Helena's Path Page 9

  _Chapter Nine_

  LYNBOROUGH DROPS A CATCH

  "Something has happened!" (So Lynborough records the same evening.) "Idon't know precisely what--but I think that the enemy is at last inmotion. I'm glad. I was being too successful. I had begun to laugh ather--and that only. I prefer the admixture of another element ofemotion. All that ostensibly appears is that I have lost five shillingsto Roger. 'You did it?' I asked. 'Certainly,' said Roger. 'I went at myease and came back at my ease, and--' I interrupted, 'Nobody stoppedyou?' 'Nobody made any objection,' said Roger. 'You took your time,'says I. 'You were away three hours!' 'The water was very pleasant thisafternoon,' says Roger. Hum! I hand over my two half-crowns, which Rogerpockets with a most peculiar sort of smile. There that incident appearsto end--with a comment from me that the Marchesa's garrison is not veryalert. Another smile--not less peculiar--from Roger! _Hum!_

  "Then Cromlech! I trust Cromlech as myself--that is, as far as I can seehim. He has no secrets from me--that I know of; I have none fromhim--which would be at all likely to interest him. Yet, soon afterRoger's return, Cromlech goes out! And they had been alone together forsome minutes, as I happen to have observed. Cromlech is away an hour anda half! If I were not a man of honor, I would have trained the telescopeon to him. I refrained. Where was Cromlech? At the church, he told me.I accept his word--but the church has had a curious effect upon him.Sometimes he is silent, sulky, reflective, embarrassed--constantlyrubbing the place where his hair ought to be--not altogether too civilto me either. Anon, sits with a fat happy smile on his face! Has hefound a new tomb? No; he'd tell me about a new tomb. What has happenedto Cromlech?

  "At first sight Violet--the insinuating one--would account for thephenomena. Or Norah's eyes and lashes? Yet I hesitate. Woman, of course,it is, with both of them. Violet might make men pleased with themselves;Norah could make them merry and happy. Yet these two are not so muchpleased with themselves--rather they are pleased with events; they arenot merry--they are thoughtful. And I think they are resentful. Ibelieve the hostile squadron has weighed anchor. In these great results,achieved so quickly, demanding on my part such an effort in reply, I seethe Marchesa's touch! I have my own opinion as to what has happened toRoger and to Cromlech. Well, we shall see--to-morrow is the cricketmatch!"

  "_Later._ I had closed this record; I was preparing to go to bed(wishing to bathe early to-morrow) when I found that I had forgotten tobring up my book. Coltson had gone to bed--or out--anyhow, away. I wentdown myself. The library door stood ajar; I had on my slippers; a lightburned still; Cromlech and Roger were up. As I approached--with aninvoluntary noiselessness (I really couldn't be expected to think ofcoughing, in my own house and with no ladies about)--I overheard thisremarkable, most significant, most important conversation:

  "_Cromlech_: 'On my soul, there were tears in her eyes!'

  "_Roger_: 'Stabb, can we as gentlemen--?'

  "Then, as I presume, the shuffle of my slippers became audible. I wentin; both drank whisky-and-soda in a hurried fashion. I took my book fromthe table. Naught said I. Their confusion was obvious. I cast on themone of my looks; Roger blushed, Stabb shuffled his feet. I left them.

  "'Tears in her eyes!' 'Can we as gentlemen?'

  "The Marchesa moves slowly, but she moves in force!"

  It is unnecessary to pursue the diary further; for hislordship--forgetful apparently of the borne of bed, to which he hadoriginally destined himself--launches into a variety of speculations asto the Nature of Love. Among other questions, he puts to himself thefollowing concerning Love: (1) Is it Inevitable? (2) Is it Agreeable?(3) Is it Universal? (4) Is it Wise? (5) Is it Remunerative? (6) Is itMomentary? (7) Is it Sempiternal? (8) Is it Voluntary? (9) Is itConditioned? (10) Is it Remediable? (11) Is it Religious? (There's anote here--"Consult Cromlech")--(12) May it be expected to survive theAdvance of Civilization? (13) Why does it exist at all? (14) Is itRidiculous?

  It is not to be inferred that Lord Lynborough answers these questions.He is, like a wise man, content to propound them. If, however, he hadanswered them, it might have been worth while to transcribe the diary.

  "Can we as gentlemen--?"--Roger had put the question. It waitedunanswered till Lynborough had taken his book and returned to recordits utterance--together with the speculations to which that utterancegave rise. Stabb weighed it carefully, rubbing his bald head, accordingto the habit which his friend had animadverted upon.

  "If such a glorious creature--" cried Roger.

  "If a thoroughly intelligent and most sympathetic woman--" said Stabb.

  "Thinks that she has a right, why, she probably has one!"

  "At any rate her view is entitled to respect--to a courteous hearing."

  "Lynborough does appear to have been a shade--er----"

  "Ambrose is a spoiled child, bless him! She took a wonderful interest inmy brasses. I don't know what brought her to the church."

  "She waited herself to let me through that beastly gate again!"

  "She drove me round herself to our gates. Wouldn't come throughScarsmoor!"

  They both sighed. They both thought of telling the other something--buton second thoughts refrained.

  "I suppose we'd better go to bed. Shall you bathe to-morrow morning?"

  "With Ambrose? No, I sha'n't, Wilbraham."

  "No more shall I. Good-night, Stabb. You'll--think it over?"

  Stabb grunted inarticulately. Roger drew the blind aside for a moment,looked down on Nab Grange, saw a light in one window--and went to bed.The window was, in objective fact (if there be such a thing), ColonelWenman's. No matter. There nothing is but thinking makes it so. TheColonel was sitting up, writing a persuasive letter to his tailor. Heserved emotions that he did not feel; it is a not uncommon lot.

  Lynborough's passing and repassing to and from his bathing wereuninterrupted next morning. Nab Grange seemed wrapped in slumber; onlyGoodenough saw him, and Goodenough did not think it advisable tointerrupt his ordinary avocations. But an air of constraint--even ofmystery--marked both Stabb and Roger at breakfast. The cricket match wasnaturally the topic--though Stabb declared that he took little interestin it and should probably not be there.

  "There'll be some lunch, I suppose," said Lynborough carelessly. "You'dbetter have lunch there--it'd be dull for you all by yourself here,Cromlech."

  After apparent consideration Stabb conceded that he might take luncheonon the cricket ground; Roger, as a member of the Fillby team, would, ofcourse, do likewise.

  The game was played in a large field, pleasantly surrounded by a belt oftrees, and lying behind the Lynborough Arms. Besides Roger andLynborough, Stillford and Irons represented Fillby. EasthorpePolytechnic came in full force, save for an umpire. Colonel Wenman, whohad walked up with his friends, was pressed into this honorable andresponsible service, landlord Dawson officiating at the other end.Lynborough's second gardener, a noted fast bowler, was Fillby's captain;Easthorpe was under the command of a curate who had played several timesfor his University, although he had not actually achieved his "blue."Easthorpe won the toss and took first innings.

  The second gardener, aware of his employer's turn of speed, sent LordLynborough to field "in the country." That gentleman was well content;few balls came his way and he was at leisure to contemplate the exteriorof the luncheon tent--he had already inspected the interior thereof withsedulous care and high contentment--and to speculate on the probablehappenings of the luncheon hour. So engrossed was he that only arapturous cheer, which rang out from the field and the spectators,apprised him of the fact that the second gardener had yorked theredoubtable curate with the first ball of his second over! YoungWoodwell came in; he was known as a mighty hitter; Lynborough wassignaled to take his position yet deeper in the field. Young Woodwellimmediately got to business--but he kept the ball low. Lynborough had,however, the satisfaction of saving several "boundaries." Roger, keepingwicket, observed his chief's exertions with some satisfaction. Otherwickets fell rapidly--but young Woodwell's score rapidly mounte
d up. Ifhe could stay in, they would make a hundred--and Fillby looked with justapprehension on a score like that. The second gardener, who had givenhimself a brief rest, took the ball again with an air of determination.

  "Peters doesn't seem to remember that I also bowl," reflected LordLynborough.

  The next moment he was glad of this omission. Young Woodwell was playingfor safety now--his fifty loomed ahead! Lynborough had time for a glanceround. He saw Stabb saunter on to the field; then--just behind where hestood when the second gardener was bowling from the Lynborough Arms endof the field--a wagonette drove up. Four ladies descended. A bench wasplaced at their disposal, and the two menservants at once began to makepreparations for lunch, aided therein by the ostler from the LynboroughArms, who rigged up a table on trestles under a spreading tree.

  Lord Lynborough's reputation as a sportsman inevitably suffers from thisportion of the narrative. Yet extenuating circumstances may fairly bepleaded. He was deeply interested in the four ladies who sat behind himon the bench; he was vitally concerned in the question of the lunch. Ashe walked back, between the overs, to his position, he could see thatplaces were being set for some half-dozen people. Would there behalf-a-dozen there? As he stood, watching, or trying to watch, youngWoodwell's dangerous bat, he overheard fragments of conversation waftedfrom the bench. The ladies were too far from him to allow of their facesbeing clearly seen, but it was not hard to recognize their figures.

  The last man in had joined young Woodwell. That hero's score wasforty-eight, the total ninety-three. The second gardener was temptingthe Easthorpe champion with an occasional slow ball; up to now youngWoodwell had declined to hit at these deceivers.

  Suddenly Lynborough heard the ladies' voices quite plainly. They--orsome of them--had left the bench and come nearer to the boundary.Irresistibly drawn by curiosity, for an instant he turned his head. Atthe same instant the second gardener delivered a slow ball--a speciousball. This time young Woodwell fell into the snare. He jumped out andopened his shoulders to it. He hit it--but he hit it into the air. Itsoared over the bowler's head and came traveling through high heaventoward Lord Lynborough.

  "Look out!" cried the second gardener. Lynborough's head spun roundagain--but his nerves were shaken. His eyes seemed rather in the back ofhis head, trying to see the Marchesa's face, than fixed on the ball thatwas coming toward him. He was in no mood for bringing off a safe catch!

  Silence reigned, the ball began to drop. Lynborough had an instant towait for it. He tried to think of the ball and the ball only.

  It fell--it fell into his hands; he caught it--fumbled it--caughtit--fumbled it again--and at last dropped it on the grass! "Oh!" went ina long-drawn expostulation round the field; and Lynborough heard a voicesay plainly:

  "Who is that stupid clumsy man?" The voice was the Marchesa's.

  He wheeled round sharply--but her back was turned. He had not seen herface after all!

  "Over!" was called. Lynborough apologized abjectly to the secondgardener.

  "The sun was in my eyes, Peters, and dazzled me," he pleaded.

  "Looks to _me_ as if the sun was shining the other way, my lord," saidPeters dryly. And so, in physical fact, it was.

  In Peters' next over Lynborough atoned--for young Woodwell had got hisfifty and grown reckless. A one-handed catch, wide on his left side,made the welkin ring with applause. The luncheon bell rang too--for theinnings was finished. Score 101. Last man out 52. Jim (office-boy atPolytechnic) not out 0. Young Woodwell received a merited ovation--andLord Lynborough hurried to the luncheon tent. The Marchesa, with anexceedingly dignified mien, repaired to her table under the spreadingoak.

  Mr. Dawson had done himself more than justice; the repast wasmagnificent. When Stillford and Irons saw it, they became more sure thanever what their duty was, more convinced still that the Marchesa wouldunderstand. Colonel Wenman became less sure what his dutywas--previously it had appeared to him that it was to lunch with theMarchesa. But the Marchesa had spoken of a few sandwiches and perhaps abottle of claret. Stillford told him that, as umpire, he ought to lunchwith the teams. Irons declared it would look "deuced standoffish" if hedidn't. Lynborough, who appeared to act as deputy-landlord to Mr.Dawson, pressed him into a chair with a friendly hand.

  "Well, she'll have the ladies with her, won't she?" said the Colonel,his last scruple vanishing before a large jug of hock-cup, artfullyiced. The Nab Grange contingent fell to.

  Just then--when they were irrevocably committed to this feast--the flapof the tent was drawn back, and Lady Norah's face appeared. Behind herstood Violet and Miss Gilletson. Lynborough ran forward to meet them.

  "Here we are, Lord Lynborough," said Norah. "The Marchesa was so kind,she told us to do just as we liked, and we thought it would be such funto lunch with the cricketers."

  "The cricketers are immensely honored. Let me introduce you to ourcaptain, Mr. Peters. You must sit by him, you know. And, Miss Dufaure,will you sit by Mr. Jeffreys?--he's their captain--Miss Dufaure--Mr.Jeffreys. You, Miss Gilletson, must sit between Mr. Dawson and me. Nowwe're right--What, Colonel Wenman?--What's the matter?"

  Wenman had risen from his place. "The--the Marchesa!" he said. "We--wecan't leave her to lunch alone!"

  Lady Norah broke in again. "Oh, Helena expressly said that she didn'texpect the gentlemen. She knows what the custom is, you see."

  The Marchesa had, no doubt, made all these speeches. It may, however, bedoubted whether Norah reproduced exactly the manner, and the spirit, inwhich she made them. But the iced hock-cup settled the Colonel. With arelieved sigh he resumed his place. The business of the moment went onbriskly for a quarter of an hour.

  Mr. Dawson rose, glass in hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," said he, "I'm nohand at a speech, but I give you the health of our kind neighbor andgood host to-day--Lord Lynborough. Here's to his lordship!"

  "I--I didn't know he was giving the lunch!" whispered Colonel Wenman.

  "Is it his lunch?" said Irons, nudging Stillford.

  Stillford laughed. "It looks like it. And we can hardly throw him overthe hedge after this!"

  "Well, he seems to be a jolly good chap," said Captain Irons.

  Lynborough bowed his acknowledgments, and flirted with Miss Gilletson;his face wore a contented smile. Here they all were--and the Marchesalunched alone on the other side of the field! Here indeed was a newwedge! Here was the isolation at which his diabolical schemes had aimed.He had captured Nab Grange! Bag and baggage they had come over--and lefttheir chieftainess deserted.

  Then suddenly--in the midst of his triumph--in the midst too of acertain not ungenerous commiseration which he felt that he could extendto a defeated enemy and to beauty in distress--he became vaguely awareof a gap in his company. Stabb was not there! Yet Stabb had come uponthe ground. He searched the company again. No, Stabb was not there.Moreover--a fact the second search revealed--Roger Wilbraham was notthere. Roger was certainly not there; yet, whatever Stabb might do,Roger would never miss lunch!

  Lynborough's eyes grew thoughtful; he pursed up his lips. MissGilletson noticed that he became silent.

  He could bear the suspense no longer. On a pretext of looking for morebottled beer, he rose and walked to the door of the tent.

  Under the spreading tree the Marchesa lunched--not in isolation, not ingloom. She had company--and, even as he appeared, a merry peal oflaughter was wafted by a favoring breeze across the field of battle.Stabb's ponderous figure, Roger Wilbraham's highly recognizable"blazer," told the truth plainly.

  Lord Lynborough was not the only expert in the art of driving wedges!

  "Well played, Helena!" he said under his breath.

  The rest of the cricket match interested him very little. Successfulbeyond their expectations, Fillby won by five runs (Wilbraham not outthirty-seven)--but Lynborough's score did not swell the victorioustotal. In Easthorpe's second innings--which could not affect theresult--Peters let him bowl, and he got young Woodwell's wicket. Thatwas a distinction; yet, looking at the day as a w
hole, he had scoredless than he expected.