Volume Three—Chapter Fifteen.
“Only Wait.”
The occupants of the Fort were broken up into little parties on that eventful day. Claude seemed to go from one fit into another, and her cousin and Sarah Woodham did not leave her side.
Brime had been despatched for Doctor Asher, but had come back with a message that the doctor had been taken ill, and could not leave his home, but they were not to be alarmed. It was only hysteria, he wrote, and all needed was quiet and rest.
Trevithick had betaken himself to the library, where he sat alone, waiting for tidings, and had at last taken his note-book from his pocket, as if inspired by the place, and began to run over the numbers of the missing notes.
“I can’t go away till afternoon,” he had said to himself; “and till I have had a quiet few minutes with Mary.”
In the dining-room Glyddyr was now alone with Gellow, and there had been a scene.
“Look here,” said the latter, after partaking heartily of the breakfast, “I’m not a man who boasts, and I suppose my principles, as people call ’em, are not of the best, but, ’pon my soul, Glyddyr, if I couldn’t show up better after marrying a girl like that, I’d go and hang myself.”
“Bah!”
“No, you don’t; not a drop more,” continued Gellow, laying his hand upon a bottle of champagne that Glyddyr was about to take. “You’ve had too much now. When I’m gone, you can do as you like. You’re master here, but I won’t sit and see you go on like this.”
“It don’t hurt me. I’m as sober as you are.”
“P’r’aps so, now; but what will you be by-and-by? Hang it all, Glyd, you’ve got the girl, and the money, and you can pay me off. She’s a little darling, that’s what she is, and I’d turn over a fresh leaf—clean the slate and begin square now, I would, ’pon my soul. Do you hear?”
“Yes, I hear.”
“And now I think I’ll go back to the hotel; you don’t want me.”
“Eh! What? No, no; don’t go,” said Glyddyr excitedly.
“Not go?”
“No, man, no; don’t go and leave me here alone.”
“Well, upon my soul, Glyddyr, you are a one.”
“That fellow, Lisle. You saw him in the corner. He means mischief. I’m sure he does.”
“Let him. You’re King of the Castle now. Keep him out. Don’t be such a cur.”
“He’s half mad. I know he is. I don’t want a scene. I should kill him if he came.”
“Yes, you look as if you would.”
“And I haven’t done much for you yet. We shall want to talk business.”
“What, on your wedding-day! Nonsense. I’ll go back to the hotel.”
“No, no. There is plenty of room in the place—for a friend. You must stop here for a few days.”
“Oh, very well. Play policeman, eh, and keep t’other fellow off. I see your little game. Cheerful for me, though, all the same.”
“Help me to get rid of that lawyer; I don’t want him hanging about.—Gellow.”
“Well?”
“Why didn’t I insist upon going over to Paris or Baden as soon as we were married?”
“How should I know? I suppose I may light a cigar now. Your wife won’t object?”
“It was her doing,” said Glyddyr thoughtfully. “She insisted on staying.”
“No, you don’t. If I’m to play policeman, no more drink, or very little, do you have to-day.”
Gellow drew the bottle farther away again, and Glyddyr threw himself back in his chair and began gnawing his nails.
“Ugh!”
“What’s the matter now?” said Gellow, as Glyddyr shuddered.
“I don’t know. Somehow I don’t like this place.”
“Buy it off you, if you like. But, I say, hadn’t you better ring and ask after your wife?”
About this time, as John Trevithick sat cogitating over his memoranda, seeking for the light where all was dark, the door opened, and Mary came in.
“Ah! How is she now?”
“Very ill. I have left her for a few minutes in the drawing-room with Sarah Woodham,” said Mary, with a catching of the breath. “Oh, John, how cruel of Chris Lisle to come and do that.”
“I don’t know,” said Trevithick thoughtfully. “I’m afraid I should have acted the same. But there: the mischief is done. I’m glad you’ve come. I wanted to see you before I went.”
“Before you went? Oh!” exclaimed Mary, catching at his hand, “you must not go.”
“Not go? Oh, I’m not wanted here.”
“You don’t know,” cried Mary excitedly. “Don’t leave us, John. I’m frightened. It all seems so horrible. Suppose Chris Lisle were to come?”
“Chris Lisle would not be so mad.”
“I don’t know. I saw his face, poor fellow, and it looked dreadful, and I have just seen Mr Glyddyr. I went to the dining-room to see if you were there. He looks ghastly, and he has been drinking. For Claude’s sake, pray stay.”
“You do not know what you are saying, my dear,” said the big lawyer gently. “Mr Glyddyr is master here now. But I’m afraid you are right. He had been drinking before he came. I cannot interfere.”
“Not to protect her?”
“No, I have no right.”
“Then stop to protect me, John, dear,” she whispered.
“The law gives me no right,” he said slowly, “but if you put it in that way, why, hang the law!”
“And you will stay?”
“Yes, my dear, if I have to wring Parry Glyddyr’s neck.”
“Ah, now you are speaking like yourself,” cried Mary, drawing a breath full of relief. “I’m not a bit afraid now.”
Just then a bell rang, and Mary ran out of the room, to find Sarah Woodham anxiously awaiting her, for Claude was pacing the floor wildly, her face flushed, and the excitement from which she suffered finding vent in rapid, almost incoherent words.
She ran to Mary and clung to her, sobbing out—
“Don’t—don’t leave me again, dear. Stay with me. I cannot bear it. Oh, Mary, Mary, I must have been mad—I must have been mad.”
“Hush, darling! Be calm; try and be calm.”
“Calm! You do not know—you do not know. Stop!” she cried wildly, as she saw Woodham cross gently towards the drawing-room door. “Don’t leave me. If you care for me now, pray stay.”
“Claude, dear, this is terrible,” said Mary firmly. “You are acting like a child.”
Claude sank upon her knees and buried her face in her cousin’s dress.
“Don’t think me cruel or unfeeling to you, but what can we do or say? You are Mr Glyddyr’s wife.”
“Yes, I know,” wailed Claude. Then, looking excitedly in her cousin’s face, “I did not know then. I was blind to it all. Mary, what have I done? Tell me—that man—he has married me—for the fortune—tell him to take all and set me free.”
“My own darling cousin,” whispered Mary, sinking upon her knees, to draw Claude’s face to her breast. “No, no, no; all that is impossible. This fit will pass off, and you must be brave and strong. Try and think, dear, of what you said. It was poor uncle’s wish.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Claude wearily; and she struggled to her feet, to throw herself into one of the lounges and sit wringing her hands involuntarily, dragging at one finger until the little golden circle, lately placed there, passed over the joint, and at last flew off, to fall trinkling in the fender.
Claude uttered a faint cry, and covered her face with her hands, while Woodham and Mary stood gazing at each other till the former crossed softly and picked up the ring from where it lay.
“Claude, darling,” said Mary, as, after a little hesitation, she took the ring from Woodham, and gently drawing her cousins hand from her face, began to slip the little token back into its place.
There was no resistance, only a helpless, dazed expression in Claude’s face, as she dropped her hand into her lap, and sat back gazing down at her cousin’s act, shuddering slightly, and then closing her eyes.
They drew back, watching her for some time, and at last Woodham crept cautiously forward, peering anxiously into her mistress’s face, watching the regular rise and fall of her breast, and then gave Mary a satisfied nod, as they stole very softly away to the far end of the room, and sat down to watch.
“Exhausted, Miss Mary, asleep,” whispered Woodham. “Oh, my dear, what can we do?”
“Nothing,” whispered back Mary bitterly; “only wait.”
The wind increased, setting in more and more for one of the western gales. The rain beat at the windows and the storm came in fierce squalls, as if to tear down the unhappy house; but hours went by, and Claude had not moved, remaining plunged in a kind of stupor more than sleep.
And so the weary hours went on, broken only by the sound of an opening or closing-door, and faintly heard voices which made the watchers start and glance anxiously towards the door in anticipation of Glyddyr’s coming; but he did not leave the dining-room, and Trevithick remained still in the library, where, through Woodham’s forethought, refreshments had been taken to him twice.
As the night closed in, a lamp was lit, and a screen drawn before the table where it stood so as to leave the spot where Claude lay back in darkness, and once more the watchers sat waiting.
It was about eight o’clock, when, after for the twentieth time stealing across to her cousin’s side, and returning, Mary placed her lips to Woodham’s ear.
“I am getting frightened at her state,” she whispered; “surely we ought to send over for the doctor.”
“No, my dear,” said Woodham sadly. “Let her rest. It will be better than anything the doctor can do.”
“Woodham,” whispered Mary again, “it seems horrible to say, but I feel as if I could poison that man and set her free.”
Sarah Woodham’s jaw dropped, and as she sank back, Mary could see that her eyes were wide and staring.
“Sarah, you foolish woman, don’t take what I say like that.”
The woman struggled to recover herself, and she gasped—
“It was so horrible, Miss Mary; for thoughts like that came to me.”
“But, Sarah,” whispered Mary, “I did not think of it before; when she wakes, if she is wild like that again, there is some of poor uncle’s medicine in the library—there is a bottle of that chloral that had not been opened. Would it be wise to give her some of it to make her calm?”
“Miss Mary!” gasped Woodham, as she pressed her hand to her side. “Hush! Don’t! You—oh, pray, pray, don’t talk of that!”
Mary looked at her wonderingly, the woman’s excitement seemed so wild and strange.
“No, it would not be wise,” she said.
At that moment there was the sound of the dining-room door being opened, and Claude sprang to her feet.
“Mary! Woodham!” she panted. “He is coming.”
“Claude! Claude, darling!” cried Mary, with a sob, as she flew to her cousin’s arms.
“Keep Woodham here too. He’s coming! Do you hear?”
“But, Claude, dearest, he is master here. You made him so. You are his wife.”
“Yes, Mary. I was blind and mad. I forced myself to it, thinking it must be my father’s will—my duty to the dead. But it is too horrible. Chris could not have done this thing.”
“No, no, my poor darling; he could not have been so vile.”
And as the cousins clung together, Mary felt the heart that beat against hers fluttering like that of some prisoner bird. There was the sound of an angry voice in the hall, and then a door was opened.
“Oh, you’re there, are you?”
“Yes, Mr Glyddyr, I am here.”
“Then why didn’t you come into the dining-room like a man, not stop hiding there. What the hell do you mean?”
“Don’t go on like that, old fellow,” said another voice. “Here, come back into the dining-room. Mr Trevithick will join us, perhaps.”
“Hold your tongue, curse you! Here, you—you can go back into your hole; and as to you, Gellow, I know what I’m about. Come along.”
The voices died away, as if the speakers had gone back into the dining-room, and the door swung to.
“Ah!” ejaculated Claude, with a piteous sigh.
“I know what I’m about,” came loudly again, followed by the banging of a door and a step in the hall.
“Mary!”
“Claude, dear, you must. He is your husband.”
“And I love Chris still with all my heart.”
“Claude!” whispered Mary, as the door was thrown open, and Glyddyr strode in.
“Here, Claude, where are you? Why don’t you have more lights? Oh, there you are, and our little cousin, eh? Now, woman, you can go.”
Sarah Woodham gave her mistress one wild, pitying look, and then left the room.
“Ah, that’s better,” said Glyddyr, whose face was flushed, but his gait was steady, and there was an insolent smile upon his lips. “Only been obliged to entertain my best man,” he said, with a laugh; and he gave his head a shake, and suddenly stretched out a hand to steady himself. “But kept myself all right.”
It was plain to Mary that the man had been drinking heavily, and her spirit rose with indignation and horror, mingled with excitement at her cousin’s avowal.
“Mary, don’t leave me,” whispered Claude.
“Now, then, little one, you go and talk to the other fellows; I want to have a chat with my wife.”
He laughed in a low, chuckling way, for he had long ago mastered Gellow’s opposition, and been told to drink himself blind if he liked. And he had drunk till his miserable feeling of abject dread had been conquered for the moment, while, inured as he was to the use of brandy, he only seemed to be unsteady at times.
“Do you hear?” he said sharply. “Why don’t you go?”
“Claude, dearest, what shall I do?” whispered Mary.
“Stay with me, Mary, pray,” panted Claude. And she looked wildly round for a way of escape, her eyes resting last upon the window, which opened over a steep portion of the cliff.
“Oh! what are you thinking?” said Mary wildly.
“Ah!” exclaimed Glyddyr, with a savage expression crossing his face, “the window? No; he’s not there. Curse him! I could shoot him like a dog.”
Claude, covered her quivering face with her hands.
“Yes, madam, it’s time we came to a little explanation about that, and then we can go on happily. No trifling with me.—Now then,” he cried fiercely, “will you go?”
“No,” cried Mary, turning upon him so sharply that he dropped the hand he had raised to seize her by the shoulder. “How dare you come into my cousin’s presence like this? Shame upon you! She is ill—agitated—not fit to meet you now, and you dare to force your way to her like this—drunken as one of the quarrymen at his worst.”
“What!”
“Is this the gentleman who begged and pleaded and humbled himself to her? You shall not stop here now, master or no master—husband or no husband. She is my dear cousin, and—”
“She is my wife,” thundered Glyddyr. “My slave if I like; and as for you—”
“Oh, would that my uncle were alive to see his cruel work!”
Those last words were like a sharp blow in Glyddyr’s face, and he stepped back, looked quickly round, and a shudder ran through him as he turned pale. But it was momentary. The potent brandy was strong in its influence still, and he recovered himself.
“Bah! nonsense!” he cried, with the flush coming back into his face. “I’m not to be fooled like that. There; be off at once.”
He took a couple of steps forward.
“Come, Claude; there has been enough of this.”
Claude flinched away toward the window, and Mary sprang between them.
“Not while you are like this,” she cried.
Glyddyr uttered an angry snarl, seized Mary savagely by the arm, and gripped the frail limb so cruelly that, in spite of her determined courage, she uttered a piercing cry for help.
“Silence, you little vixen.—Hah!”
It was as if the arm of a giant had suddenly interposed, for Glyddyr was seized by John Trevithick, dashed staggering back, to totter three or four yards, catch at a little table to save himself, and drag it over with him in his fall.
“Curse you!” he roared, as he rose to his hands and knees; and then, uttering a wild cry of horror, he backed away from the picture he had dragged with him to the floor, one which had fallen, with its little velvet-covered table-easel to which it had been secured, on end, and close to his face.
It was as if Gartram had come back to him from the dead to interpose between him and his child; and, with that shriek of horror, Glyddyr fell over sidewise, his face contorted, his eyes staring, his teeth gnashing, and the foam gathering upon his lips.
“Take him away! take him away!” he shrieked, and then lay uttering strangely inhuman sounds as he writhed in the agonies of a fit.