The Castle Inn

Chapter 16

THE BLACK FAN

I believe that Sir George, riding soberly to Estcombe in the morning,

was not guiltless of looking back in spirit. Probably there are few men

who, when the binding word has been said and the final step taken, do

not feel a revulsion of mind, and for a moment question the wisdom of

their choice. A more beautiful wife he could not wish; she was fair of

face and faultless in shape, as beautiful as a Churchill or a Gunning.

And in all honesty, and in spite of the undoubted advances she had made

to him, he believed her to be good and virtuous. But her birth, her

quality, or rather her lack of quality, her connections, these were

things to cry him pause, to bid him reflect; until the thought--mean and

unworthy, but not unnatural--that he was ruined, and what did it matter

whom he wedded? came to him, and he touched his horse with the spur and

cantered on by upland, down and clump, by Avebury, and Yatesbury, and

Compton Bassett, until he came to his home.

Returning in the afternoon, sad at starting, but less sad with every

added mile that separated him from the house to which he had bidden

farewell in his heart--and which, much as he prized it now, he had not

visited twice a year while it was his--it was another matter. He thought

little of the future; of the past not at all. The present was sufficient

for him. In an hour, in half an hour, in ten minutes, he would see her,

would hold her hands in his, would hear her say that she loved him,

would look unreproved into the depths of her proud eyes, would see them

sink before his. Not a regret now for White's! Or the gaming table! Or

Mrs. Cornelys' and Betty's! Gone the _blas* insouciance of St. James's.

The whole man was set on his mistress. Ruined, he had naught but her to

look forward to, and he hungered for her. He cantered through Avebury,

six miles short of Marlborough, and saw not one house. Through West

Kennet, where his shadow went long and thin before him; through Fyfield,

where he well-nigh ran into a post-chaise, which seemed to be in as

great a hurry to go west as he was to go east; under the Devil's Den,

and by Clatford cross-lanes, nor drew rein until--as the sun sank

finally behind him, leaving the downs cold and grey--he came in sight of

Manton Corner.

Then, that no look of shy happiness, no downward quiver of the maiden

eyelids might be lost--for the morsel, now it was within his grasp, was

one to linger over and dwell on--Sir George, his own eyes shining with

eagerness, walked his horse forward, his gaze greedily seeking the

flutter of her kerchief or the welcome of her hand. Would she be at the

meeting of the roads--shrinking aside behind the bend, her eyes laughing

to greet him? No, he saw as he drew nearer that she was not there. Then

he knew where she would be; she would be waiting for him on the

foot-bridge in the lane, fifty yards from the high-road, yet within

sight of it. She would have her lover come so far--to win her. The

subtlety was like her, and pleased him.

But she was not there, nor was she to be seen elsewhere in the lane; for

this descended a gentle slope until it plunged, still under his eyes,

among the thatched roofs and quaint cottages of the village, whence the

smoke of the evening meal rose blue among the trees. Soane's eyes

returned to the main road; he expected to hear her laugh, and see her

emerge at his elbow. But the length of the highway lay empty before, and

empty behind; and all was silent. He began to look blank. A solitary

house, which had been an inn, but was now unoccupied, stood in the angle

formed by Manton Lane and the road; he scrutinised it. The big doors

leading to the stable-yard were ajar; but he looked in and she was not

there, though he noted that horses had stood there lately. For the rest,

the house was closed and shuttered, as he had seen it that morning, and

every day for days past.

Was it possible that she had changed her mind? That she had played or

was playing him false? His heart said no. Nevertheless he felt a chill

and a degree of disillusion as he rode down the lane to the foot-bridge;

and over it, and on as far as the first house of the village. Still he

saw nothing of her; and he turned. Riding back his search was rewarded

with a discovery. Beside the ditch, at the corner where the road and

lane met, and lying in such a position that it was not visible from the

highway, but only from the lower ground of the lane, lay a plain

black fan.

Sir George sprang down, picked it up, and saw that it was Julia's; and

still possessed by the idea that she was playing him a trick he kissed

it, and looked sharply round, hoping to detect her laughing face.

Without result; then at last he began to feel misgiving. The road under

the downs was growing dim and shadowy; the ten minutes he had lingered

had stolen away the warmth and colour of the day. The camps and

tree-clumps stood black on the hills, the blacker for the creeping mist

that stole beside the river where he stood. In another ten minutes night

would fall in the valley. Sir George, his heart sinking under those

vague and apparently foolish alarms which are among the penalties of

affection, mounted his horse, stood in his stirrups, and called her

name--'Julia! Julia!'--not loudly, but so that if she were within fifty

yards of him she must hear.

He listened. His ear caught a confused babel of voices in the direction

of Marlborough; but only the empty house, echoing 'Julia!' answered him.

Not that he waited long for an answer; something in the dreary aspect of

the evening struck cold to his heart, and touching his horse with the

spur, he dashed off at a hand-gallop. Meeting the Bristol night-wagon

beyond the bend of the road he was by it in a second. Nevertheless, the

bells ringing at the horses' necks, the cracking whips, the tilt

lurching white through the dusk somewhat reassured him. Reducing his

pace, and a little ashamed of his fears, he entered the inn grounds by

the stable entrance, threw his reins to a man--who seemed to have

something to say, but did not say it--and walked off to the porch. He

had been a fool to entertain such fears; in a minute he would see Julia.

Even as he thought these thoughts, he might have seen--had he looked

that way--half a dozen men on foot and horseback, bustling out with

lanterns through the great gates. Their voices reached him mellowed by

distance; but immersed in thinking where he should find Julia, and what

he should say to her, he crossed the roadway without heeding a commotion

which in such a place was not unusual. On the contrary, the long lighted

front of the house, the hum of life that rose from it, the sharp voices

of a knot of men who stood a little on one side, arguing eagerly and all

at once, went far to dissipate such of his fears as the pace of his

horse had left. Beyond doubt Julia, finding herself in solitude, had

grown alarmed and had returned, fancying him late; perhaps pouting

because he had not forestalled the time!

But the moment he passed through the doorway his ear caught that buzz

of excited voices, raised in all parts and in every key, that betokens

disaster. And with a sudden chill at his heart, as of a cold hand

gripping it, he stood, and looked down the hall. It was well perhaps

that he had that moment of preparation, those few seconds in which to

steady himself, before the full sense of what had happened struck him.

The lighted hall was thronged and in an uproar. A busy place, of much

coming and going it ever was. Now the floor was crowded in every part

with two or three score persons, all speaking, gesticulating, advising

at once. Here a dozen men were proving something; there another group

were controverting it; while twice as many listened, wide-eyed and

open-mouthed, or in their turn dashed into the babel. That something

very serious had happened Sir George could not doubt. Once he caught the

name of Lord Chatham, and the statement that he was worse, and he

fancied that that was it. But the next moment the speaker added loudly,

'Oh, he cannot be told! He is not to be told! The doctor has gone to

him! I tell you, he is worse to-day!' And this, giving the lie to that

idea, revived his fears. His eyes passing quickly over the crowd, looked

everywhere for Julia; he found her nowhere. He touched the nearest man

on the arm, and asked him what had happened.

The person he addressed was about to reply when an agitated figure, wig

awry, cravat loosened, eyes staring, forced itself through the crowd,

and, flinging itself on Sir George, clutched him by the open breast of

his green riding-coat. It was Mr. Fishwick, but Mr. Fishwick

transfigured by a great fright, his face grey, his cheeks trembling. For

a moment such was his excitement he could not speak. Then 'Where is

she?' he stuttered, almost shaking Sir George on his feet. 'What have

you done with her, you--you villain?' Soane, with misgivings gnawing at

his heart, was in no patient mood. In a blaze of passion he flung the

attorney from him. 'You madman!' he said; 'what idiocy is this?'

Mr. Fishwick fell heavily against a stout gentleman in splashed boots

and an old-fashioned Ramillies, who fortunately for the attorney,

blocked the way to the wall. Even so the shock was no light one. But,

breathless and giddy as he was the lawyer returned instantly to the

charge. 'I denounce you!' he cried furiously. 'I denounce this man! You,

and you,' he continued, appealing with frantic gestures to those next

him, 'mark what I say! She is the claimant to his estates--estates he

holds on sufferance! To-morrow justice would have been done, and

to-night he has kidnapped her. All he has is hers, I tell you, and he

has kidnapped her. I denounce him! I--'

'What Bedlam stuff is this?' Sir George cried hoarsely; and he looked

round the ring of curious starers, the sweat standing on his brow. Every

eye in the hall was upon him, and there was a great silence; for the

accusation to which the lawyer gave tongue had been buzzed and bruited

since the first cry of alarm roused the house. 'What stuff is this?' he

repeated, his head giddy with the sense of that which Mr. Fishwick had

said. 'Who--who is it has been kidnapped? Speak! D--n you! Will no

one speak?'

'Your cousin,' the lawyer answered. 'Your cousin, who claims--'

'Softly, man--softly,' said the landlord, coming forward and laying his

hand on the lawyer's shoulder. 'And we shall the sooner know what to do.

Briefly, Sir George,' he continued, 'the young lady who has been in your

company the last day or two was seized and carried off in a post-chaise

half an hour ago, as I am told--maybe a little more--from Manton

Corner. For the rest, which this gentleman says, about who she is and

her claim--which it does not seem to me can be true and your honour not

know it--it is news to me. But, as I understand it, Sir George, he

alleges that the young lady who has disappeared lays claim to your

honour's estates at Estcombe.'

'At Estcombe?'

'Yes, sir.'

Sir George did not reply, but stood staring at the man, his mind divided

between two thoughts. The first that this was the solution of the many

things that had puzzled him in Julia; at once the explanation of her

sudden amiability, her new-born forwardness, the mysterious fortune into

which she had come, and of her education and her strange past. She was

his cousin, the unknown claimant! She was his cousin, and--

He awoke with a start, dragged away by the second thought--hard

following on the first. 'From Manton Corner?' he cried, his voice keen,

his eye terrible. 'Who saw it?'

'One of the servants,' the landlord answered, 'who had gone to the top

of the Mound to clean the mirrors in the summer-house. Here, you,' he

continued, beckoning to a man who limped forward reluctantly from one of

the side passages in which he had been standing, 'show yourself, and

tell this gentleman the story you told me.'

'If it please your honour,' the fellow whimpered, 'it was no fault of

mine. I ran down to give the alarm as soon as I saw what was doing--they

were forcing her into the carriage then--but I was in such a hurry I

fell and rolled to the bottom of the Mound, and was that dazed and

shaken it was five minutes before I could find any one.'

'How many were there?' Sir George asked. There was an ugly light in his

eyes and his cheeks burned. But he spoke with calmness.

'Two I saw, and there may have been more. The chaise had been waiting in

the yard of the empty house at the corner, the old Nag's Head. I saw it

come out. That was the first thing I did see. And then the lady.'

'Did she seem to be unwilling?' the man in the Ramillies asked. 'Did she

scream?'

'Ay, she screamed right enough,' the fellow answered lumpishly. 'I heard

her, though the noise came faint-like. It is a good distance, your

honour'll mind, and some would not have seen what I saw.'

'And she struggled?'

'Ay, sir, she did. They were having a business with her when I left, I

can tell you.'

The picture was too much for Sir George. Gripping the landlord's

shoulder so fiercely that Smith winced and cried out, 'And you have

heard this man,' he said, 'and you chatter here? Fools! This is no

matter for words, but for horses and pistols! Get me a horse and

pistols--and tell my servant. Are you so many dolls? D--n you,

sir'--this to Mr. Fishwick--'stand out of my way!'