Twenty-Three
That same evening, after observing the necessary formalities surrounding the arrival of Earl Arthur, Stephen at last broke away from the banquet and went in search of his sister. Whatever his father’s feelings, he was both glad to have her under his roof, and firmly set in the belief that he was acting on her behalf. His motive for seeing her now (so he told himself) was a sense of responsibility for her comfort and well-being.
The affection which he felt for her at their first meeting had not changed, his thoughts continued, except that the lust had gone out of it. And in a sense, even this was a relief. His greatest need now was for friendship and a sense of family, both of which might only have been lost and obscured, had they become conventional lovers.
He had drunk more than his share of the wine served at dinner, seeming unconcerned by his father’s tension, and the measured severity of Earl Arthur. And now, as he walked the long corridors he fell to reminiscing, to gentle, water-color thoughts of their long ride together across the countryside. And he remembered their first kiss, so innocent, so full of feeling. To see her now, and to know that it was in his power to bring her back to pride and prosperity, aroused in him a feeling of warmth and tenderness which he had not experienced since childhood. To speak with her late into the night. To kiss and to touch, her..... The door was ajar.
The room was empty. She was gone.
An old peasant woman was making up the bed. He wasted little time on her. “Where is my sister?” he demanded.
Her eyes narrowed at this. But after a moment’s pondering, she seemed to understand doubly. “Ah. She and her guardian have been moved to other quarters.”
“What other quarters?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”
“What do you know!” he cried angrily.
“Only it was the Lieutenant as took ‘em, and that he was none too gentle.” And she turned away, concealing her purpose, as ever.
Stephen stormed out of the room, blind with rage. Those who passed him in the hallway drew back as from a fire. Even those servants of long standing. . .none had seen him in a state like this.
He entered the banquet hall just as the Earl and his entourage were leaving. The withered Arthur nodded stiffly in greeting, but Stephen never saw him. His eyes knew the presence of one man only, and that man stood at the head of an emptying table.
His father eyed him darkly as he approached, and with a stern gesture, ordered him to keep silent until they were alone. Then giving final instructions to his steward about the service and lodging of his guests, he turned and walked sharply to an auxiliary den, with his son a brooding tempest behind. No sooner had the doors closed behind them than the deluge broke. At first the father tried to weather his son’s wrath, hoping that it would soon spend itself, like all his passions.
But Stephen was not merely upset. He was outraged. For perhaps the first time in his life, he knew the intoxicating power of righteous anger. His sister, whom he loved and had sworn to protect, had been locked away like the coarsest and commonest of criminals. And he knew Ballard well enough to imagine the state in which he must have left her, and what she must be feeling now. The thought of his thick, gnarled hands upon her, dragging her away, was the final straw.
“You bastard.”
It has been truly said that a father shall be judged by his sons, and that if he is found wanting, they will be a bane and a curse until death. All the enmity and resentment he had ever felt toward this man, all the shortcomings of his own character, indeed, every injury he had ever suffered, he now held to be the fault of the fat, corrupted animal before him.
“You will set her free, now,” he ejaculated. “Or so help me God, I will find her and do it myself!”
“Stephen.....”
“You fear Earl Arthur? It is I you should fear. I know enough to have you transported, along with the lowest horse-thieves and highwaymen!”
“You had best calm yourself, Stephen,” replied Lord Purceville coldly. “And if you know what is good for you---”
“Are you threatening me? Do you think I’m bluffing!” he cried, coming to within inches of his father’s face. “I am going to the Tower, now. And if I am in any way resisted, I will go to Earl Arthur instead, and put an end to your sorry game.”
“You will not---”
“Watch me!” And he turned on his heel, and made for the door.
Henry Purceville seized his son by the arm, and jerked him back into the center of the room. “Be still, I’m warning you! Don’t make me lock you away as well.”
With a scream of rage Stephen pushed him off, then flew at him, fists reeling. So great was his fury that he knocked the larger man down and, pinning him there, began to pummel him with half-blocked punches to the face.
Then he felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull, and falling forward, knew no more.