CHAPTER 18.
Over this complex situation the mind of Keggs, the butler, playedlike a searchlight. Keggs was a man of discernment and sagacity. Hehad instinct and reasoning power. Instinct told him that Maud, allunsuspecting the change that had taken place in Albert's attitudetoward her romance, would have continued to use the boy as a linkbetween herself and George: and reason, added to an intimateknowledge of Albert, enabled him to see that the latter mustinevitably have betrayed her trust. He was prepared to bet ahundred pounds that Albert had been given letters to deliver andhad destroyed them. So much was clear to Keggs. It only remained tosettle on some plan of action which would re-establish the brokenconnection. Keggs did not conceal a tender heart beneath a ruggedexterior: he did not mourn over the picture of two loving fellowhuman beings separated by a misunderstanding; but he did want towin that sweepstake.
His position, of course, was delicate. He could not go to Maud andbeg her to confide in him. Maud would not understand his motives,and might leap to the not unjustifiable conclusion that he had beenat the sherry. No! Men were easier to handle than women. As soon ashis duties would permit--and in the present crowded condition ofthe house they were arduous--he set out for George's cottage.
"I trust I do not disturb or interrupt you, sir," he said, beamingin the doorway like a benevolent high priest. He had doffed hisprofessional manner of austere disapproval, as was his custom inmoments of leisure.
"Not at all," replied George, puzzled. "Was there anything . . .?"
"There was, sir."
"Come along in and sit down."
"I would not take the liberty, if it is all the same to you, sir. Iwould prefer to remain standing."
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable, that isto say, on the part of George, who was wondering if the butlerremembered having engaged him as a waiter only a few nights back.Keggs himself was at his ease. Few things ruffled this man.
"Fine day," said George.
"Extremely, sir, but for the rain."
"Oh, is it raining?"
"Sharp downpour, sir."
"Good for the crops," said George.
"So one would be disposed to imagine, sir."
Silence fell again. The rain dripped from the eaves.
"If I might speak freely, sir . . .?" said Keggs.
"Sure. Shoot!"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"I mean, yes. Go ahead!"
The butler cleared his throat.
"Might I begin by remarking that your little affair of the 'eart,if I may use the expression, is no secret in the Servants' 'All? I'ave no wish to seem to be taking a liberty or presuming, but Ishould like to intimate that the Servants' 'All is aware of thefacts."
"You don't have to tell me that," said George coldly. "I know allabout the sweepstake."
A flicker of embarrassment passed over the butler's large, smoothface--passed, and was gone.
"I did not know that you 'ad been apprised of that little matter,sir. But you will doubtless understand and appreciate our point ofview. A little sporting flutter--nothing more--designed tohalleviate the monotony of life in the country."
"Oh, don't apologize," said George, and was reminded of a pointwhich had exercised him a little from time to time since his vigilon the balcony. "By the way, if it isn't giving away secrets, whodrew Plummer?"
"Sir?"
"Which of you drew a man named Plummer in the sweep?"
"I rather fancy, sir," Keggs' brow wrinkled in thought, "I ratherfancy it was one of the visiting gentlemen's gentlemen. I gave thepoint but slight attention at the time. I did not fancy Mr.Plummer's chances. It seemed to me that Mr. Plummer was anegligible quantity."
"Your knowledge of form was sound. Plummer's out!"
"Indeed, sir! An amiable young gentleman, but lacking in many ofthe essential qualities. Perhaps he struck you that way, sir?"
"I never met him. Nearly, but not quite!"
"It entered my mind that you might possibly have encountered Mr.Plummer on the night of the ball, sir."
"Ah, I was wondering if you remembered me!"
"I remember you perfectly, sir, and it was the fact that we hadalready met in what one might almost term a social way thatemboldened me to come 'ere today and offer you my services as ahintermediary, should you feel disposed to avail yourself of them."
George was puzzled.
"Your services?"
"Precisely, sir. I fancy I am in a position to lend you what mightbe termed an 'elping 'and."
"But that's remarkably altruistic of you, isn't it?"
"Sir?"
"I say that is very generous of you. Aren't you forgetting that youdrew Mr. Byng?"
The butler smiled indulgently.
"You are not quite abreast of the progress of events, sir. Sincethe original drawing of names, there 'as been a triflinghadjustment. The boy Albert now 'as Mr. Byng and I 'ave you, sir. Alittle amicable arrangement informally conducted in the scullery onthe night of the ball."
"Amicable?"
"On my part, entirely so."
George began to understand certain things that had been perplexingto him.
"Then all this while. . .?"
"Precisely, sir. All this while 'er ladyship, under the impressionthat the boy Albert was devoted to 'er cause, has no doubt beenplacing a misguided confidence in 'im . . . The little blighter!"said Keggs, abandoning for a moment his company manners andpermitting vehemence to take the place of polish. "I beg yourpardon for the expression, sir," he added gracefully. "It escapedme inadvertently."
"You think that Lady Maud gave Albert a letter to give to me, andthat he destroyed it?"
"Such, I should imagine, must undoubtedly have been the case. Theboy 'as no scruples, no scruples whatsoever."
"Good Lord!"
"I appreciate your consternation, sir."
"That must be exactly what has happened."
"To my way of thinking there is no doubt of it. It was for thatreason that I ventured to come 'ere. In the 'ope that I might behinstrumental in arranging a meeting."
The strong distaste which George had had for plotting with thisoverfed menial began to wane. It might be undignified, he toldhimself but it was undeniably practical. And, after all, a man whohas plotted with page-boys has little dignity to lose by plottingwith butlers. He brightened up. If it meant seeing Maud again hewas prepared to waive the decencies.
"What do you suggest?" he said.
"It being a rainy evening and everyone indoors playing games andwhat not,"--Keggs was amiably tolerant of the recreations of thearistocracy--"you would experience little chance of a hinterruption,were you to proceed to the lane outside the heast entrance of thecastle grounds and wait there. You will find in the field at theroadside a small disused barn only a short way from the gates, whereyou would be sheltered from the rain. In the meantime, I wouldhinform 'er ladyship of your movements, and no doubt it would bepossible for 'er to slip off."
"It sounds all right."
"It is all right, sir. The chances of a hinterruption may be saidto be reduced to a minimum. Shall we say in one hour's time?"
"Very well."
"Then I will wish you good evening, sir. Thank you, sir. I am gladto 'ave been of assistance."
He withdrew as he had come, with a large impressiveness. The roomseemed very empty without him. George, with trembling fingers,began to put on a pair of thick boots.
For some minutes after he had set foot outside the door of thecottage, George was inclined to revile the weather for havingplayed him false. On this evening of all evenings, he felt, theelements should, so to speak, have rallied round and done theirbit. The air should have been soft and clear and scented: thereshould have been an afterglow of sunset in the sky to light him onhis way. Instead, the air was full of that peculiar smell ofhopeless dampness which comes at the end of a wet English day. Thesky was leaden. The rain hissed down in a steady flow, whisperingof mud and desolation, making a dreary morass of the la
ne throughwhich he tramped. A curious sense of foreboding came upon George.It was as if some voice of the night had murmured maliciously inhis ear a hint of troubles to come. He felt oddly nervous, as heentered the barn.
The barn was both dark and dismal. In one of the dark corners anintermittent dripping betrayed the presence of a gap in its ancientroof. A rat scurried across the floor. The dripping stopped andbegan again. George struck a match and looked at his watch. He wasearly. Another ten minutes must elapse before he could hope for herarrival. He sat down on a broken wagon which lay on its sideagainst one of the walls.
Depression returned. It was impossible to fight against it in thisbeast of a barn. The place was like a sepulchre. No one but a foolof a butler would have suggested it as a trysting-place. Hewondered irritably why places like this were allowed to get intothis condition. If people wanted a barn earnestly enough to takethe trouble of building one, why was it not worth while to keep thething in proper repair? Waste and futility! That was what it was.That was what everything was, if you came down to it. Sitting here,for instance, was a futile waste of time. She wouldn't come. Therewere a dozen reasons why she should not come. So what was the useof his courting rheumatism by waiting in this morgue of deadagricultural ambitions? None whatever--George went on waiting.
And what an awful place to expect her to come to, if by some miracleshe did come--where she would be stifled by the smell of mouldy hay,damped by raindrops and--reflected George gloomily as there wasanother scurry and scutter along the unseen floor--gnawed by rats.You could not expect a delicately-nurtured girl, accustomed to allthe comforts of a home, to be bright and sunny with a platoon ofrats crawling all over her. . . .
The grey oblong that was the doorway suddenly darkened.
"Mr. Bevan!"
George sprang up. At the sound of her voice every nerve in his bodydanced in mad exhilaration. He was another man. Depression fellfrom him like a garment. He perceived that he had misjudged allsorts of things. The evening, for instance, was a splendidevening--not one of those awful dry, baking evenings which make youfeel you can't breathe, but pleasantly moist and full of adelightfully musical patter of rain. And the barn! He had been allwrong about the barn. It was a great little place, comfortable,airy, and cheerful. What could be more invigorating than that smellof hay? Even the rats, he felt, must be pretty decent rats, whenyou came to know them.
"I'm here!"
Maud advanced quickly. His eyes had grown accustomed to the murk,and he could see her dimly. The smell of her damp raincoat came tohim like a breath of ozone. He could even see her eyes shining inthe darkness, so close was she to him.
"I hope you've not been waiting long?"
George's heart was thundering against his ribs. He could scarcelyspeak. He contrived to emit a No.
"I didn't think at first I could get away. I had to . . ." Shebroke off with a cry. The rat, fond of exercise like all rats, hadmade another of its excitable sprints across the floor.
A hand clutched nervously at George's arm, found it and held it.And at the touch the last small fragment of George's self-controlfled from him. The world became vague and unreal. There remainedof it but one solid fact--the fact that Maud was in his arms andthat he was saying a number of things very rapidly in a voice thatseemed to belong to somebody he had never met before.