Loe raamatut: «Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One», lehekülg 11

Frank Pratt’s Cross-Examination, and Après

Captain Vanleigh had declared solemnly that Penreife was “the deucedest dullest place” he ever saw in his life; and Sir Felix said it was “’nough to kill ’fler;” but, all the same, there was no talk to Trevor of moving; they lounged about the house chatting to each other, and consumed their host’s cigars to a wonderful extent; they ate his dinners and drank his wine; and Vanleigh generally contrived to go to bed a few guineas richer every night from the whist table.

Pratt protested against the play, but Trevor laughed at him.

“My dear boy,” he said, “why not let such matters take their course? Van is my guest; surely I should be a bad host if I did not let him win a little spare cash. Have you anything else to grumble about?”

“Heaps,” said Pratt, trying to put his little legs on a chair in front of the garden seat where he and his friend were having a morning cigar; but they were too short, and he gave up the attempt.

“Go on, then,” said Trevor, lazily, “have your grumble out.”

“Hadn’t I better go back to town?” said Pratt, sharply.

“Why, are you not comfortable?”

“Yes – no – yes – no. I’m precious uncomfortable. I see too much,” said Pratt.

“Well, let’s hear what you see that makes you so uncomfortable,” said Trevor, carelessly.

“Dick, old boy,” said Pratt, “you won’t be offended with me for what I say?”

“Not I,” was the answer.

“What are you thinking about?” said Pratt, watching the other’s face.

“I was only thinking about you, and wondering why, if you don’t like what you see, you can’t close your eyes.”

“That’s what you are doing, Dick!” said Pratt, eagerly.

“My dear Frank, have you discovered powder barrels beneath the house – is there a new plot?”

“Don’t be so foolish, Dick. Why don’t you let those two fellows go?”

“Because they are my guests, and stay as long as they like.”

“And are doing their very best to undermine your happiness.”

“Nonsense, man.”

“Dick, old fellow, answer me honestly. Don’t you care a great deal for that little girl up at Tolcarne?”

There was a few moments’ pause, during which the colour came into Trevor’s cheek.

“Honestly, I do,” he said at last. “Well, and what of that?”

“Well, Dick, are you blind? Van’s making all the play that he can, and father and aunt favour him. He’s there nearly every day. He’s there now.”

Trevor gave a start, and turned round to face his friend, his lips twitching and fingers working; but he burst out laughing the next moment.

“Anything else, Franky?”

“Laugh away,” said Pratt, who looked nettled – “only give me credit for my warning when you find I am right.”

“That I will,” said Trevor. “Now then, go on! What’s the next plot against my peace of mind?”

“Suppose I ask you a question or two!”

“All right – go on!”

“Have you noticed anything wrong with Humphrey?”

“Been precious sulky lately.”

“Sulky! The fellow’s looked daggers at you, and has barely answered you civilly.”

“Well, he has been queer, certainly.”

“Why is it?” said Pratt.

“Bilious – out of order – how should I know?”

“The poor fellow’s in love!”

“Poor Strephon,” said Trevor, idly.

“And he sees a powerful rival in the path,” continued Pratt.

“The deuce he does!” said Trevor, laughing. “Is that Van, too? But hang it, Frank!” he cried, starting up, “seriously, I won’t stand any nonsense of that kind. If Van’s been making love to that little lass, I’ll put a stop to it. Why, now I think of it, I did see him looking at her!”

“No!” said Pratt, quietly. “It isn’t Van – he’s too busy at Tolcarne!”

“Silence, croaker!” cried, Trevor, laughing in a constrained fashion. “But, come – who is the powerful rival?”

“Dick, old fellow, I’m one of those, and no humbug, who have a habit of trying to ferret out other people’s motives.”

“Don’t preach, Franky. Is it Flick? because if it is, the girl’s laughing at him.”

“No,” said Pratt; “it isn’t Flick.”

“Then who the deuce is it?”

“You!”

Trevor burst into a hearty laugh.

“Why, Frank!” he exclaimed, “if ever there was a mare’s-nesting old humbug, it’s you. Why, whatever put that in your head?”

Pratt sat looking at him in silence for a few moments.

“Dick,” he said, “if ever there was a deliciously unsuspicious, trusting fellow, you are he.”

“Never mind about that,” said Trevor. “I want to get this silly notion out of your head.”

“And I want to get it into yours.”

“Well, we’ll both try,” said Trevor. “You begin: I’ll settle you after.”

“To begin, then,” said Pratt. “You’ve several times met that girl in the lane yonder.”

“Yes; now you mention it – I have.”

“About the time when you’ve been going up to Tolcarne?”

“Yes; and it was evident that she was there to meet Humphrey. Why, I laughed and joked the pretty little lass about it.”

“Yes; and did you ever meet Humphrey afterwards?”

“Bravo! my little cross-examining barrister. Yes I did – two or three times. I’m not sworn, mind,” added Trevor, laughing.

“True men don’t need swearing,” said Pratt.

“Thanks for the compliment. Well?”

“How did Humphrey look?”

“Well – yes – now you mention it – to be sure! He looked black as thunder. Oh, but, Franky, I’ll soon clear that up. I wouldn’t hurt the poor lad’s feelings for the world.”

“Wait a bit,” said Pratt. “What, more mystery? Well, go on.”

“Did it ever strike you as strange that you should encounter a pretty, well-spoken little girl like that in your walks?”

“No; I told you I thought she was out to see Humphrey.”

“Or that you should meet her in the passages at home here, to bring you letters, or messages from Mrs Lloyd?”

“Well, now you mention it, yes: it has struck me as odd once or twice.”

“Never struck you that the girl came of her own accord?”

“Never, and I’m sure she never did. She rather avoided me than not; so come, Master Counsellor, you’re out there.”

“Did it never strike you that she was sent?”

Trevor did not answer, but sat gazing in his friend’s face for a few moments, as if he were trying to catch his drift, and then in a flash he seemed to read all the other meant; for his brow grew cloudy, and he sat down hastily, then got up, and took a few strides up and down before reseating himself.

“Well,” said Pratt, “can you see it?”

“I see what you mean, Franky; but I can’t quite think it. The old woman would never have the impudence to plan such a thing.”

“Dick, old fellow, it’s as plain as the day. She’s made up her mind that her little niece shall be mistress of Penreife, and she is playing her cards accordingly.”

“Then I’m afraid, if that is her game, she’ll lose the trick.”

“Dick, old fellow,” said Pratt, “you’re not annoyed?”

“But I am – deucedly annoyed – not with you, Franky; but don’t say any more now, I mean to think it over.”

“Being a friend to an unsuspicious man is about the most unpleasant post on the face of the earth,” said Pratt, moralising, as he saw his friend stride away. “Everybody hates you for enlightening him, and even he cannot forgive you for waking him from his pleasant dreams. Now where has he gone? – oh, to bully that plotting old woman. Well, I’ve done right, I think; and now I’ll have my stroll.”

Frank Pratt started off to do what he called “a bit of melancholy Jaques,” in the pleasant woodland lanes; and was not long in finding an agreeable perch, where he seated himself, lit his big pipe, and began communing with himself till the pipe was smoked out; and then he sat on and thought without it, till a coming light footstep took his attention.

“Now I make a solemn affidavit,” he said, “that I did not come here to play the spy upon anybody’s actions. If they choose to come and act under my very nose, why, I must see the play. Who’s this?”

“This” proved to be little Polly, who walked quickly by him, glancing suspiciously round as she continued her walk.

“Scene the first!” said Pratt; “enter village maiden with flowers. To her village lover,” he continued as a heavy step was heard. “No, by Jove! it’s Dick.”

He was right, for Trevor came along at a swinging pace, and apparently in a few moments he would overtake the girl.

“If I didn’t believe Dick Trevor to be as open as the day, how suspicious that would look!” thought Pratt.

Trevor passed on without seeing him, and then there was a pause. The sun’s rays darted through the overhanging boughs; birds flitted and sang their little love songs overhead; and in a half-dreamy way Pratt sat thinking upon his perch till voices and coming footsteps once more aroused him.

“It’s them!” he said to himself. “I’ll go.”

He made as if to descend, but it struck him that he should be seen if he moved, and he sat still watching – to see at the end of a few moments Tiny Rea coming along the footpath, evidently looking agitated as she walked on in advance.

“She’s never seen Dick and her together!” Pratt said, mentally; and he felt as if he could have run and spoken to the girl; but that which next met his eyes made him utter a low, deep sigh, and he looked as if made of the mossy stone upon which he sat, as Fin Rea followed her sister, hanging on Mr Mervyns arm, and gazing eagerly in his face, while he evidently told her something which was of interest.

They passed slowly by, as if in no hurry to overtake Tiny; and Pratt watched them till quite out of sight, when he got down in a heavy, stunned fashion, to go slowly farther and farther into the wood, where he threw himself down amongst the ferns, and buried his face in his hands, as he groaned —

“More than old enough to be her father!”

Misunderstanding

Meanwhile Trevor had gone along the lane, evidently meaning to make a call at Tolcarne. He was walking with his head bent down, thinking very deeply over what Pratt had said, when he stopped short with a start; for there, just in front, and gazing at him in a startled way, was little Polly.

He nodded to her and passed on; but ere he had gone a dozen yards, he turned sharp round and retraced his steps, calling to the girl to stop.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it at once,” he said. “Here, Polly.”

The little girl turned, and stood trembling before him, her face like fire, but her eyes full of tears.

“Did you call me, sir?” she faltered.

“Yes, my little maid, I want a few words with you.”

“Oh, sir, please – pray don’t speak to me!” faltered the girl, bursting into tears.

“Why, you silly child, what are you afraid of?” cried Trevor, catching her by the wrist. “Look here, tell me this, and don’t be afraid.”

“No – no, sir,” faltered the girl.

“Tell me now, honestly – there, there, stop that crying, for goodness’ sake! Any one would think I was an ogre. I hate to see a woman crying.”

“Please, sir, I am trying,” sobbed the girl.

“Now, then, I want to know this – you have often met me here – do you come to meet Humphrey?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why the deuce – there – there, I don’t mean that – tell me why you do come?”

“Aunt sends me to walk here, sir; but please don’t say I told you, or she will be so angry.”

“Then you don’t want to come and walk here?”

“Oh no, sir! I would much rather not,” exclaimed the girl, eagerly.

“Your aunt sends you, then?” said Trevor, looking at her searchingly, while she gazed up in his eyes like a dove before a hawk.

“Ye-yes, sir!”

“Do you know why?”

The girl’s face grew fiery red now, even to the roots of her hair, and as she looked appealingly at him, he flung her hand angrily from him.

“There, go back,” he exclaimed. “I’m not cross with you, but – there, go home.”

The girl sprang away, evidently frightened to death, and weeping bitterly, to pass these people – she could not tell whom – as she held down her head; but Trevor saw, and he knew that they saw him, and must have witnessed part of the interview; for the party consisted of Tiny Rea, her sister, and Mr Mervyn.

“Was ever anything so provoking?” muttered Trevor, as they bowed and passed, taking a turning that led in another direction. “Oh! this is unbearable.”

For a moment he stood irresolute, hesitating as to whether he should hurry after them; but he was, to use his own words, too much taken aback, and ended by following a narrow pathway into the woods, down which he had not gone half a dozen yards before he became aware that there had been another spectator to his interview with Polly, and that no less a person than Humphrey.

“What the devil are you doing there, sir?” roared Trevor, who was half beside himself with a rage which grew hotter as the bluff young Cornishman stood leaning on his gun, and said, sturdily —

“Watching you, sir.”

“Watching me?”

“Yes, sir. I did not mean to, but I was obliged when I saw what I did.”

“Then you saw me talking to that girl?”

“Yes, sir, I did; and you had no right to do so.”

“How dare you speak to me like that, sir?” roared Trevor; and thoroughly roused now, he caught the young keeper by the throat, and for a few moments the ferns were trampled under foot as they wrestled together, till the veins stood up in knots in Humphrey’s white forehead, as his hat fell off, and, grinding his teeth together, he put out his strength, and, with all the skill of a Cornish wrestler, threw Trevor heavily on his back.

“You would have it,” said the keeper, hoarsely. “You made me forget my place; so don’t blame me for it. Have I hurt you, sir?”

The rage had departed as quickly as it came, and the young man went down on one knee by Trevor, who was half-stunned, but recovered himself quickly, and got up.

“No. I’m not much hurt,” he said, hoarsely.

“You made me do it, sir,” said Humphrey, pitifully. “You shouldn’t have laid hands on me, sir – it made me mad.”

“Made you mad!” said Trevor, angrily. “This is a pretty way to serve your master.”

“You’re no master of mine, sir, from now,” cried Humphrey. “I can’t stand to serve you no more. I’d have stuck to you, sir, through thick and thin, if you’d been a gentleman to me, but – ”

“Do you dare to say I’ve not been a gentleman to you, you scoundrel?” cried Trevor, menacingly, as he clenched his fists.

“Now, don’t ’ee, sir,” cried Humphrey, appealingly. “I don’t want to hurt you, and if you drive me to it I shall do you a mischief.”

“You thick-headed, jealous dolt!” cried Trevor, restraining himself with difficulty. “How can you be such an ass?”

“I don’t blame you, sir,” cried Humphrey, “not so much as that silly old woman who has set it all going.”

“Then it is all true?” cried Trevor, angrily. “Humphrey,” he said, “you’re as great a fool as that mother of yours; and – there, I’ll speak out, though you don’t deserve it: as to little Polly, you great dolt, I never said a tender word to her in my life.”

“Why, I saw you with her hand in yours, not ten minutes ago,” cried Humphrey, indignantly.

“I’ve been calling you fool and dolt, Humphrey,” said Trevor, cooling down, “when I’ve been both to let my passion get the better of me, as it has. There’s a wretched mistake over this altogether; and more mischief done,” he continued, bitterly, “than you can imagine. You think, then, that Mrs Lloyd has that idea in her head?”

“Think, sir!” cried the keeper, hotly, “I know it. Hasn’t she forbidden me to speak to the poor girl? Hasn’t she half-broken her heart?”

“Humphrey,” said Trevor, “you had good reason for feeling angry, but not with me.”

Humphrey looked at him searchingly.

“You doubt me?” said Trevor.

“Will you say it again, sir?” cried the young man, pitifully – “will you swear it?”

“I give you my word of honour as a gentleman, Humphrey, that I have never given the girl a thought; and that this afternoon, when I spoke to her, it was to ask her if she came there to meet you; and she owned her aunt had sent her.”

“Master Dick – Master Dick!” cried the young man in a choking voice, “will you forgive me, sir? If I had known that, sir, I’d sooner have cut my right hand off than have done what I did.”

“It was all a mistake, Humphrey. There – that will do.”

“But I said, sir, you were no master of mine – Master Dick – Mr Trevor, sir. We were boys together here – at the old place – don’t send me away!”

“There, go now; that will do. Yes, it’s all right, Humphrey. I’m not angry. Send you away? No, certainly not; only go now, and don’t make a scene,” said Trevor, incoherently, his eyes the while turned in another direction; for he had heard footsteps, and at the turn of the lane he could see through the trees that Mr Mervyn was coming, with his two companions.

Trevor hurried off through the wood, so as to gain the path a hundred yards in advance, and then he sauntered along so as to meet them.

“If I can get a few words with her I can explain,” he said; and then they were close at hand.

“Ah, Mr Trevor!” cried Mervyn, gaily, for he seemed elated, and he held out his hand.

Before Trevor could take it, Fin had looked straight before her and marched on, her little lips pinched together, and her arm tight in that of her sister; while Tiny met Trevor’s gaze in one short, sad look – piteous, reproachful, and heartbroken – before she hurried away.

Invitations

Trevor returned home in no very enviable frame of mind. The look Tiny Rea had given him troubled him more than he could express, and he felt ready to rail at Fortune for the tricks she had played him. Old Lloyd came, smiling and deferential, into the room with some letters, which his master snatched up and threw on the table.

“In which room are Captain Vanleigh and Sir Felix?”

“I think they’re gone up to Tolcarne, sir,” said the butler.

Worse and worse: they were evidently liked there, too, and that was the reason why they prolonged their stay without a word of leaving.

“Is there anything I can get for you, sir?” said the butler.

“No,” said Trevor, sharply.

And he walked out of the room, to encounter Mrs Lloyd, who was ready to smile and give him a curtsey; but he passed her with such an expression of anger that the blood flushed into her face, and she stood looking after him as, with his letters crumpled in his hand, he walked out into the grounds, to think over what he should next do.

“I’ll send them both away,” he thought. “That old woman’s insolence is intolerable. It’s plain enough. Pratt’s right. Where is the little humbug? Out of the way just when I want him. I’ll give that old woman such a setting down one of these days – but I have not time now.”

He sat very still for a time, thinking of what he should do – Tiny’s soft eyes haunting him the while, with their sad reproachful look.

He had seen very little of her, but, sailor-like, his heart had gone with a bound to her who had won it; and he was even now accusing himself of being dilatory in his love.

“Yes,” he said, “I do love her, and very dearly. I’ll see her, tell her frankly all, take her into my counsel, and she will believe me. I’m sure she will, and forgive me too. Humph! Forgive me for doing nothing. But I must talk to the old gentleman – propose in due form, ask his permission to visit his daughter, and the rest of it. Heigho! what a lot of formality there is in this life! I think I may cope with her, though. She looked so gently reproachful I could wait; but no, I mustn’t do that. I’ll call this afternoon and suffer the griffin. But those two fellows, why should they go up this morning? Evident that they did not see the ladies, for they were out. No wonder Van takes to making calls, seeing how I’ve neglected him and Flick. I wish Pratt were here. Where did he go?”

“Thy slave obeys,” said Pratt, who had approached unobserved upon the soft turf! “Should you have liked Van to hear what you said just now?”

“No. Was I talking aloud?” said Trevor.

“You were, and very fast,” was the reply.

“But what’s the matter, Franky? What’s the letter?”

And he pointed to an open missive in his friend’s hand.

“It’s about that I’ve come to you,” said Pratt. “Read.”

Trevor took the note, glanced over it, and found it was an invitation to Mr Frank Pratt to dine at Tolcarne on the following Friday. This brought Trevor’s thoughts back to the letters Lloyd had given him, and he hastily took them from his pocket, to find a similar invitation to the one Pratt had had placed in his hand.

“That’s lucky,” he said, brightening.

“Lucky – why?” said Pratt.

“Because I want to go. But why are you looking so doleful?”

“Natural aspect, Dick. I only came to tell you I should not go.”

“Not go! Why?”

“Because I am going back to town.”

“Are you upset, Franky? Is anything wrong? I’ve been rude, I suppose, and said something that put you out this morning.”

“No – oh no!”

“But I’m sure that must have been it. But really, old fellow, I was much obliged. Franky, you were quite right – it is as you say; so if I said anything when I was hipped, forgive me.”

“Dick, old fellow,” cried Pratt, grasping the extended hand, “don’t talk of forgiveness to me. I have been here too long; this idle life don’t suit me, and I’ve got to work.”

“Work, then, and help me through my troubles. I can’t spare you.”

“Dick, old fellow, I feel that I must go. Don’t ask me why.”

“No, I won’t ask you why,” said Trevor, eyeing him curiously; “but, to oblige me, stay over this Friday, and go with me to the dinner.”

Pratt hesitated a moment.

“Well, I will,” he said; and the conversation ended.

During the intervening days Trevor was too much excited to say anything to Mrs Lloyd. He called at Tolcarne twice, but the ladies were out. He tried every walk in the neighbourhood, but without avail; and at last, blaming himself bitterly for his neglect of his guests, and thinking that the opportunity he sought must come on the Friday, he determined to try and make up for the past by attending to Vanleigh and Landells.

“I’ll talk to Lady Rea about it – that’s; how I’ll manage,” he said. “She’s a good, motherly soul, and will set me right, I’m sure. I know – tell her I want advice and counsel; ask her to help me counteract Mrs Lloyd’s designs.”

Trevor laughed over what he considered the depth of his plans, and after dinner that night was in excellent spirits, losing thirty guineas to Vanleigh in a cheery way that made Pratt shudder for his recklessness, and bite his lips with annoyance at the cool manner in which the money was swept up.

“By the way,” said Trevor, as they sat smoking, “what do you say to a sail to-morrow? – the yacht’s in trim now, and the weather delightful.”

“Thanks – no,” said Vanleigh. “I don’t think we can go, eh, Landells?”

“Jove! – no; drive, you know, with the old gentleman.”

Trevor looked inquiringly from one to the other.

“Fact is,” said Vanleigh, coolly, “Sir Hampton Rea has asked us to join him in a little picnic excursion to the north coast – drive over, you know, to-morrow. Yes, Thursday,” he said, looking at his little note-book – one which usually did duty for betting purposes – “Yes, Thursday, and Friday we all dine there, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” said Trevor, in a quiet, constrained way, which made Sir Felix, who had already felt rather hot and confused, colour like a girl.

“Mustn’t mind our running away from you so much, Trevor,” continued Vanleigh, with a smile, which the former felt carried a sneer, and an allusion to his own playing of the absentee. “Fact is, the old gentleman seems to be rather taken with Flick here.”

“’Sure you, no,” said Sir Felix, excitedly; “it’s the other way, Trevor. Makes no end of Van, showing him over grounds, asking ’vice, you know, and that sort of thing.”

“I am glad you find the place so much more agreeable than you expected,” said Trevor, gravely.

“Never s’ jolly in m’ life, Trevor,” said Sir Felix, excitedly, and speaking nervously and fast. “Fine old fellow, S’ Hampton. Fitting up b’liard-room. ’L have game after come back.”

“Take another cigar,” said Trevor, and his voice was very deep, as he seemed now to be exerting himself all that he could to make up for his past neglect to those whom he had invited down as his friends. “Vanleigh, you are taking nothing.”

“I’m doing admirably, dear boy,” said the captain, in the most affectionate of tones; and then to himself – “What does that little cad mean by watching me as he does?”

He smiled pleasantly, though, all the while, and when, to pass the time away, and conceal his trouble, Trevor once more proposed cards, the captain condescended to take “that little cad” as his partner, and between them they won fifty pounds of Trevor and Sir Felix – the latter throwing the cards petulantly down, and vowing he would play no more.

“Good night, dear boy,” said Vanleigh, rising and yawning a few minutes after smilingly taking his winnings. “It’s past one, and we shall be having our respected friend, Mrs Lloyd, to send us to bed.”

A sharp retort was on Trevor’s lip, but he checked it, and with a courtesy that was grave in spite of his efforts, wished him good night, saying —

“There is no fear of that; Mrs Lloyd and I understand each other pretty well now.”

“Ya-as, exactly,” said Vanleigh; and he went out whistling softly.

“Good night, Trevor,” said Sir Felix, in turn. “’Fraid we’re doocid bad comp’ny. Too bad, I’m sure, going ’way as we do.”

“Good night, Flick,” said Trevor, smiling; and then, as the door closed, he turned to find Pratt leaning against the chimneypiece, counting over his winnings. “Well, my lad!” continued Trevor, trying to be gay.

“Twenty-five pounds, Dick,” said Pratt, laying the money on the table. “I shan’t take that.”

“Nonsense, man,” said Trevor; “keep it till Van wins it back. But what’s the matter? Have you found another of your mare’s-nests?”

“I was thinking, Dick,” said Pratt, gravely, “that you must be very sorry you asked any of us here.”

Trevor’s lips parted to speak; but without a word he wrung his friend’s hand, took his candle, and hastily left the room.