CHAPTER XIII
DEUS EX MACHINA
After a while, Betty came to Armathwaite again.
"If you please, sir, breakfast is ready. Shall I bring it in, or willyou wait for Miss Meg?" she said.
That a second inquiry as to Marguerite's whereabouts should be necessaryseemed to surprise him.
"You were looking for Miss Garth a few minutes ago. Didn't you findher?" he inquired.
"No, sir. She's not in the house."
"But what can have become of her?"
"I thought, sir, she might ha' gone into t' village."
"Why?"
"She knows everybody i' t' place. She said last night that now she wasmakin' a bit of a stay she'd be seein' some o' t' folk."
"I think I should have noticed her if she had gone out by the gate," hesaid, weighing the point. "Smith!" he called, "has Miss Meg left thehouse recently--within the past ten minutes, I mean?"
"Not that I know of, sir," said Smith; "but I'm that worritted by thestate of some o' these here beds that ammost owt (almost anything) mightha' happened without me givin' it heed."
"Bang that gong at the front door," said Armathwaite to Betty. "Itshould be heard in every house in Elmdale, and she will understand."
The gong was duly banged, and its effect on Elmdale was immediatelyperceptible. Old Mrs. Bolland vowed afterwards that she would sitpermanently at the back bedroom window, because, being rheumaticky, shecouldn't get upstairs quickly enough, and there was summat to seenowadays at t' Grange.
But the tocsin failed to reach the one ear for which it was intended.The village produced every live inhabitant except Marguerite Ogilvey.
"Was Miss Meg friendly with the Burts?" inquired Armathwaite, when heand Betty realized it was useless to gaze expectantly either at thecorner of the roadway visible from the porch, or at such smallcross-sections of the village "street" as could be seen at irregularintervals between the houses.
"Yes, sir. She'd often walk over there," said the girl, gazing at oncein the direction of the Castle Farm, which was the name of the holding.
"She would know that breakfast was on the way?"
"Oh, yes, sir! I axed her meself when I brought her a cup of tea. Shesaid that nine o'clock would suit."
Betty turned involuntarily to consult the grandfather's clock in thehall. The hands stood at ten minutes past nine; but, in the same moment,she remembered that the clock was not going. Armathwaite followed herglance, and looked at his watch.
"Ten minutes past nine," he answered, with a laugh. "The old clock isright to a tick. Was it in use while the Sheffield lady remained in thehouse?"
"No, sir. It stopped at that time when the old man died."
Then she giggled. There is hardly a man or woman in Yorkshire who doesnot know that the words of a famous song were suggested by the behaviorof a clock which is still exhibited in an inn on the south side of theTees at Pierce Bridge, and the girl had unconsciously repeated the tagof verses and chorus.
Armathwaite had yet to learn of this treasured possession of the countyof broad acres, so he eyed Betty rather disapprovingly. Moved by animpulse which he regarded as nothing more than a desire to check suchundue levity, he strode into the hall, found a key resting on a ledgeof the clock's canopy, wound up the heavy weights, and started thependulum.
"Perhaps our ancient friend may be more accurate than you, Betty," hesaid. "You mean, I suppose, that it stopped at that time because it wasnot wound. How do _you_ know the hour, or even the day, anyone diedhere?"
"Well, I don't, sir, an' that's a fact," she admitted. "But what aboutbreakfast?"
"Attend to Mr. Whittaker--I'll wait!"
He went out again, and saw Smith hobbling down the bye-road.
"Hi!" he cried, "if you're going into the village you might ask ifanyone has seen Miss Meg!"
Smith replied with a hand wave. He was thinking mainly of begonias,planning a magician's stroke, because his new master had told him tospare no expense. Within ten minutes he returned, but not alone. Fourable-bodied rustics came with him, each carrying a spade or a gardenfork. But he had not forgotten Armathwaite's request.
"Miss Meg hasn't gone that way, sir," he said. "Plenty of folk saw herin t' garden, an' they couldn't ha' missed her had she been in t'street. But she'll be comin' i' now. No fear o' her bein' lost, stolen,or strayed i' Elmdale. These chaps are good for a day's diggin' at fourshillin' an' two quarts o' beer each. Is that right, sir?"
"Make it five shillings and no beer," said Armathwaite.
The laborers grinned.
"No beer is even to be bought during working hours," he added sharply."You can work harder and longer on tea. You may have all the tea, milk,bread and cheese you want, but not a drop of beer, this day or any otherday, while at work here. I know what I am talking about. I am noteetotal fanatic, but I've proved the truth of that statement duringmany a day of more trying labor than digging soft earth."
The terms were agreed to without a murmur. The incident, slight as itwas, had its bearing on the day's history. Smith was leading his cohortto the attack, when one of the men, apparently bethinking himself,approached Armathwaite and touched his cap.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but was ye axin' about Miss Meg?"
"Yes."
"Well, I seed her goin' up t' moor road nigh on half an hour sen"(since).
The Grange itself was the only house on the moor road for many a mile,and it was most unlikely that Marguerite would take a protracted strollin that direction at such an hour. Somehow, Armathwaite was aware of achill in the air which he had not felt earlier. It was his habit todisregard those strange glimpses of coming events, generally ofmisfortune, which men call premonitions. When confronted by accomplishedfacts, he acted as honor and experience dictated; for the rest, he said,with Milton--
"I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart and hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward."
But this all-sufficing rule of conduct had availed him little from themoment he crossed the threshold of the Grange. Right well had it servedhim in the strenuous years of vigilant governance now so remote; sincehis coming to Elmdale he seemed ever to be striving against shapelessphantoms. He had sought quiet and content in that peaceful-lookingvillage; he had found only care and gnawing foreboding, brightened, itis true, by a day-dream, which itself left bitter communing when itwaned. For he was his own severest censor. He regarded himself as onealready in the sere and yellow leaf. Fortune had called him to the highplaces only to cast him forth discredited, if not humbled. That he, aman who believed he had done with the great world, should think ofallying his shattered life with the sweet and winsome creature whosefeminine charm was enhanced by a frank girlishness, was a tantalizingprospect which, like the mirage in a desert, merged with the arid wasteswhen subjected to close scrutiny. With Marguerite near, reason fled, andall things seemed possible; when the thrall of her presence waswithdrawn, cold judgment warned him that gratitude for help renderedshould not be mistaken for love.
He felt now that another crisis had arisen, yet the past yielded no rayof guidance. He glared at the poor laborer who, all unconsciously, wasfate's herald in this new adversity, for he was instantly aware, withoutother spoken word, that Marguerite Ogilvey had fled. The man's troubledface showed that he feared he had done wrong.
"I'm main sorry, sir," said he, "if I've said owt te vex ye, but,hearin' the talk of Miss Meg, I thought----"
Armathwaite's drawn features relaxed, and he placed a friendly hand onthe villager's shoulder.
"You've done right," he said. "I am very much obliged to you. I have astupid habit of allowing my mind to wander. Just then I was thinking ofsomething wholly unconnected with Miss Garth's disappearance, which willarouse Mrs. Jackson's wrath because of bacon and eggs frizzled to acinder. I must go and condole with her."
He was turning to re-enter the house, mainly to set at rest anysuspicion that Marguerite's absence arose fr
om other cause than sheerforgetfulness, when the clang of the gate stayed him. A youth haddismounted from a bicycle, and was hastening up the path with an air ofbrisk importance.
"Telegrams for Garth and Whittaker," he said. "Any answer, sir?"
Armathwaite took the two buff envelopes which the lad produced from aleather pouch.
"Have you come from Bellerby?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, wait a few minutes. There may be some reply."
He went into the dining-room. So sure was he that Marguerite had goneaway that he had not the slightest hesitation about opening the telegramaddressed to "Garth, The Grange, Elmdale." As he anticipated, it wasfrom Mrs. Ogilvey. It had been dispatched at seven o'clock fromTavistock, and read:
"Arriving to-night if possible. Don't take any action until I am with you.--MOTHER."
The early hour at which it had been sent off--from a town, too, whichhe rightly estimated as a good many miles distant from Warleggan, showedthat Mrs. Suarez had contrived to get a telegram through to Cornwall theprevious night, so Percy Whittaker's mischievous interference had provedquite successful.
Then, with lightning clarity came the belief that Percy Whittaker wasresponsible for Marguerite's flight. Armathwaite scouted the notion thatshe had such a thing in her mind when she came to him in the garden. Hernature was incapable of guile. Had she formed some fantastic schemeduring the watches of the night she would never have put her troublesaside to share in his light-hearted planning of a new and glorifiedgarden. In fact, he recalled her sudden dismay because of her seemingneglect of the invalid, and now he knew that he had not seen her sinceshe went upstairs, whereas Whittaker himself had sent more than oneurgent summons for her subsequently.
Stifling his fury as best he might, Armathwaite hurried to Whittaker'sroom.
"A telegram has just come for you," he said, and watched the youngerman's face as he read. It was a long screed, and evidently bored itsrecipient.
"Oh, it's only from my sister," came the languid explanation. "By theway, where's Miss Garth?"
"Gone, I think."
"Gone!" Whittaker rose on an elbow and glowered at Armathwaite. "Whatthe devil do you mean by 'gone'? Where has she gone to?" he cried.
"I want you to answer that question," and Armathwaite's voice wasstrangely harsh and threatening. "She came to you half an hour ago. Didyou say anything likely to distress her? Tell me the truth, or I'llpound your face to a jelly."
His aspect had suddenly become so menacing that Whittaker wilted; hishead sank back to the pillow, and his eyelids twitched with fright.
"That's no way to talk----" he began, but the other seized him by theshoulder with his left hand and clenched his right fist suggestively.
"You think I ought not to threaten you with violence because you arelying there helpless," was the savage interruption; "but, if you havenot forgotten the ways of Ind, you must know that a poisonous snake isnever so venomous as when disabled. Speak, now, and speak truthfully,or, as sure as God is in heaven, I'll strike!"
There was no withstanding the set purpose revealed by those blazingeyes, and Whittaker was so alarmed that he dared not attempt to lie.
"I--I've asked Meg--half a dozen times--to marry me," he stuttered, "andthis morning--I told her--she'd have to consent--now."
"Why now?" and the fierce grip tightened, drawing the livid face nearer.
"Because--she must."
"Explain yourself, you dog!"
"I--I was afraid of your influence, so I warned her--that if--she wantedto save her father.... Ah! Let go! Curse you, let go! You're breaking mybones!"
That eldritch scream restored Armathwaite's senses. It startled the menin the garden. It brought Mrs. Jackson and Betty running from thekitchen. Happily, Armathwaite struck no blow. He flung off Whittaker'slimp body as though he were, indeed, one of the vicious reptiles towhich he had compared him.
"You _sug_!" he breathed, using the bitterest term of contempt known tothe East, for the Persian word means all that the Anglo-Saxon implieswhen he likens a fellow-creature to a dog, with the added force of anepithet which signifies "dog" in that despicable sense, and in noneother.
Striding down the stairs, his fire-laden glance met the ghastly smile ofthe painted figure. With an active bound, he was on the window ledge,and the clenched fist which had ached to scatter some of the haplessPercy's features fell heavily on the scowling face in the window. Theglass, which proved exceedingly thin and brittle, shivered intocountless fragments within and without, and the inner sheet oftransparent paper was so dry and tense that it shriveled instantly whenexposed to the air. Indeed, Armathwaite, despite his rage, was aware ofa peculiar sensation. It seemed as though he had struck at somethingimpalpable as air. His hand was not cut. It appeared to have touchednothing. He thrust straight and hard, and the only evidence of hisdestroying zeal was a quantity of powdered glass on the landing, somecurled wisps of paper adhering to the leaden frame, and an oval of bluesky shining through the visor.
As he leaped to the floor again, Mrs. Jackson reached the center of thehall. She screeched frantically, thinking that the Black Prince himselfwas springing from the window. But she was a stout-hearted old woman,and quickly recovered her wits when she saw what Armathwaite had done.
"They've long wanted a man i' this house!" she cried, in a voice thatcracked with excitement, "and it's glad I am te see they've gotten yanat last! Eh, sir, ye med me jump! Ye did an' all! But ye'll never ruet' day when ye punched a hole in t' feace o' that image of Owd Nick!"
By this time Smith and his helpers, aware that something unusual wasgoing on inside the house, were gathered at the front door, which hadremained wide open since the early morning.
"Listen, all of you!" said Armathwaite, addressing the two women andfive men as though they were an army and he their emperor. "I am masterhere, and I expect you to obey my orders. I am going out now, and I maybe away some hours, possibly all day. You, Smith, must put a padlock andchain on the gate and refuse to open it for anyone except Dr. Scaife anda nurse. You, Mrs. Jackson, must keep the doors locked while I am gone,and let no one enter, excepting, as I have told Smith, Dr. Scaife andthe nurse who will accompany him. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you, Smith?"
"Yes, sir."
"Betty, put some thin slices of bread and meat between two small plates,and tie them in a napkin. Fill a bottle with milk. Quick! I have no timeto lose."
He turned to the gaping boy who had brought the telegrams fromBellerby.
"Did you ride here on your own bicycle?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Is it a strong machine?"
"Yes, sir."
"Lend it to me for the day, and I'll give you a sovereign."
"Right you are, sir!" came the hearty response. "Is there anything to goback to the post office?"
"Nothing. Raise the saddle of your bicycle, and see that the tires arein good order. Here's your money."
In an incredibly short time Armathwaite was pushing the bicycle up thesteep road to the moor. He walked with long, swinging strides, and wassoon lost to sight, because the trees behind the Grange hid the highwayfrom any part of the house or grounds, and no one dared risk his wrathby going out into the road to watch him.
He climbed swiftly yet steadily, and conquered the worst part of thehill in fifteen minutes. Then he mounted the bicycle, and got over theground rapidly. Thus, within less than an hour after Marguerite Ogilveyhad escaped from the Grange--in the first instance by taking refuge inher bedroom, and, while Betty was talking to Whittaker, by slippingdownstairs and climbing through a window in the library--Armathwaitesaw her--a lonely figure in that far-flung moorland, walking in thedirection of Leyburn.
Apparently, she had grabbed her hat and mackintosh coat when passingthrough the hall, and was carrying them, because the sun was glinting inher coils of brown hair. No stranger who met her would take her forother than a summer visitor. Certainly, no one
would guess the storm ofgrief and terror that raged in her heart.
The bicycle sped along with a silent speed that soon lessened thedistance between the two. Armathwaite did not wish to startle her by atoo sudden appearance, so he rang the bell when yet fifty yards in therear.
She turned instantly. When she saw who the pursuer was, she stopped.Neither spoke until Armathwaite had alighted, and the two had exchangeda long and questioning look.
Then she said:
"I'm going to my father. My place is with him. He must be hiddensomewhere. I dare not wait until my mother came or wrote. I'm sorry,Bob. I could not even explain, though I should have telegraphed fromYork. Please don't ask me to say any more, or try to detain me."
"Any explanation is unnecessary," he said, smiling gravely into thesweet face with its aspect of unutterable pain. "I squeezed the factsout of Percy Whittaker. I'm afraid I hurt him, but that is immaterial."
"You made him tell you what he said to me?" and the brown eyesmomentarily lost their wistfulness in a whirl of surprise and maidenlydismay.
"Yes."
"Everything--even his threat?"
"Everything."
"Oh, Bob! What am I to do? I must go to dad!"
"Undoubtedly; but I don't see why you should walk fourteen milespractically without food. I've brought some breakfast--of a sort. We'llgo shares--half the sandwiches and half the milk. Then you'll ride onthe step of the bike when the road permits, and trudge the remainder,and we'll be in Leyburn in half the time it would take you to walk. Hereare the eatables, and this is just the place for a picnic."
He spoke and behaved in such a matter-of-fact way that he almostpersuaded the bewildered girl that her conduct, and his, and PercyWhittaker's was ruled and regulated by every-day conditions. Placing thebicycle by the roadside, he produced the package prepared by Betty, andwas uncorking the milk when a strangled sob caught his ear.
Marguerite had turned to hide her face, for a rush of emotion had provedtoo much for her self-control. Laying the bottle on a bank of turf, hecaught the girl's shoulder, and turned her gently until her swimmingeyes met his.
"There's nothing to be gained by hailing trouble half way, Meg," hesaid. "I don't wish to hide my belief that you are faced with conditionsof a most extraordinary nature, but I am convinced that they will shapethemselves differently to any forecast we can arrive at now. I followedyou for two reasons. I wanted you to begin a long journey betterprepared than was possible after flight on a moment's notice, and I didnot want you to go away thinking I was in ignorance of your motives. Ican tell you here and now that you will save your father, if hisposition is such that he needs safe-guarding; further, you will never becompelled to marry Percy Whittaker."
"Bob," she whispered brokenly. "I would rather die!"
Then Armathwaite flung restraint to the winds. He gathered her in hisarms, and lifted the tear-stained face to his.
"Sweetheart," he said, "in the midst of such madness, let you and me besane. I love you! You are the only woman I have ever loved. If I amallowed by Providence to begin life once more, you are the only woman Ishall ever love. You were brought to me by a kindly fate, and I refuseto let you go now without telling you that you carry my heart with you.I ask for no answer at this moment. Some day in the future, when theclouds have lifted from your young life, I'll come to you--"
But Marguerite gave him her answer then. Lifting herself on tip-toe, shekissed him on the lips.
"Bob," she said tremulously, "I think I knew you were my chosen mate, ifGod willed it, when we parted on that first night in the Grange."
That first night! It was hardly thirty-six hours ago, yet these two hadcrowded into that brief space more tribulation than many lovers undergoin a lifetime; and sorrow knits hearts more closely and lastingly thanjoy.
Armathwaite could hardly credit the evidence of his senses. He had cometo regard himself as so immeasurably older than this delightful girlthat it seemed wildly improbable that she could return the almosthopeless love which had sprung into sudden and fierce activity in hisbreast. Yet, here she was, lying snug in his embrace, and gazing up athim with glistening eyes, her lips distended, her arms clasping him, herheart beating tumultuously in the first transports of passion.
He kissed her again and again, and could have held her there seeminglyforever; but they were driven apart by a curious humming sound whichbore a singular resemblance to the purr of a powerful automobileclimbing a steep hill.
Marguerite disengaged herself from her lover's embrace with a flushingself-consciousness that was, in itself, vastly attractive.
"Bob," she murmured, stooping to pick up a fallen hat and mackintosh,"miracles are happening. Here are you and I forgetting a world in whichevil things find a place, and here is a motor-car crossing Elmdale moorfor the first time in history."
"It would not surprise me in the least if the visitant proved to be aflying-machine," he laughed, finding it hard to withdraw his ardent gazefrom those flushed cheeks and that tangled mass of brown hair.
But the insistent drumming of an engine grew ever louder, and soon along, low-built touring car swept into view over the last undulation.Apparently, it was untenanted save by a chauffeur, and Armathwaite'sbrain, recovering its balance after a whirl of delirium, was beginningto guess at a possible explanation of this strange occurrence, when thecar slowed as it neared them, and finally halted.
"Are you Mr. Armathwaite, sir?" inquired the chauffeur.
"Yes."
The man lifted his cap.
"This is the car you ordered from York last night, sir."
"How thoughtful of you to follow!" cried Armathwaite, overjoyed by thisquite unexpected bit of good fortune. He had not only forgotten that thecar was on order--an impulse of the moment when he realized how tied heand all others were to the house if anything in the nature of a suddenand rapid journey came on the _tapis_--but, in any event, he had notlooked for its arrival before mid-day, and the hour was yet barely teno'clock.
"Your servants thought you might need me, sir," explained the man, "so Icame after you. It's a scorcher of a road for the first mile, but therest isn't so bad, if it keeps in the same condition."
Now, what had actually happened was this. The chauffeur had reached theGrange about twenty minutes after Armathwaite's departure. At thatmoment Smith was chaining and padlocking the gate, but Betty heard thesnorting of the car, and came to find out its cause.
When the chauffeur told her that he was there in response to an order,the quick-witted girl told him to hurry up the moor road. He looked atit, and grinned.
"What! Take a valuable machine over a track like that! Not me!" he said.
"Can't it go there?" she inquired.
"It can go anywhere, for that matter."
"Are you afraid, then?"
"Afraid of what? D'ye think I want to twist an axle or smash a wheel?"
Then one of the laboring men joined in.
"I reckon you don't know t' maister," he said. "He wouldn't care a pinif you smashed yourself, but you've got to obey orders. He's one of thesort who has his own way. Good pay, no beer, an' hard work is _his_motter. It is, an' all."
Between maid and man, the chauffeur decided to risk it. When all wassaid and done, it would be a bad beginning in a new job if the servantsreported his refusal to follow on.
"Is he far ahead?" he inquired.
"Mebbe a mile over t' top."
Starting the engine on the switch, he put the car at the hill, and, likemany another difficulty, it was not insurmountable when tackled boldly.So, behold! A comfortable and easy way was opened to Leyburn, at anyrate, and Armathwaite laughed gayly.
"Now we'll breakfast, and discuss," said he. "The gods have sent us achariot!"