CHAPTER 15.
Lord Belpher's twenty-first birthday dawned brightly, heralded inby much twittering of sparrows in the ivy outside his bedroom. ThesePercy did not hear, for he was sound asleep and had had a latenight. The first sound that was able to penetrate his heavy slumberand rouse him to a realization that his birthday had arrived wasthe piercing cry of Reggie Byng on his way to the bath-room acrossthe corridor. It was Reggie's disturbing custom to urge himself onto a cold bath with encouraging yells; and the noise of thisperformance, followed by violent splashing and a series of sharphowls as the sponge played upon the Byng spine, made sleep animpossibility within a radius of many yards. Percy sat up in bed,and cursed Reggie silently. He discovered that he had a headache.
Presently the door flew open, and the vocalist entered in person,clad in a pink bathrobe and very tousled and rosy from the tub.
"Many happy returns of the day, Boots, old thing!"
Reggie burst rollickingly into song.
"I'm twenty-one today! Twenty-one today! I've got the key of the door! Never been twenty-one before! And father says I can do what I like! So shout Hip-hip-hooray! I'm a jolly good fellow, Twenty-one today."
Lord Belpher scowled morosely.
"I wish you wouldn't make that infernal noise!"
"What infernal noise?"
"That singing!"
"My God! This man has wounded me!" said Reggie.
"I've a headache."
"I thought you would have, laddie, when I saw you getting away withthe liquid last night. An X-ray photograph of your liver would showsomething that looked like a crumpled oak-leaf studded withhob-nails. You ought to take more exercise, dear heart. Except forsloshing that policeman, you haven't done anything athletic foryears."
"I wish you wouldn't harp on that affair!"
Reggie sat down on the bed.
"Between ourselves, old man," he said confidentially, "I also--Imyself--Reginald Byng, in person--was perhaps a shade pollutedduring the evening. I give you my honest word that just afterdinner I saw three versions of your uncle, the bishop, standing ina row side by side. I tell you, laddie, that for a moment I thoughtI had strayed into a Bishop's Beano at Exeter Hall or the Athenaeumor wherever it is those chappies collect in gangs. Then the threebishops sort of congealed into one bishop, a trifle blurred aboutthe outlines, and I felt relieved. But what convinced me that Ihad emptied a flagon or so too many was a rather rummy thing thatoccurred later on. Have you ever happened, during one of thesefeasts of reason and flows of soul, when you were bubbling overwith joie-de-vivre--have you ever happened to see things? What Imean to say is, I had a deuced odd experience last night. I couldhave sworn that one of the waiter-chappies was that fellow whoknocked off your hat in Piccadilly."
Lord Belpher, who had sunk back on to the pillows at Reggie'sentrance and had been listening to his talk with only intermittentattention, shot up in bed.
"What!"
"Absolutely! My mistake, of course, but there it was. The fellowmight have been his double."
"But you've never seen the man."
"Oh yes, I have. I forgot to tell you. I met him on the linksyesterday. I'd gone out there alone, rather expecting to have around with the pro., but, finding this lad there, I suggested thatwe might go round together. We did eighteen holes, and he lickedthe boots off me. Very hot stuff he was. And after the game he tookme off to his cottage and gave me a drink. He lives at the cottagenext door to Platt's farm, so, you see, it was the identicalchappie. We got extremely matey. Like brothers. Absolutely! So youcan understand what a shock it gave me when I found what I took tobe the same man serving bracers to the multitude the same evening.One of those nasty jars that cause a fellow's head to swim a bit,don't you know, and make him lose confidence in himself."
Lord Belpher did not reply. His brain was whirling. So he had beenright after all!
"You know," pursued Reggie seriously, "I think you are making thebloomer of a lifetime over this hat-swatting chappie. You'vemisjudged him. He's a first-rate sort. Take it from me! Nobody couldhave got out of the bunker at the fifteenth hole better than he did.If you'll take my advice, you'll conciliate the feller. A reallyfirst-class golfer is what you need in the family. Besides, evenleaving out of the question the fact that he can do things with aniblick that I didn't think anybody except the pro. could do, he's acorking good sort. A stout fellow in every respect. I took to thechappie. He's all right. Grab him, Boots, before he gets away.That's my tip to you. You'll never regret it! From first to lastthis lad didn't foozle a single drive, and his approach-putting hasto be seen to be believed. Well, got to dress, I suppose. Mustn'twaste life's springtime sitting here talking to you. Toodle-oo,laddie! We shall meet anon!"
Lord Belpher leaped from his bed. He was feeling worse than evernow, and a glance into the mirror told him that he looked ratherworse than he felt. Late nights and insufficient sleep, added tothe need of a shave, always made him look like something thatshould have been swept up and taken away to the ash-bin. And as forhis physical condition, talking to Reggie Byng never tended to makeyou feel better when you had a headache. Reggie's manner was notsoothing, and on this particular morning his choice of a topic hadbeen unusually irritating. Lord Belpher told himself that he couldnot understand Reggie. He had never been able to make his mindquite clear as to the exact relations between the latter and hissister Maud, but he had always been under the impression that, ifthey were not actually engaged, they were on the verge of becomingso; and it was maddening to have to listen to Reggie advocating theclaims of a rival as if he had no personal interest in the affairat all. Percy felt for his complaisant friend something of theannoyance which a householder feels for the watchdog whom he findsfraternizing with the burglar. Why, Reggie, more than anyone else,ought to be foaming with rage at the insolence of this Americanfellow in coming down to Belpher and planting himself at the castlegates. Instead of which, on his own showing, he appeared to haveadopted an attitude towards him which would have excited remarkif adopted by David towards Jonathan. He seemed to spend all hisspare time frolicking with the man on the golf-links and hobnobbingwith him in his house.
Lord Belpher was thoroughly upset. It was impossible to prove it orto do anything about it now, but he was convinced that the fellowhad wormed his way into the castle in the guise of a waiter. He hadprobably met Maud and plotted further meetings with her. This thingwas becoming unendurable.
One thing was certain. The family honour was in his hands.Anything that was to be done to keep Maud away from the intrudermust be done by himself. Reggie was hopeless: he was capable, asfar as Percy could see, of escorting Maud to the fellow's door inhis own car and leaving her on the threshold with his blessing. Asfor Lord Marshmoreton, roses and the family history took up so muchof his time that he could not be counted on for anything but moralsupport. He, Percy, must do the active work.
He had just come to this decision, when, approaching the window andgazing down into the grounds, he perceived his sister Maud walkingrapidly--and, so it seemed to him, with a furtive air--down theeast drive. And it was to the east that Platt's farm and thecottage next door to it lay.
At the moment of this discovery, Percy was in a costume ill adaptedfor the taking of country walks. Reggie's remarks about his liverhad struck home, and it had been his intention, by way of acorrective to his headache and a general feeling of swollenill-health, to do a little work before his bath with a pair ofIndian clubs. He had arrayed himself for this purpose in an oldsweater, a pair of grey flannel trousers, and patent leatherevening shoes. It was not the garb he would have chosen himselffor a ramble, but time was flying: even to put on a pair of bootsis a matter of minutes: and in another moment or two Maud would beout of sight. Percy ran downstairs, snatched up a softshooting-hat, which proved, too late, to belong to a person with ahead two sizes smaller than his own; and raced out into thegrounds. He was just in time to see Maud disappearing round thecorner of the dr
ive.
Lord Belpher had never belonged to that virile class of thecommunity which considers running a pleasure and a pastime. AtOxford, on those occasions when the members of his college hadturned out on raw afternoons to trot along the river-bankencouraging the college eight with yelling and the swinging ofpolice-rattles, Percy had always stayed prudently in his rooms withtea and buttered toast, thereby avoiding who knows what colds andcoughs. When he ran, he ran reluctantly and with a definite objectin view, such as the catching of a train. He was consequently notin the best of condition, and the sharp sprint which was imperativeat this juncture if he was to keep his sister in view left himspent and panting. But he had the reward of reaching the gates ofthe drive not many seconds after Maud, and of seeing herwalking--more slowly now--down the road that led to Platt's. Thisconfirmation of his suspicions enabled him momentarily to forgetthe blister which was forming on the heel of his left foot. He setout after her at a good pace.
The road, after the habit of country roads, wound and twisted. Thequarry was frequently out of sight. And Percy's anxiety was suchthat, every time Maud vanished, he broke into a gallop. Anotherhundred yards, and the blister no longer consented to be ignored.It cried for attention like a little child, and was rapidlyinsinuating itself into a position in the scheme of things where itthreatened to become the centre of the world. By the time the thirdbend in the road was reached, it seemed to Percy that this blisterhad become the one great Fact in an unreal nightmare-like universe.He hobbled painfully: and when he stopped suddenly and darted backinto the shelter of the hedge his foot seemed aflame. The onlyreason why the blister on his left heel did not at this junctureattract his entire attention was that he had become aware thatthere was another of equal proportions forming on his right heel.
Percy had stopped and sought cover in the hedge because, as herounded the bend in the road, he perceived, before he had time tocheck his gallop, that Maud had also stopped. She was standing inthe middle of the road, looking over her shoulder, not ten yardsaway. Had she seen him? It was a point that time alone could solve.No! She walked on again. She had not seen him. Lord Belpher, bymeans of a notable triumph of mind over matter, forgot the blistersand hurried after her.
They had now reached that point in the road where three choicesoffer themselves to the wayfarer. By going straight on he may winthrough to the village of Moresby-in-the-Vale, a charming littleplace with a Norman church; by turning to the left he may visit theequally seductive hamlet of Little Weeting; by turning to the rightoff the main road and going down a leafy lane he may find himselfat the door of Platt's farm. When Maud, reaching the cross-roads,suddenly swung down the one to the left, Lord Belpher was for themoment completely baffled. Reason reasserted its way the nextminute, telling him that this was but a ruse. Whether or no she hadcaught sight of him, there was no doubt that Maud intended to shakeoff any possible pursuit by taking this speciously innocent turningand making a detour. She could have no possible motive in going toLittle Weeting. He had never been to Little Weeting in his life,and there was no reason to suppose that Maud had either.
The sign-post informed him--a statement strenuously denied by thetwin-blisters--that the distance to Little Weeting was one and ahalf miles. Lord Belpher's view of it was that it was nearer fifty.He dragged himself along wearily. It was simpler now to keep Maudin sight, for the road ran straight: but, there being a catch ineverything in this world, the process was also messier. In orderto avoid being seen, it was necessary for Percy to leave the roadand tramp along in the deep ditch which ran parallel to it. Thereis nothing half-hearted about these ditches which accompany Englishcountry roads. They know they are intended to be ditches, not merefurrows, and they behave as such. The one that sheltered LordBelpher was so deep that only his head and neck protruded above thelevel of the road, and so dirty that a bare twenty yards of travelwas sufficient to coat him with mud. Rain, once fallen, isreluctant to leave the English ditch. It nestles inside it forweeks, forming a rich, oatmeal-like substance which has to bestirred to be believed. Percy stirred it. He churned it. Heploughed and sloshed through it. The mud stuck to him like abrother.
Nevertheless, being a determined young man, he did not give in.Once he lost a shoe, but a little searching recovered that. Onanother occasion, a passing dog, seeing things going on in theditch which in his opinion should not have been going on--he was ahigh-strung dog, unused to coming upon heads moving along the roadwithout bodies attached--accompanied Percy for over a quarter of amile, causing him exquisite discomfort by making sudden runs at hisface. A well-aimed stone settled this little misunderstanding, andPercy proceeded on his journey alone. He had Maud well in viewwhen, to his surprise, she left the road and turned into the gate ofa house which stood not far from the church.
Lord Belpher regained the road, and remained there, a puzzled man.A dreadful thought came to him that he might have had all thistrouble and anguish for no reason. This house bore the unmistakablestamp of a vicarage. Maud could have no reason that was notinnocent for going there. Had he gone through all this, merely tosee his sister paying a visit to a clergyman? Too late it occurredto him that she might quite easily be on visiting terms with theclergy of Little Weeting. He had forgotten that he had been away atOxford for many weeks, a period of time in which Maud, finding lifein the country weigh upon her, might easily have interested herselfcharitably in the life of this village. He paused irresolutely. Hewas baffled.
Maud, meanwhile, had rung the bell. Ever since, looking over hershoulder, she had perceived her brother Percy dodging about in thebackground, her active young mind had been busying itself withschemes for throwing him off the trail. She must see George thatmorning. She could not wait another day before establishingcommunication between herself and Geoffrey. But it was not till shereached Little Weeting that there occurred to her any plan thatpromised success.
A trim maid opened the door.
"Is the vicar in?"
"No, miss. He went out half an hour back."
Maud was as baffled for the moment as her brother Percy, nowleaning against the vicarage wall in a state of advancedexhaustion.
"Oh, dear!" she said.
The maid was sympathetic.
"Mr. Ferguson, the curate, miss, he's here, if he would do."
Maud brightened.
"He would do splendidly. Will you ask him if I can see him for amoment?"
"Very well, miss. What name, please?"
"He won't know my name. Will you please tell him that a lady wishesto see him?"
"Yes, miss. Won't you step in?"
The front door closed behind Maud. She followed the maid into thedrawing-room. Presently a young small curate entered. He had awilling, benevolent face. He looked alert and helpful.
"You wished to see me?"
"I am so sorry to trouble you," said Maud, rocking the young man inhis tracks with a smile of dazzling brilliancy--("No trouble, Iassure you," said the curate dizzily)--"but there is a man followingme!"
The curate clicked his tongue indignantly.
"A rough sort of a tramp kind of man. He has been following me formiles, and I'm frightened."
"Brute!"
"I think he's outside now. I can't think what he wants. Wouldyou--would you mind being kind enough to go and send him away?"
The eyes that had settled George's fate for all eternity flashedupon the curate, who blinked. He squared his shoulders and drewhimself up. He was perfectly willing to die for her.
"If you will wait here," he said, "I will go and send him about hisbusiness. It is disgraceful that the public highways should berendered unsafe in this manner."
"Thank you ever so much," said Maud gratefully. "I can't helpthinking the poor fellow may be a little crazy. It seems so odd ofhim to follow me all that way. Walking in the ditch too!"
"Walking in the ditch!"
"Yes. He walked most of the way in the ditch at the side of theroad. He seemed to prefer it. I can't think why."
Lord Belpher, leaning agai
nst the wall and trying to decide whetherhis right or left foot hurt him the more excruciatingly, becameaware that a curate was standing before him, regarding him througha pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez with a disapproving and hostileexpression. Lord Belpher returned his gaze. Neither was favourablyimpressed by the other. Percy thought he had seen nicer-lookingcurates, and the curate thought he had seen more prepossessingtramps.
"Come, come!" said the curate. "This won't do, my man!" A few hoursearlier Lord Belpher had been startled when addressed by George as"sir". To be called "my man" took his breath away completely.
The gift of seeing ourselves as others see us is, as the poetindicates, vouchsafed to few men. Lord Belpher, not being one ofthese fortunates, had not the slightest conception how intenselyrevolting his personal appearance was at that moment. Thered-rimmed eyes, the growth of stubble on the cheeks, and the thickcoating of mud which had resulted from his rambles in the ditchcombined to render him a horrifying object.
"How dare you follow that young lady? I've a good mind to give youin charge!"
Percy was outraged.
"I'm her brother!" He was about to substantiate the statement bygiving his name, but stopped himself. He had had enough of lettinghis name come out on occasions like the present. When thepoliceman had arrested him in the Haymarket, his first act had beento thunder his identity at the man: and the policeman, withoutsaying in so many words that he disbelieved him, had hintedscepticism by replying that he himself was the king of Brixton."I'm her brother!" he repeated thickly.
The curate's disapproval deepened. In a sense, we are all brothers;but that did not prevent him from considering that this mud-stainedderelict had made an impudent and abominable mis-statement of fact.Not unnaturally he came to the conclusion that he had to do with avictim of the Demon Rum.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said severely. "Sadpiece of human wreckage as you are, you speak like an educated man.Have you no self-respect? Do you never search your heart andshudder at the horrible degradation which you have brought onyourself by sheer weakness of will?"
He raised his voice. The subject of Temperance was one very near tothe curate's heart. The vicar himself had complimented him onlyyesterday on the good his sermons against the drink evil were doingin the village, and the landlord of the Three Pigeons down the roadhad on several occasions spoken bitter things about blighters whocame taking the living away from honest folks.
"It is easy enough to stop if you will but use a little resolution.You say to yourself, 'Just one won't hurt me!' Perhaps not. Butcan you be content with just one? Ah! No, my man, there is nomiddle way for such as you. It must be all or nothing. Stop itnow--now, while you still retain some semblance of humanity. Soon itwill be too late! Kill that craving! Stifle it! Strangle it! Makeup your mind now--now, that not another drop of the accursed stuffshall pass your lips... ."
The curate paused. He perceived that enthusiasm was leading himaway from the main issue. "A little perseverance," he concludedrapidly, "and you will soon find that cocoa gives you exactly thesame pleasure. And now will you please be getting along. You havefrightened the young lady, and she cannot continue her walk unlessI assure her that you have gone away."
Fatigue, pain and the annoyance of having to listen to this man'swell-meant but ill-judged utterances had combined to induce inPercy a condition bordering on hysteria. He stamped his foot, anduttered a howl as the blister warned him with a sharp twinge thatthis sort of behaviour could not be permitted.
"Stop talking!" he bellowed. "Stop talking like an idiot! I'm goingto stay here till that girl comes out, if have to wait all day!"
The curate regarded Percy thoughtfully. Percy was no Hercules: butthen, neither was the curate. And in any case, though no Hercules,Percy was undeniably an ugly-looking brute. Strategy, rather thanforce, seemed to the curate to be indicated. He paused a while, asone who weighs pros and cons, then spoke briskly, with the air ofthe man who has decided to yield a point with a good grace.
"Dear, dear!" he said. "That won't do! You say you are this younglady's brother?"
"Yes, I do!"
"Then perhaps you had better come with me into the house and wewill speak to her."
"All right."
"Follow me."
Percy followed him. Down the trim gravel walk they passed, and upthe neat stone steps. Maud, peeping through the curtains, thoughtherself the victim of a monstrous betrayal or equally monstrousblunder. But she did not know the Rev. Cyril Ferguson. No general,adroitly leading the enemy on by strategic retreat, ever had asituation more thoroughly in hand. Passing with his companionthrough the open door, he crossed the hall to another door,discreetly closed.
"Wait in here," he said. Lord Belpher moved unsuspectingly forward.A hand pressed sharply against the small of his back. Behind him adoor slammed and a key clicked. He was trapped. Groping inEgyptian darkness, his hands met a coat, then a hat, then anumbrella. Then he stumbled over a golf-club and fell against awall. It was too dark to see anything, but his sense of touch toldhim all he needed to know. He had been added to the vicar'scollection of odds and ends in the closet reserved for thatpurpose.
He groped his way to the door and kicked it. He did not repeat theperformance. His feet were in no shape for kicking things.
Percy's gallant soul abandoned the struggle. With a feeble oath, hesat down on a box containing croquet implements, and gave himselfup to thought.
"You'll be quite safe now," the curate was saying in the adjoiningroom, not without a touch of complacent self-approval such asbecomes the victor in a battle of wits. "I have locked him in thecupboard. He will be quite happy there." An incorrect statementthis. "You may now continue your walk in perfect safety."
"Thank you ever so much," said Maud. "But I do hope he won't beviolent when you let him out."
"I shall not let him out," replied the curate, who, though brave,was not rash. "I shall depute the task to a worthy fellow namedWillis, in whom I shall have every confidence. He--he is, in fact,our local blacksmith!"
And so it came about that when, after a vigil that seemed to lastfor a lifetime, Percy heard the key turn in the lock and burstforth seeking whom he might devour, he experienced an almostinstant quieting of his excited nervous system. Confronting him wasa vast man whose muscles, like those of that other and morecelebrated village blacksmith, were plainly as strong as ironbands.
This man eyed Percy with a chilly eye.
"Well," he said. "What's troublin' you?"
Percy gulped. The man's mere appearance was a sedative.
"Er--nothing!" he replied. "Nothing!"
"There better hadn't be!" said the man darkly. "Mr. Ferguson giveme this to give to you. Take it!"
Percy took it. It was a shilling.
"And this."
The second gift was a small paper pamphlet. It was entitled "Now'sthe Time!" and seemed to be a story of some kind. At any rate,Percy's eyes, before they began to swim in a manner that preventedsteady reading, caught the words "Job Roberts had always been ahard-drinking man, but one day, as he was coming out of thebar-parlour . . ." He was about to hurl it from him, when he metthe other's eye and desisted. Rarely had Lord Belpher encountered aman with a more speaking eye.
"And now you get along," said the man. "You pop off. And I'm goingto watch you do it, too. And, if I find you sneakin' off to theThree Pigeons . . ."
His pause was more eloquent than his speech and nearly as eloquentas his eye. Lord Belpher tucked the tract into his sweater,pocketed the shilling, and left the house. For nearly a mile downthe well-remembered highway he was aware of a Presence in his rear,but he continued on his way without a glance behind.
"Like one that on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread; And, having once looked back, walks on And turns no more his head! Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread!"
Maud made her way across the fields to the cottage down by Platt's.Her heart was as light as
the breeze that ruffled the green hedges.Gaily she tripped towards the cottage door. Her hand was justraised to knock, when from within came the sound of a well-knownvoice.
She had reached her goal, but her father had anticipated her. LordMarshmoreton had selected the same moment as herself for paying acall upon George Bevan.
Maud tiptoed away, and hurried back to the castle. Never before hadshe so clearly realized what a handicap an adhesive family can beto a young girl.