Short Fiction · Trooping with Crows (4/5) (2/3) (1/2)

“It is quite too delightful,” exclaimed Lettice, rousing herself with an effort, and making up her mind, once for all that she would thoroughly enjoy her day. Lettice’s idea of a day’s enjoyment, however, was certainly not to spend it in the company of a middle-aged nobleman and two elderly maiden aunts, so she quickly made her way to the centre of the girl-throng and fluttered in and out like the rest.

Perhaps she had never looked so lovely before. The birds, and the sunshine, and the flowers had swept away the clouds of discontent and annoyance which had certainly begun to gather on her low, smooth brow. Her bright brown hair had already begun to curl and ripple below the rim of her dark green hat (“What will it be by the end of the afternoon?” sighed Aunt Rosamond), and her eyes were beaming and sparkling with that hidden light of merriment and mischief which those of Lettice’s friends who knew her best were wont to call “danger signals.”

“Scotland seems to suit Miss Tremarten,” said Lord Lochiel to Aunt Rosamond, as he noted the pretty rose tint on Lettice’s cheeks, the bright coral lips, and the light, joyous, musical laugh which came across to them where they stood, a little apart from the more youthful guests.

Aunt Rosamond assented, and fell to wondering in her own mind how Lettice’s quiet rest in the library could be best arranged, and however would it be possible for Lord Lochiel to detach himself, even for half-an-hour, from this crowd of guests and tenants.

For a crowd it certainly was. The earl’s invitations had been given on a most extensive scale. He was a popular man⁠—that is to say, a locally popular man among all classes of the community, being known far and near as a good landlord, with an aptitude for farming land and breeding cattle. How he came to be fascinated by so light and fun-loving a creature as Lettice Tremarten it would be difficult to explain, but that he was so attracted was evident to the most careless observer or most zealous toxophilite of that gay garden throng.

“Now that you have done your part, Miss Tremarten, may I ask you to give me a few minutes? I want to show you a splendid beast⁠—a Cromarty bull I mean; I shall put him in for the next agricultural.”

So Lord Lochiel at Lettice’s elbow, as, amid a storm of applause, she succeeded in making two or three good hits.

“Oh no,” said Lettice lightly, “I am going to stay here the whole day through, without ever once moving, till all the shooting is over. I want to see everything and speak to everyone,” and she plunged into light talk with a somewhat insipid young attaché on her other side.

Aunt Rosamond frowned⁠—Lettice could feel the frown at ten yards distance. But what were frowns to her today? She had made up her mind to thoroughly enjoy everything, let those frown who would, let those stay away who would!

Yet those who stood nearest to Miss Lettice, with her flashing face and sparkling eyes, on that bright, sunshiny morning, might have noted that ever and anon, as a slight stir among the visitors and a forward movement on the part of Lord Lochiel denoted the arrival of another guest, a look of inquiry (anxiety almost) would pass over her face, to be followed by one a shade darker as the newcomer took his or her place among the spectators.

For neither Captain nor Miss McCormack had made their appearance.

“Now I’m thoroughly tired out, auntie,” whispered Lettice to Miss Tremarten as a clock in the distance chimed four. “I’m going to steal away, not to the library, but to the little dressing-room they’ve given me, and I’m going to lock myself in for a good two hours’ sleep.”

“Lettice!” began Aunt Rosamond (oh! that wilful girl, thus to frustrate all the plans of her elders and betters), “the library is larger, cooler, you’ll be more refreshed⁠—”

“Now don’t begin, there’s a dear,” said Lettice. “You stay here and see who’ll get the gold arrow. I know: that girl with so much orange about her will carry all before her. Don’t come and tell me, auntie, though, for I shan’t let you in, and”⁠—(this in a laughing whisper)⁠—“and don’t you be flirting with anyone while I’m away.”

And Lettice, slipping in and out among the assembled guests, gained a narrow shaded path which led, with many turns and windings, through the orchard and vegetable gardens to the house.

“Miss Tremarten! Miss Tremarten!” said a soft, low voice at her side.

Lettice started and turned pale. Oh yes, she knew the voice well enough. Was it not the one she had been longing and listening for all the time she had seemed so busily occupied with her bows and arrows, and chatting and laughing so pleasantly with her friends?

But where could it come from? The narrow winding path she was following was skirted on one side by a thick hedge of holly and other evergreens, through which she could still catch glimpses of the bright and varied dresses of the ladies in the distance. On the other side a light low fence, overhung by a few alders and ash-trees, marked the division of the castle flower-garden from a series of low-lying meadows where Lord Lochiel’s shorthorns were calmly grazing.

Lettice looked round her on every side. “Miss Tremarten!” again called the voice, and now through the interlaced boughs of some overgrown wild bush Lettice could plainly distinguish Captain McCormack’s face and figure.

“Oh, Miss Tremarten,” the captain went on, “I’ve been waiting here so long for you⁠—that is, in fact, I’ve been waiting everywhere to get a few minutes alone with you.”

“Alone with me, Captain McCormack!” repeated Lettice, amazed. She was scarcely prepared to have the request placed before her thus abruptly.

“I can’t stop to explain, Miss Tremarten. I’ve bad news⁠—confounded bad news⁠—don’t know how to break it to you⁠—bad hand at that sort of thing. Lilla has had a spill in a mad sort of a gallop she was having just now, and is dangerously hurt. She is lying at a farmhouse close by. I’ve come like the wind to tell you. Poor girl! she says she knows she will die, and must see you before she goes.”

Lettice drew a long breath. She had nearly said “Thank God!” when the captain mentioned Lilla’s name, for her fears had flown to her father at the first thought of bad news. Then she turned sick and bewildered. “How can I go, Captain McCormack?” she said; “who will take me? If I ask Aunt Rosamond she’ll put me in prison at once.”

“Come in my cart⁠—I have it round the corner,” said the captain, “only come at once, for Heaven’s sake⁠—for poor Lilla’s sake I mean⁠—if you want to see her alive.”

Lettice hesitated another moment. It was all so strange and unexpected⁠—wonderful, too, it was to see Captain McCormack thus strangely agitated, he who was so calm and nonchalant as a rule. It was almost like some spectre or phantom rising up in the midst of a revel. She paused bewildered and uncertain.

“Am I to go back and tell her you won’t come?” asked Ivie impatiently. “I didn’t think you were so cold-hearted a friend.”

“No, no, I’m not cold-hearted,” replied Lettice hurriedly, “but I must tell Aunt Rosamond.”

“And do you think Aunt Rosamond will let you come? I implore you, Miss Tremarten, not to think of the small etiquettes of society at such a time as this. There is a gate just at the end of this walk which leads into the meadow, and another in the meadow which leads into the high road. If you will only make haste⁠—if you would just for once forget that you are a young lady, and remember only that you are a true, tenderhearted woman⁠—”

Lettice did not wait for another appeal. To be reproached with having sunk her womanhood in young-ladyism was more than she could bear. Without another word she ran lightly along the narrow path, swung back the tiny iron gate, and hastily followed Captain Ivie across the meadow to the high road.

There stood a small light phaeton, to which were harnessed a pair of thoroughbred fast-going ponies. A man held their heads. “Here, Ellis,” said Captain McCormack to him, “you must explain everything to Miss Tremarten and Lord Lochiel. Please make haste” (this to Lettice); “it is a matter of life and death.”

Lettice sprang lightly into the phaeton, Ivie was by her side in an instant, the man let go the horses, and with a rear and a plunge they started off at a tremendous pace along the dusty high road.

Then it was Lettice began to ask a few questions. “How was it Lilla was riding and you were driving, Captain McCormack?” she said.

“She altered her mind at the last moment. Overnight she told me I was to drive her over here for the archery, and I ordered Dido and Daniel to be harnessed. Then this morning she came down in her riding-habit and said she had had a letter from Mary Loder (Miss Willis that was), wishing her to meet her at Auchterarder and go on to Perth with her. Lilla is due at Perth next week, but she thought it would be pleasanter to go with Mary than to travel alone, and as Donegal wanted a good gallop she said she would take it out of him and throw over the archery altogether. You know, Miss Tremarten, she is never particularly fond of young ladies’ society. However, they had got this thing ready, so I jumped in and went with her, meaning, of course, to be back for the ball tonight; then that hard-mouthed brute shied at something, Heaven only knows what, and pitched her over. Poor girl! I made sure her neck was broken. Hey, Daniel, steady! what are you pulling at?” This to the pony.

“Where did it happen? where is she lying?” was Lettice’s next question.

“Oh, close by,” replied Ivie, “a⁠—that is, at Ardvaroch, not very far from here.”

“At Ardvaroch?” repeated Lettice. She did not know much of the geography of the neighbourhood. She knew there were waterfalls at or near Ardvaroch, and that it was something of a show place, but she had an idea it was somewhere among the blue Auchterils.

“A⁠—that is, near Ardvaroch,” resumed Captain McCormack, seeing her surprise; and then they drove on some distance in silence.

Presently Lettice recommenced: “Captain McCormack, how much further have we to go? We have been nearly an hour as it is.”

“Oh, we’re nearly there, Miss Tremarten; another ten minutes only.” And again he whipped up the ponies.

Another ten minutes passed, and another and another, and Lettice began to feel chill and strange. A sudden turn in the road had brought them into a tract of desolate, flinty country. The fair pastureland, with its well-fed cattle and pleasant-looking cottages, had altogether disappeared. Wild, uncultivated fields skirted either side of the road, with here and there a ragged brown fir, and the dark heather-crowned hills stood out in gloomy distinctness against the changing light of the autumn sky.

“Captain McCormack,” began Lettice once more, “have you any idea how I’m to get back again?”

“Oh, Lettice,” exclaimed the captain, “talk about getting to her if you will. My poor Lilla! even now it may be all over with her.”

Lettice made no reply. Somehow she could not realise the captain’s grief, and there was an unreality, a mystery about it all which greatly puzzled her. “Well, anyhow I must finish what I’ve begun,” she reasoned, trying to reassure herself. “Aunties will be in an awful rage when I get back, no doubt, and will pack me off home tomorrow, I daresay, but won’t papa be glad to see me, that’s all! Heigho! those dear old Welsh hills!”

So they went on and on, Lettice wondering when and where and how the journey would end. The sun began to fire the western sky, the shadows began to lengthen and the hills to glow orange and scarlet instead of purple and brown, when suddenly the captain drew rein before a low stone-built cottage which stood sideways to the lonely road.

“Is this the farmhouse?” asked Lettice in surprise.

“Queer place, isn’t it?” rejoined the captain; “they call it farmhouse about here, but where the farm is I don’t know.”

A woman came out, but her Scotch was so broad that Lettice made no attempt to understand her. The captain somehow made her comprehend that the lady wanted to see the sick lady upstairs, and “Send your husband, my good woman,” he added, “to see to my ponies.”

A man came out as he spoke, and Lettice, leaving the captain to look after his horses, followed the woman up a flight of somewhat dark narrow stairs.

They entered a low-roofed room, and there, stretched on a mattress on the floor or on some improvised bed, Lettice could trace in the growing darkness the outline of her friend.

“Thank God, Lettice, you are come!” said Lilla in a faint voice. “It was selfish of me to send for you, but if you only knew what I have suffered and what was on my mind when I fell⁠—”

Lilla stopped suddenly, for Lettice, overtired with the day’s excitement and fatigue, had broken down utterly, and flinging herself on to the floor by the side of her friend, had hidden her face in the pillows, and was sobbing convulsively.

“Oh, hush‑sh, my darling,” said Lilla. “Now I feel how selfish I’ve been. Oh do forgive me, but when I fell I had but one thought on my mind. Oh, hush‑sh, hush‑sh, dear, don’t give way so.”

“No‑o,” said Lettice, partially recovering herself, “I won’t give way. But don’t have anything on your mind, Lilla. I’ve heard papa say that our poor old vicar, Wynne Williams, didn’t get well because he had something on his mind, and you won’t get well if you’ve anything on your mind. Tell me what it is at once, dear.”

“Oh, it was about poor old Ivie, Lettice. You know we have been everything to each other for so many years, and I’ve taken care of him all through his life. He is so brokenhearted about me, and what will he do when I’m gone if you don’t take pity on him?”

Lettice started. She had not expected this. Her face was still hidden in the pillows, but Lilla felt her hand tremble in her clasp.

“But you’re not going to die, Lilla; I know you won’t; and Captain Ivie doesn’t really care a bit about me⁠—”

“Oh yes, dear, he does,” interrupted Lilla; “he is almost mad about you, but doesn’t dare ask you because he is so poor and you will be so dreadfully rich, and if I die⁠—”

Lettice looked up, sobbing still. “Now, Lilla”⁠—a sob⁠—“don’t talk like that”⁠—another sob. “If you die (but of course you won’t) I promise you I’ll marry Captain Ivie. There, you’ve nothing on your mind now, so be quiet.”

Then she laid her head down on the pillows and sobbed again.

Lilla made no reply. It wasn’t quite the answer she expected to have, but still she felt she must be contented with it. She had, so she hoped, in some sort paved the way for her brother to go in and win.

Presently the captain came up. Lettice did not lift her head. Somehow she felt she couldn’t look him in the face just then. “I know, Miss Tremarten,” he said very softly, “you will be glad to hear that the doctor, who came to my sister while I was away fetching you, doesn’t think there are any bones broken⁠—in fact, he hopes tomorrow we shall be able to get her back to Ingleside.”

“Thank God!” murmured Lettice. Still she did not lift her face.

“I fear you will not be able to get back to Rosneath tonight,” the captain went on. “It is dark now⁠—past eight”⁠—and he tried by the dim light shining through the narrow panes to look at his watch⁠—“the roads are so bad and my poor ponies so worn out⁠—”

“No,” said Lettice faintly, “I feel I couldn’t travel tonight⁠—I should break down on the road. I will stay here with Lilla, but someone must take a letter to Aunt Rosamond.”

She lifted her head wearily for an instant, then it fell back on the pillow once more, for in good truth she was utterly overdone.