CHAPTER XXIX
TELLS HOW LADY BETTY DID THE SAME
And so my Lady Carlyon sitting in her arbour, lovely head bent above a book on surgery, presently espied the Major's tall figure advancing towards her; and beholding the familiar features of the Ramillie coat, its threadbare seams, its tarnished braid and buttons, she had the grace to blush, and felt her breath catch unwontedly.
The rosy flush still mantled her cheeks as she rose to greet him, quick to heed the courtly grace of his stately bow and his air of gentle aloofness.
"Madam—my lady, pray pardon this unwarranted intrusion, but——"
"O sir," she murmured, eyes a-droop, "most fully."
"I am come on account of your brother, my Lord Medhurst."
"Ah!" she sighed, "you mean my dear rebel—will't please you to sit, sir?"
"Thank you, I had—rather stand," he answered gently.
"And pray sir, what of my brother?"
"My lady, it seems the soldiers—a search-party have reached Sevenoaks and may be on their way hither, and your house would prove but a dangerous hiding-place, I fear. They would naturally search there first and very thoroughly."
"And you are here to warn me?"
"I am here to offer him the more secure shelter of the Manor."
Here my lady sighed, glanced swiftly up at his averted face and made room for him beside her on the rustic bench.
"Will you not—sit down, sir?" she asked softly.
"Thank you but I—am very well here!" he answered; whereupon my lady frowned at her book and fluttered its pages with petulant fingers.
"Can it be sir," she questioned, "can it possibly be that Major John d'Arcy so—so sternly orthodox and——and Whiggish is willing to give shelter to a Jacobite rebel?" The Major bowed. "And you are a—loyal soldier?"
"I—was!" he answered, sighing so deeply that she glanced at him again and beholding his troubled face, her petulant fingers were stilled, her frown vanished and her voice grew suddenly pleading and tender.
"Prithee, Major John will you not—sit awhile?" and she drew aside the folds of her gown invitingly.
"Indeed I—I had—rather not!" he answered, drawing back a step.
My lady's round bosom heaved tempestuous and she glanced at his averted face with eyes of scorn.
"Sir," said she, "the soldier who shelters the enemies of his king is a—traitor!" The Major winced. "And traitors are sometimes—hanged, sir!"
"Or shot, or beheaded!" he murmured.
"And you, Major d'Arcy, you are willing to run all these risks and wherefore?" The Major prodded diligently at a patch of moss with his cane, while, chin on hand, she watched him, waiting his answer.
"Need you ask?" he muttered.
"I do ask, sir," said she, her watchful gaze unwavering; and he, conscious of this intent look, flushed, grew uneasy, grew abashed; finally he raised his head and returned her look and in his eyes was that which called imperious to all her womanhood, that before which her own eyes fell though his voice was very tender as he answered:
"My lady you know well 'tis—for you. You know my love is one that counteth not risk, now or—or ever."
At this, my lady having seen and heard all she had desired, bowed shapely head and was silent awhile, staring down at the page before her headed: "Quartern Ague." When at last she spoke her voice quavered oddly and he flinched, believing that she laughed at him again.
"Your coat is more—more threadbare and—woebegone than—ever, John!" Here he sighed, still thinking that she mocked him but, as he turned away, he saw something that fell sparkling upon the page before her, followed by another and another. The Major stood awe-struck.
"My lady!" he exclaimed, "mam——"
"Do—not——" my lady sobbed but stamped her foot at him none the less.
"Madam," he corrected hastily.
"Nor that, sir! I'll not be 'madam-ed' or 'my lady-ed'—by you—any longer."
"Betty! O Betty!" he cried yearningly.
"John!" she sighed, "Jack!" And lifting her head she looked at him with eyes brimful of tears, tears that would not be winked away, so she dabbed at them with her handkerchief and sobbed again. The Major stepped hastily into the arbour.
"Betty?" he questioned in awed wonderment.
"Yes—I'm weeping, sir," she confessed. "I'm shedding—real tears and 'tis not a custom of mine, sir—consequently 'tis not so easy as to faint or—swoon. I hate to—sob and weep, and I—despise tears—besides they hurt me, John." He came a quick step nearer. "O 'tis very cruel to make a poor maid weep—how can you, John dear?"
"I?" he exclaimed aghast, "I—make you weep?"
"Indeed you—you! O cruel!"
"In heaven's name, how—what have I done?"
"Heaped coals of fire, John! Burnt me! Scorched me!"
The Major stared, utterly at a loss and fumbled with one of his tarnished buttons; then, seeing his bewilderment, she laughed through her tears and, choking back her sobs, rose and stretched out her arms to him.
"John," she murmured, "you dear, noble, generous Jack—ah, don't you see? When I made a public mock of you the other day, you hid your pain for my sake—and to-day, O to-day you come ready and willing to aid my brother heedless of risks and dangers. And now—now you—stand so—far off! John dear, if—if you won't sit down—prithee come a little nearer for me—just to—touch you."
Now hearing the thrill in her voice, beholding the melting tenderness of her look, his doubts were all forgotten and his stern resolutions swept clean away; so he came near, very near and, sitting down, clasped her yielding loveliness to the shabby, war-worn Ramillie coat.
"My dear, brave, noble John," she sighed, "and I such a beast to thee! To make a mock of thee for fools to laugh at—but none so great a fool as I—yes, Jack I repeat——" But here the Major closed her self-accusing lips awhile. "Yes, dear John," she continued, "I was a positive beast—though 'tis true you did anger me vastly!"
"How?" he questioned, drawing her yet nearer.
"You would not heed my signals—my fan, my handkerchief, both unregarded."
"Fan?" he repeated. "Handkerchief? You mean—Egad!" His fervent arms grew suddenly lax and he sighed. "Dear," said he, shaking rueful head, "I fear you do find me very obtuse, very dull and stupid, not at all the man——"
"The only man!" she whispered.
"But to think I could be so dense, such an unutterable blockhead, such a——" Here my lady in her turn stopped his self-reproaches and thereafter, taking him by two curls of his great periwig, one either side, nodded lovely head at him.
"Though indeed, 'tis true sir, I was a little put out——"
"And no wonder!" he agreed. "Any other man would ha' known and understood. But I, being nought but a simple——" Again she sealed his lips, this time with one white finger.
"Nay, Major John sir—I do protest your grave simplicity hath a potent charm in a wilderness of wits and beaux! 'Twas that same, methinks did first attract me, for dear John, hear me confess, I have loved thee from our first meeting—to-day I honour thee also. Dost mind that first hour—when you caught me stealing your cherries? Dost remember, John?"
"Aye, truly," he answered, "'twas in that hour happiness found me—a happiness I had never thought to know!" Here, meeting his ardent gaze, she flushed and drooped her lashes, yet nestled closer.
"John," she whispered, "thou'rt so placid as a rule, so serene and calm yet, methinks there might come a time when I—should—fear thee—almost. Our love is not politely à la mode, John!"
"Nor ever could be!" he answered.
"'Tis thing so wondrous great John, that I do tremble—and you—you too, John! Ah prithee loose me awhile. Love is so vastly different from what I dreamed—'tis methinks a happiness nigh to pain. And yet our love hath not run so smooth dear, there have been doubts, and fears, and misconceptions and—mayhap John, there shall be more."
"Heaven forefend, sweet. For indeed thou art my light, without thee this world were place of emptiness and gloom and I a lonely wanderer lost and all foredone. Ah Betty, since love looked at me through thine eyes life hath become to me a thing so precious——"
"Yet you would peril it, John, and with thy life my happiness."
"Nay, but my Betty——"
"Aye, but my John, this shall not be! Think you I'll permit that you hazard yourself——"
"But, dear heart, I have a plan very excellent——"
"So have I, John, a plan more excellent, nay—most!"
"But sweeting, I am here to——"
"To listen to me, of course, my Jack. See now, Charles is my brother and if danger come I, as his sister, am proud and willing to share it with him or to—endure much for his sake. But dear, whiles I live none other shall jeopardise life or fortune in his behalf, on this I am determined and he also. Besides, I have a plan, a wondrous plan, John, shall save my dear Charles from all the soldiers 'twixt here and London town. If they will search my house—let them, but they shall not find him. And after, when he's strong enough, he shall win to France and none to give him let or stay. Moreover John I shall be very sweetly avenged in certain trifling matter. Nay—no questions sir, only meddle not in this and, beyond all, have faith in thy Betty."
The sun had set long since, evening deepened into night but, when he would have gone, she stayed him with gentle hands, with sighs and plaintive murmurs.
"'Tis not yet late ... life holdeth so few hours the like of this ... and John dear, I do feel troubles are nigh us ... doubts, John ... sorrows belike... And yet surely our love is too great... But if you should ... hear aught of evil ... or ... should see——"
"Betty—O Betty, alas, alas!" It was Lady Belinda's voice and in it a note that brought Betty to her feet, suddenly pale and trembling. "Betty, O Betty!" With the cry on her lips Lady Belinda appeared in the half-light hurrying towards them distractedly and wringing her hands as she came: "Alas, Betty!"
"Yes, aunt—dear heaven, what's amiss?"
"'Tis Charles—our dear Charles!"
"What—what of him?"
"O Betty, he's—gone!"
"Gone? But aunt 'tis impossible, his door was locked——"
"Aye, but the window—the window! He's gone, Betty—ropes and things—bed-clothes and what not. O my heart! There they are—dangling from the window—to and fro. But poor, naughty, wilful Charles is gone!"