the moment you find yourself out-numbered, in any sort of hole ... back to the dooced wall, and so on,—then you'll give me the word and I'll jump to it with joy—though, damme, I should do that whether or no! However, let me hear you say so."
"I do, Harry, and I will."
"Good!" sighed Mr. Standish, sinking into his chair again. "This being happily settled, what now, Sam? Having regard to this undoubted menace, what are you going to do at present?"
And smiling into his faithful friend's anxious face, Sam answered:
"Mow."
"Eh—mow? Mow what—where—how?"
"In the usual way, Harry, with a scythe, while you look over these plans for the new cottages. You'll see I've made some alterations."
"But—a scythe?" repeated Mr. Standish. "D'you mean to say—actually—a scythe——?"
"Ay, I do," nodded Sam, rising. "Let me tell you I'm a pretty fair performer on the scythe, thanks to old Mr. Toop, and it's notable good exercise, so a-scything I will go."
