The Castle Inn: Chapter 21

Chapter 21

IN THE CARRIAGE

The man whose work had taken him that evening to the summit of the
Druid's Mound, and whose tale roused the Castle Inn ten minutes later,
had seen aright. But he had not seen all. Had he waited another minute,
he would have marked a fresh actor appear at Manton Corner, would have
witnessed the _d�nouement_ of the scene, and had that to tell when he
descended, which must have allayed in a degree, not only the general
alarm, but Sir George's private apprehensions.

It is when the mind is braced to meet a known emergency that it falls
the easiest prey to the unexpected. Julia was no coward. But as she
loitered along the lane beyond Pr�shute churchyard in the gentle hour
before sunset, her whole being was set on the coming of the lover for
whom she waited. As she thought over the avowal she would make to him,
and conned the words she would speak to him, the girl's cheeks, though
she believed herself alone, burned with happy blushes; her breath came
more quickly, her body swayed involuntarily in the direction whence he,
who had chosen and honoured her, would come! The soft glow which
overspread the heights, as the sun went down and left the vale to peace
and rest, was not more real or more pure than the happiness that
thrilled her. Her heart overflowed in a tender ecstasy, as she thanked
God, and her lover. In the peace that lay around her, she who had
flouted Sir George, not once or twice, who had mocked and tormented
him, in fancy kissed his feet.

In such a mood as this she had neither eyes nor ears for aught but the
coming of her lover. When she reached the corner, jealous that none but
he should see the happy shining of her eyes--nor he until he stood
beside her--she turned to walk back; in a luxury of anticipation. Her
lot was wonderful to her. She sang in her heart that she was blessed
among women.

And then, without the least warning, the grating of a stone even, or the
sound of a footstep, a violent grip encircled her waist from behind;
something thick, rough, suffocating, fell on her head and eyes,
enveloped and blinded her. The shock of the surprise was so great that
for a moment breath and even the instinct of resistance failed her; and
she had been forced several steps, in what direction she had no idea,
before sense and horror awoke together, and wresting herself, by the
supreme effort of an active girl, from the grasp that confined her, she
freed her mouth sufficiently to scream.

Twice and shrilly; then, before she could entirely rid her head of the
folds that blinded her, a remorseless grip closed on her neck, and
another round her waist; and choking and terrified, vainly struggling
and fighting, she felt herself pushed along. Coarse voices, imprecating
vengeance on her if she screamed, again, sounded in her ears: and then
for a moment her course was stayed. She fancied that she heard a shout,
the rush and scramble of feet in the road, new curses and imprecations.
The grasp on her waist relaxed, and seizing her opportunity she strove
with the strength of despair to wrest herself from the hands that still
held the covering over her head. Instead, she felt herself lifted up,
something struck her sharply on the knee; the next moment she fell
violently and all huddled up on--it might have been the ground, for all
she knew; it really was the seat of a carriage.

The shock was no slight one, but she struggled to her feet, and heard,
as she tore the covering from her head, a report as of a pistol shot.
The next moment she lost her footing, and fell back. She alighted on the
place from which she had raised herself, and was not hurt. But the jolt,
which had jerked her from her feet, and the subsequent motion, disclosed
the truth. Before she had entirely released her head from the folds of
the cloak, she knew that she was in a carriage, whirled along behind
swift horses; and that the peril was real, and not of the moment,
momentary!

This was horror enough. But it was not all. One wild look round, and her
eyes began to penetrate the gloom of the closely shut carriage--and she
shrank into her corner. She checked the rising sob that preluded a storm
of rage and tears, stayed the frenzied impulse to shriek, to beat on the
doors, to do anything that might scare the villains; she sat frozen,
staring, motionless. For on the seat beside her, almost touching her,
was a man.

In the dim light it was not easy to make out more than his figure. He
sat huddled up in his corner, his wig awry, one hand to his face; gazing
at her, she fancied, between his fingers, enjoying the play of her rage,
her agitation, her disorder. He did not move or speak when she
discovered him, but in the circumstances that he was a man was enough.
The violence with which she had been treated, the audacity of such an
outrage in daylight and on the highway, the closed and darkened
carriage, the speed at which they travelled, all were grounds for alarm
as serious as a woman could feel; and Julia, though she was a brave
woman, felt a sudden horror come over her. None the less was her mind
made up; if the man moved nearer to her, if he stretched out so much as
his hand towards her, she would tear his face with her fingers. She sat
with them on her lap and felt them as steel to do her bidding.

The carriage rumbled on, and still he did not move. From her corner she
watched him, her eyes glittering with excitement, her breath coming
quick and short. Would he never move? In truth not three minutes had
elapsed since she discovered him beside her; but it seemed to her that
she had sat there an age watching him; ay, three ages. The light was dim
and untrustworthy, stealing in through a crack here and a crevice there.
The carriage swayed and shook with the speed at which it travelled. More
than once she thought that the man's hand, which rested on the seat
beside him, a fat white hand, hateful, dubious, was moving, moving
slowly and stealthily along the cushion towards her; and she waited
shuddering, a scream on her lips. The same terror which, a while before,
had frozen the cry in her throat, now tried her in another way. She
longed to speak, to shriek, to stand up, to break in one way or any way
the hideous silence, the spell that bound her. Every moment the strain
on her nerves grew tenser, the fear lest she should swoon, more
immediate, more appalling; and still the man sat in his corner,
motionless, peeping at her through his fingers, leering and biding
his time.

It was horrible, and it seemed endless. If she had had a weapon it would
have been better. But she had only her bare hands and her despair; and
she might swoon. At last the carriage swerved sharply to one side, and
jolted over a stone; and the man lurched nearer to her, and--and moaned!

Julia drew a deep breath and leaned forward, scarcely able to believe
her ears. But the man moaned again; and then, as if the shaking had
roused him from a state of stupor, sat up slowly in his corner; she saw,
peering more closely at him, that he had been strangely huddled before.
At last he lowered his hand from his face and disclosed his features. It
was--her astonishment was immense--it was Mr. Thomasson!

In her surprise Julia uttered a cry. The tutor opened his eyes and
looked languidly at her; muttered something incoherent about his head,
and shut his eyes again, letting his chin fall on his breast.

But the girl was in a mood only one degree removed from frenzy. She
leaned forward and shook his arm. 'Mr. Thomasson!' she cried. 'Mr.
Thomasson!'

Apparently the name and the touch were more effectual. He opened his
eyes and sat up with a start of recognition, feigned or real. On his
temple just under the edge of his wig, which was awry, was a slight cut.
He felt it gingerly with his fingers, glanced at them, and finding them
stained with blood, shuddered. 'I am afraid--I am hurt,' he muttered.

His languor and her excitement went ill together. She doubted he was
pretending, and had a hundred ill-defined, half-formed suspicions of
him. Was it possible that he--he had dared to contrive this? Or was he
employed by others--by another? 'Who hurt you?' she cried sharply. At
least she was not afraid of him.

He pointed in the direction of the horses. 'They did,' he said stupidly.
'I saw it from the lane and ran to help you. The man I seized struck
me--here. Then, I suppose they feared I should raise the country on
them. And they forced me in--I don't well remember how.'

'And that is all you know?' she cried imperiously.

His look convinced her. 'Then help me now!' she replied, rising
impetuously to her feet, and steadying herself by setting one hand
against the back of the carriage. 'Shout! Scream! Threaten them! Don't
you see that every yard we are carried puts us farther in their power?
Shout!--do you hear?'

'They will murder us!' he protested faintly. His cheeks were pale; his
face wore a scared look, and he trembled visibly.

'Let them!' she answered passionately, beating on the nearest door.
'Better that than be in their hands. Help! Help! Help here!'

Her shrieks rose above the rumble of the wheels and the steady trampling
of the horses; she added to the noise by kicking and beating on the door
with the fury of a mad woman. Mr. Thomasson had had enough of violence
for that day; and shrank from anything that might bring on him the fresh
wrath of his captors. But a moment's reflection showed him that if he
allowed himself to be carried on he would, sooner or later, find himself
face to face with Mr. Dunborough; and, in any case, that it was now his
interest to stand by his companion; and presently he too fell to
shouting and drumming on the panels. There was a quaver, indeed, in his
'Help! Help!' that a little betrayed the man; but in the determined
clamour which she raised and continued to maintain, it passed
well enough.

'If we meet any one--they must hear us!' she gasped, presently, pausing
a moment to take breath. 'Which way are we going?'

'Towards Calne, I think,' he answered, continuing to drum on the door in
the intervals of speech. 'In the street we must be heard.'

'Help! Help!' she screamed, still more recklessly. She was growing
hoarse, and the prospect terrified her. 'Do you hear? Stop, villains!
Help! Help! Help!'

'Murder!' Mr. Thomasson shouted, seconding her with voice and fist.
'Murder! Murder!'

But in the last word, despite his valiant determination to throw in his
lot with her, was a sudden, most audible, quaver. The carriage was
beginning to draw up; and that which he had imperiously demanded a
moment before, he now as urgently dreaded. Not so Julia; her natural
courage had returned, and the moment the vehicle came to a standstill
and the door was opened, she flung herself towards it. The next instant
she was pushed forcibly back by the muzzle of a huge horse-pistol which
a man outside clapped to her breast; while the glare of the bull's-eye
lanthorn which he thrust in her face blinded her.

The man uttered the most horrid imprecations. 'You noisy slut,' he
growled, shoving his face, hideous in its crape mask, into the coach,
and speaking in a voice husky with liquor, 'will you stop your whining?
Or must I blow you to pieces with my Toby? For you, you white-livered
sneak,' he continued, addressing the tutor, 'give me any more of your
piping and I'll cut out your tongue! Who is hurting you, I'd like to
know! As for you, my fine lady, have a care of your skin, for if I pull
you out into the road it will be the worse for you! D'ye hear me? he
continued, with a volley of savage oaths. 'A little more of your music,
and I'll have you out and strip the clothes off your back! You don't
hang me for nothing. D--n you, we are three miles from anywhere, and I
have a mind to gag you, whether or no! And I will too, if you so much as
open your squeaker again!'

'Let me go,' she cried faintly. 'Let me go.'

'Oh, you will be let go fast enough--the other side of the water,' he
answered, with a villainous laugh. 'I'm bail to that. In the meantime
keep a still tongue, or it will be the worse for you! Once out of
Bristol, and you may pipe as you like!'

The girl fell back in her corner with a low wail of despair. The man
seeing the effect he had wrought, laughed his triumph, and in sheer
brutality passed his light once or twice across her face. Then he closed
the door with a crash and mounted; the carriage bounded forward again,
and in a trice was travelling onward as rapidly as before.

Night had set in, and darkness, a darkness that could almost be felt,
reigned in the interior of the chaise. Neither of the travellers could
now see the other, though they sat within arm's length. The tutor, as
soon as they were well started, and his nerves, shaken by the man's
threats, permitted him to think of anything save his own safety, began
to wonder that his companion, who had been so forward before, did not
now speak; to look for her to speak, and to find the darkness and this
silence, which left him to feed on his fears, strangely uncomfortable.
He could almost believe that she was no longer there. At length, unable
to bear it longer, he spoke.

'I suppose you know,' he said--he was growing vexed with the girl who
had brought him into this peril--'who is at the bottom of this?'

She did not answer, or rather she answered only by a sudden burst of
weeping; not the light, facile weeping of a woman crossed or
over-fretted, or frightened; but the convulsive heart-rending sobbing of
utter grief and abandonment.

The tutor heard, and was at first astonished, then alarmed. 'My dear,
good girl, don't cry like that,' he said awkwardly. 'Don't! I--I don't
understand it. You--you frighten me. You--you really should not. I only
asked you if you knew whose work this was.'

'I know! I know only too well!' she cried passionately. 'God help me!
God help all women!'

Mr. Thomasson wondered whether she referred to the future and her own
fate. In that case, her complete surrender to despair seemed strange,
seemed even inexplicable, in one who a few minutes before had shown a
spirit above a woman's. Or did she know something that he did not know?
Something that caused this sudden collapse. The thought increased his
uneasiness; the coward dreads everything, and his nerves were shaken.
'Pish! pish!' he said pettishly. 'You should not give way like that! You
should not, you must not give way!'

'And why not?' she cried, arresting her sobs. There was a ring of
expectation in her voice, a hoping against hope. He fancied that she had
lowered her hands and was peering at him.

'Because we--we may yet contrive something' he answered lamely. 'We--we
may be rescued. Indeed--I am sure we shall be rescued,' he continued,
fighting his fears as well as hers.

'And what if we are?' she cried with a passion that took him aback.
'What if we are? What better am I if we are rescued? Oh, I would have
done anything for him! I would have died for him!' she continued wildly.
'And he has done this for me. I would have given him all, all freely,
for no return if he would have it so; and this is his requital! This is
the way he has gone to get it. Oh, vile! vile!'

Mr. Thomasson started. Metaphorically, he was no longer in the dark. She
fancied that Sir George, Sir George whom she loved, was the contriver of
this villainy. She thought that Sir George--Sir George, her cousin--was
the abductor; that she was being carried off, not for her own sake, but
as an obstacle to be removed from his path. The conception took the
tutor's breath away; he was even staggered for the moment, it agreed as
well with one part of the facts. And when an instant later his own
certain information came to his aid and showed him its unreality, and he
would have blurted out the truth--he hesitated. The words were on the
tip of his tongue, the sentence was arranged, but he hesitated.

Why? Simply because he was Mr. Thomasson, and it was not in his nature
to do the thing that lay before him until he had considered whether it
might not profit him to do something else. In this case the bare
statement that Mr. Dunborough, and not Sir George, was the author of the
outrage, would go for little with her. If he proceeded to his reasons he
might convince her; but he would also fix himself with a fore-knowledge
of the danger--a fore-knowledge which he had not imparted to her, and
which must sensibly detract from the merit of the service he had already
and undoubtedly performed.

This was a risk; and there was a farther consideration. Why give Mr.
Dunborough new ground for complaint by discovering him? True, at Bristol
she would learn the truth. But if she did not reach Bristol? If they
were overtaken midway? In that case the tutor saw possibilities, if he
kept his mouth shut--possibilities of profit at Mr. Dunborough's hands.

In intervals between fits of alarm--when the carriage seemed to be about
to halt--he turned these things over. He could hear the girl weeping in
her corner, quietly, but in a heart-broken manner; and continually,
while he thought and she wept, and an impenetrable curtain of darkness
hid the one from the other, the chaise held on its course up-hill and
down-hill, now bumping and rattling behind flying horses, and now
rumbling and straining up Yatesbury Downs.

At last he broke the silence. 'What makes you think,' he said, 'that it
is Sir George has done this?'

She did not answer or stop weeping for a while. Then, 'He was to meet me
at sunset, at the Corner,' she said. 'Who else knew that I should be
there? Tell me that.'

'But if he is at the bottom of this, where is he?' he hazarded. 'If he
would play the villain with you--'

'He would play the thief,' she cried passionately, 'as he has played the
hypocrite. Oh, it is vile! vile!'

'But--I don't understand,' Mr. Thomasson stammered; he was willing to
hear all he could.

'His fortune, his lands, all he has in the world are mine!' she cried.
'Mine! And he goes this way to recover them! But I could forgive him
that, ah, I could forgive him that, but I cannot forgive him--'

'What?' he said.

'His love!' she cried fiercely. 'That I will never forgive him! Never!'

He knew that she spoke, as she had wept, more freely for the darkness.
He fancied that she was writhing on her seat, that she was tearing her
handkerchief with her hands. 'But--it may not be he,' he said after a
silence broken only by the rumble of wheels and the steady trampling of
the horses.

'It is!' she cried. 'It is!'

'It may not--'

'I say it is!' she repeated in a kind of fury of rage, shame, and
impatience. 'Do you think that I who loved him, I whom he fooled to the
top of my pride, judge him too harshly? I tell you if an angel from
heaven had witnessed against him I would have laughed the tale to scorn.
But I have seen--I have seen with my own eyes. The man who came to the
door and threatened us had lost a joint of the forefinger. Yesterday I
saw that man with _him_; I saw the hand that held the pistol to-day give
_him_ a note yesterday. I saw _him_ read the note, and I saw him point
me out to the man who bore it--that he might know to-day whom he was to
seize! Oh shame! Shame on him!' And she burst into fresh weeping.

At that moment the chaise, which had been proceeding for some time at a
more sober pace, swerved sharply to one side; it appeared to sweep round
a corner, jolted over a rough patch of ground, and came to a stand.

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