The Castle Inn

  CHAPTER XVI

  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 menwho, when the binding word has been said and the final step taken, donot feel a revulsion of mind, and for a moment question the wisdom oftheir choice. A more beautiful wife he could not wish; she was fair offace 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 madeto him, he believed her to be good and virtuous. But her birth, herquality, or rather her lack of quality, her connections, these werethings to cry him pause, to bid him reflect; until the thought--mean andunworthy, but not unnatural--that he was ruined, and what did it matterwhom he wedded? came to him, and he touched his horse with the spur andcantered on by upland, down and clump, by Avebury, and Yatesbury, andCompton Bassett, until he came to his home.

  Returning in the afternoon, sad at starting, but less sad with everyadded mile that separated him from the house to which he had biddenfarewell in his heart--and which, much as he prized it now, he had notvisited twice a year while it was his--it was another matter. He thoughtlittle of the future; of the past not at all. The present was sufficientfor 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 themsink before his. Not a regret now for White's! Or the gaming table! OrMrs. Cornelys' and Betty's! Gone the _blase_ insouciance of St. James's.The whole man was set on his mistress. Ruined, he had naught but her tolook forward to, and he hungered for her. He cantered through Avebury,six miles short of Marlborough, and saw not one house. Through WestKennet, 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 asgreat 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 sankfinally behind him, leaving the downs cold and grey--he came in sight ofManton Corner.

  Then, that no look of shy happiness, no downward quiver of the maideneyelids might be lost--for the morsel, now it was within his grasp, wasone to linger over and dwell on--Sir George, his own eyes shining witheagerness, walked his horse forward, his gaze greedily seeking theflutter of her kerchief or the welcome of her hand. Would she be at themeeting of the roads--shrinking aside behind the bend, her eyes laughingto greet him? No, he saw as he drew nearer that she was not there. Thenhe knew where she would be; she would be waiting for him on thefoot-bridge in the lane, fifty yards from the high-road, yet withinsight of it. She would have her lover come so far--to win her. Thesubtlety was like her, and pleased him.

  But she was not there, nor was she to be seen elsewhere in the lane; forthis descended a gentle slope until it plunged, still under his eyes,among the thatched roofs and quaint cottages of the village, whence thesmoke of the evening meal rose blue among the trees. Soane's eyesreturned to the main road; he expected to hear her laugh, and see heremerge at his elbow. But the length of the highway lay empty before, andempty behind; and all was silent. He began to look blank. A solitaryhouse, which had been an inn, but was now unoccupied, stood in the angleformed by Manton Lane and the road; he scrutinised it. The big doorsleading to the stable-yard were ajar; but he looked in and she was notthere, 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, andevery day for days past.

  Was it possible that she had changed her mind? That she had played orwas playing him false? His heart said no. Nevertheless he felt a chilland 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 hesaw nothing of her; and he turned. Riding back his search was rewardedwith a discovery. Beside the ditch, at the corner where the road andlane met, and lying in such a position that it was not visible from thehighway, but only from the lower ground of the lane, lay a plainblack fan.

  Sir George sprang down, picked it up, and saw that it was Julia's; andstill possessed by the idea that she was playing him a trick he kissedit, and looked sharply round, hoping to detect her laughing face.Without result; then at last he began to feel misgiving. The road underthe downs was growing dim and shadowy; the ten minutes he had lingeredhad stolen away the warmth and colour of the day. The camps andtree-clumps stood black on the hills, the blacker for the creeping mistthat stole beside the river where he stood. In another ten minutes nightwould fall in the valley. Sir George, his heart sinking under thosevague and apparently foolish alarms which are among the penalties ofaffection, mounted his horse, stood in his stirrups, and called hername--'Julia! Julia!'--not loudly, but so that if she were within fiftyyards of him she must hear.

  He listened. His ear caught a confused babel of voices in the directionof Marlborough; but only the empty house, echoing 'Julia!' answered him.Not that he waited long for an answer; something in the dreary aspect ofthe evening struck cold to his heart, and touching his horse with thespur, he dashed off at a hand-gallop. Meeting the Bristol night-wagonbeyond the bend of the road he was by it in a second. Nevertheless, thebells ringing at the horses' necks, the cracking whips, the tiltlurching white through the dusk somewhat reassured him. Reducing hispace, and a little ashamed of his fears, he entered the inn grounds bythe stable entrance, threw his reins to a man--who seemed to havesomething to say, but did not say it--and walked off to the porch. Hehad 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 lookedthat way--half a dozen men on foot and horseback, bustling out withlanterns through the great gates. Their voices reached him mellowed bydistance; but immersed in thinking where he should find Julia, and whathe should say to her, he crossed the roadway without heeding a commotionwhich in such a place was not unusual. On the contrary, the long lightedfront of the house, the hum of life that rose from it, the sharp voicesof a knot of men who stood a little on one side, arguing eagerly and allat once, went far to dissipate such of his fears as the pace of hishorse had left. Beyond doubt Julia, finding herself in solitude, hadgrown alarmed and had returned, fancying him late; perhaps poutingbecause he had not forestalled the time!

  But the moment he passed through the doorway his ear caught that buzzof excited voices, raised in all parts and in every key, that betokensdisaster. And with a sudden chill at his heart, as of a cold handgripping it, he stood, and looked down the hall. It was well perhapsthat he had that moment of preparation, those few seconds in which tosteady himself, before the full sense of what had happened struck him.

  The lighted hall was thronged and in an uproar. A busy place, of muchcoming and going it ever was. Now the floor was crowded in every partwith two or three score persons, all speaking, gesticulating, advisingat once. Here a dozen men were proving something; there another groupwere controverting it; while twice as many listened, wide-eyed andopen-mouthed, or in their turn dashed into the babel. That somethingvery serious had happened Sir George could not doubt. Once he caught thename of Lord Chatham, and the statement that he was worse, and hefancied 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 tohim! I tell you, he is worse to-day!' And this, giving the lie to thatidea, revived his fears. His eyes passing quickly over the crowd, lookedeverywhere for Julia; he found her nowhere. He touched the nearest manon the arm, and asked him what had happened.

  The person he addressed was about to reply when an agitated figure, wigawry, cravat loosened, eyes staring, forced itself through the crowd,and, flinging itself on Sir George, clutched him by the open breast ofhis green riding-coat. It was Mr. Fishwick, but Mr. Fishwicktransfigured by a great fright, his face grey, his cheeks trembling. Fora moment such was his excitement he could not speak. Then 'Where isshe?' he stuttered, almost shaking Sir George on his feet. 'What haveyou done with her, you--you
villain?' Soane, with misgivings gnawing athis heart, was in no patient mood. In a blaze of passion he flung theattorney from him. 'You madman!' he said; 'what idiocy is this?'

  Mr. Fishwick fell heavily against a stout gentleman in splashed bootsand 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 thecharge. 'I denounce you!' he cried furiously. 'I denounce this man! You,and you,' he continued, appealing with frantic gestures to those nexthim, 'mark what I say! She is the claimant to his estates--estates heholds on sufferance! To-morrow justice would have been done, andto-night he has kidnapped her. All he has is hers, I tell you, and hehas kidnapped her. I denounce him! I--'

  'What Bedlam stuff is this?' Sir George cried hoarsely; and he lookedround the ring of curious starers, the sweat standing on his brow. Everyeye in the hall was upon him, and there was a great silence; for theaccusation to which the lawyer gave tongue had been buzzed and bruitedsince the first cry of alarm roused the house. 'What stuff is this?' herepeated, his head giddy with the sense of that which Mr. Fishwick hadsaid. 'Who--who is it has been kidnapped? Speak! D--n you! Will noone speak?'

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

  'Softly, man--softly,' said the landlord, coming forward and laying hishand 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 yourcompany the last day or two was seized and carried off in a post-chaisehalf an hour ago, as I am told--maybe a little more--from MantonCorner. For the rest, which this gentleman says, about who she is andher claim--which it does not seem to me can be true and your honour notknow it--it is news to me. But, as I understand it, Sir George, healleges that the young lady who has disappeared lays claim to yourhonour's estates at Estcombe.'

  'At Estcombe?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Sir George did not reply, but stood staring at the man, his mind dividedbetween two thoughts. The first that this was the solution of the manythings that had puzzled him in Julia; at once the explanation of hersudden amiability, her new-born forwardness, the mysterious fortune intowhich she had come, and of her education and her strange past. She washis cousin, the unknown claimant! She was his cousin, and--

  He awoke with a start, dragged away by the second thought--hardfollowing 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 topof the Mound to clean the mirrors in the summer-house. Here, you,' hecontinued, beckoning to a man who limped forward reluctantly from one ofthe side passages in which he had been standing, 'show yourself, andtell this gentleman the story you told me.'

  'If it please your honour,' the fellow whimpered, 'it was no fault ofmine. I ran down to give the alarm as soon as I saw what was doing--theywere forcing her into the carriage then--but I was in such a hurry Ifell and rolled to the bottom of the Mound, and was that dazed andshaken it was five minutes before I could find any one.'

  'How many were there?' Sir George asked. There was an ugly light in hiseyes and his cheeks burned. But he spoke with calmness.

  'Two I saw, and there may have been more. The chaise had been waiting inthe yard of the empty house at the corner, the old Nag's Head. I saw itcome 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 shescream?'

  'Ay, she screamed right enough,' the fellow answered lumpishly. 'I heardher, though the noise came faint-like. It is a good distance, yourhonour'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, Ican tell you.'

  The picture was too much for Sir George. Gripping the landlord'sshoulder so fiercely that Smith winced and cried out, 'And you haveheard this man,' he said, 'and you chatter here? Fools! This is nomatter for words, but for horses and pistols! Get me a horse andpistols--and tell my servant. Are you so many dolls? D--n you,sir'--this to Mr. Fishwick--'stand out of my way!'