Volume Two—Chapter Twenty Seven.
Richard Linnell thinks he has been a Fool.
For a few moments, in the suddenness of the catastrophe, every one was too much astounded to take any steps. Linnell was the first to recover himself, and, leaping from his horse, he threw the rein to Bell.
Mellersh followed his example, joining Linnell as he tried to drag open the door of the chaise, which was over upon its side with the off-wheeler kicking in the front, as it lay there upon its companion in a tangle of harness.
The framework was so wrenched that for a minute or two the door would not yield, and the utter silence within sent a chill of horror through Linnell.
“Let me come, Dick,” whispered Mellersh, the catastrophe that had so suddenly befallen them forcing him to speak in subdued tones; “let me come, Dick. I’m stronger, perhaps.”
“Pish!” was the angry reply, as Linnell strained at the door, which suddenly yielded and flew open, the glass falling out with a tinkling noise.
Just at the same time the man with the leaders trotted back with his frightened horses, the broken traces dragging behind.
“Hurt, Jack?” he cried to his fellow.
“No, not much,” was the answer, as the postboy who rode the wheeler dragged his leg from beneath his horse, and immediately stepped round and held down the head of the animal, which was kicking and struggling to rise. “Woa! will yer. Hold still, Captain!”
With the customary feeling of helplessness that comes over a horse as soon as its head is pressed down, the poor animal ceased its frantic efforts, uttered a piteous sigh that was like that of a human being, and lay perfectly still.
“Old Spavin’s a dead ’un, mate,” said the man.
“Dead?” said the second postboy.
“Dead as a nit, mate. There’ll be something to pay for to-night’s job.”
“Anyone killed?” said the second man in a whisper.
“I d’know, and I don’t care,” grumbled the man; “my leg’s bruzz horrid. Shutin’ like that! It’s as bad as highwaymen. Here, come and help cut some of this harness. They’ll stand now. Take out your knife, mate, and use it. They’ll have to pay. I can’t sit on this ’oss’s head all night.”
“There’s some of ’em got it,” whispered the second man in a low voice, as he dismounted and stood beside his comrade watching while Linnell lifted out the insensible figure of one of the occupants of the chaise, and bore her, tangled in a thick cloak, to the roadside, where he laid her reverently upon the turf.
“With you directly, Dick,” said Mellersh, still in the subdued voice, as he climbed into the chaise, and, exerting all his strength, raised Rockley and half thrust, half lifted him out, to drag him to the other side of the road.
“Is she much hurt, sir?” said Bell hoarsely. “I can’t leave the horses.”
“I can’t say. I don’t know yet,” panted Linnell, who was trying to lay open the folds of the cloak, which he at last succeeded in doing, so that the air blew freely on the insensible woman’s face.
Linnell’s pulse beat madly, as he half closed his eyes, and kept his head averted while he knelt there in the semi-darkness, and placed his hand upon the woman’s breast.
Then he snatched his hand away and felt giddy. But a throb of joy ran through him. Her heart was beating, and he felt sure she was only fainting from the fright.
“Why don’t you speak, sir?” cried Bell angrily. “Is she much hurt?”
“I think not, my man, only fainting,” said Linnell.
“Well?”
This to Mellersh, who came to him from where he had laid Rockley.
“I don’t know,” was the answer to the abrupt query. “Only stunned, I think. Head cut with the broken glass.”
“Not killed then?” said Linnell bitterly.
“No. Such as he generally come off easily,” replied Mellersh. “What’s to be done?”
“Better send our man back for a fresh post-chaise,” said Linnell quickly. “Will you attend to Miss Denville?” he whispered. “I think I’ll take one of the horses and ride back myself for the chaise.”
“Why not let me go, Dick?”
“No,” said Linnell in sombre tones. “I’ve stopped this wretched flight. My part’s done. Mellersh, I trust to you to place her once more under her father’s charge.”
“Will not you do it?”
“I? No. I have done. We’ll send this man for the chaise, though. That scoundrel Rockley may come to again and be troublesome.”
“Lookye here, gents,” said the man who had ridden the wheeler, “we want to know who’s going to pay for this night’s job. My leg’s bad; my ’oss is dead; and the chay’s all to pieces.”
“Wait and see, my man,” said Mellersh sternly. “You will be recompensed.”
“But fine words butter no parsnips, you know, sir. I want to know—”
“Hold your tongue, fellow! I am Colonel Mellersh, of Saltinville. That man you were driving is Major Rockley, of the —th Dragoons. Of course everything will be paid for, and you will be recompensed. Now then, which of you can ride back for a fresh chaise?”
“Well, sir, I—”
“Damn it, man, don’t talk. Five guineas if a chaise is here within an hour.”
“Ah, that’s business, sir. Come on, mate. We’ll be back before then.”
The man seemed to forget his bruised leg, and with the help of his comrade the girths were unbuckled, and the saddle dragged off the dead horse, placed upon the other, and they were about to start when the first postboy asked whether it would be safe to leave the injured chaise where it was.
As it happened, in the struggle it had been dragged off the road on to the grass border, and lay there, so that there was ample room for passers-by; and, satisfied with this, the postboys were off at a rapid trot.
“Rather an awkward position if that fellow is seriously injured,” said Linnell grimly.
“Pooh! man; it was an accident, and he was engaged in an unlawful act,” said Mellersh coolly, but with a peculiar meaning in his tone.
Linnell winced, for the mental pang was sharp. His old friend suggested that Claire might have been a willing partner in that night’s adventure.
He made no reply. He dared not, for fear that it should be an angry retort; and content that he had certainly for the present frustrated Rockley’s machinations, he walked to his side, and, seeing that his temple was bleeding, he knelt down by him, took out his handkerchief, and bound up the cut, furtively watching Mellersh the while as he stood by the other prostrate figure on the turf.
Linnell longed to go to her and kneel there, holding her little hand in his, but he was too heartsore; and, telling himself that there was more dignity in keeping aloof and playing the manly part of ceasing to care for one whom he believed to be unworthy of his love, even if he rendered help when there was need, he contented himself with deputing the care he would gladly have bestowed to another.
It had grown darker during the past few minutes, a thicker cloud having veiled the sky, when, as Linnell rose from where he knelt, he heard a sigh which went through him.
“She is coming round,” he muttered. “Poor girl! Poor, weak, foolish girl! I—”
“Why, Dick!” cried Mellersh in a sharp, angry voice. “Come here!”
“What is it? There is no danger, is there?” cried Linnell, hastening across the road.
“Danger? No,” cried Mellersh angrily. “Whom do you suppose we have stopped here?”
“Whom? Miss Denville, of course, and—Good Heavens!—Miss Dean!”
“What is it? Where am I? You—Mr Linnell!—Colonel Mellersh!” said Cora confusedly, as she struggled up into a sitting position.
“At your service, madam,” said Mellersh, with a peculiar bitterness in his voice.
“What has happened?” cried Cora, holding her hand to her head, and staring wildly round till her eyes lighted upon the broken chaise. “Oh!”
She said no more, but struggled to her feet, turned giddy, and would have fallen, had not Mellersh caught her arm and supported her.
It was evident that she had realised her position in that one glance, and she seemed to shudder slightly. At the end of a few minutes, though, she recovered, and, shrinking from Mellersh, she looked round.
“Give me that cloak,” she said calmly. “It is cold.”
Linnell, who was half-stunned by the discovery, hurriedly stooped and picked up the cloak, spreading it rather clumsily and placing it upon her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said coldly; and there was an awkward pause, during which Mellersh walked to and fro with the look of a caged wild beast.
“Well?” said Cora suddenly. “Why are we waiting, Colonel Mellersh? Will you kindly see me home?”
“See you home?” he replied.
“Where is that man—Major Rockley?” cried Cora hastily.
“I am afraid he is incapacitated for further service, Miss Dean,” said Mellersh coldly. “The accident has prevented him from carrying out—shall I say your wishes?”
“What?” she replied. “Do you think I—! Pah!”
She turned her back upon him angrily.
“Mr Linnell,” she said, “you will not insult me if I ask you to see me safely home, even if I do not enter into any explanations. Let us go at once.”
There was a strange resentful hauteur in her tone, and Linnell offered her his arm.
“We will walk a little way if you wish it, Miss Dean,” he said; “but we ought hardly to leave Major Rockley in this state. My friend Colonel Mellersh—”
“Don’t mind me, Dick,” said the latter. “I’ll play hospital nurse, if Miss Dean will trust me with the care of the Major.”
Cora did not condescend to reply, but stepped forward as if to walk back.
“We are many miles from Saltinville, Miss Dean,” said Linnell, “and a post-chaise will be here soon.”
Further conversation was prevented by James Bell whispering hurriedly:
“It’s all a mistake, Mr Linnell, and the consequences will be terrible if I am found to have taken the Major’s horses. Can you do without me?”
“Yes,” said Linnell quickly; “but your master?”
“I can’t think of him, sir,” said Bell hastily. “I must think of myself. Gentlemen, I thought we were chasing another lady whom I would have given my life to save. I stood by you; will you stand by me?”
“Yes,” said Mellersh quickly. “Take the horses back. I’ll stay by your master till help comes.”
“And you will not tell upon me about the horses, gentlemen?”
“No,” said Mellersh shortly. “Go.”
“And you, Mr Linnell?”
“You may trust me,” was the reply.
Bell went off with the horses on the instant, and a tedious time of waiting ensued, the end of which was that it was arranged when the fresh post-chaise came that Mellersh should ride with Cora and the injured man back to the posting house, Linnell walking by the side of the chaise.
On reaching the inn, Rockley was placed in the landlord’s care, with instructions to fetch a medical man, and the three afterwards had a perfectly silent ride back to Saltinville, where Mrs Dean was found sitting up in a high state of excitement, and ready to greet her daughter:
“Lor! Bet—Cora—you have give me a turn. I thought it was a real elopement, and now you’ve come back.”
“Well, Dick,” said Mellersh grimly, as they stood together in the latter’s room. “What do you think of it now?”
“I think I’ve been a fool,” said Linnell shortly; “but I can’t quite make it out.”
“Neither can I,” responded Mellersh, after a pause.