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

He repeated the knocking, and then, unable longer to restrain his impatience, with a wrench and a crack he forced back the rotten lock and woodwork of the door, and entered the room. Lilla followed him.

Captain Ivie stood transfixed. “Where⁠—where has she gone!” he stammered, gazing round him vacantly.

Lilla began to recover herself. “Well, I should say back to Lochiel if she has any sense in her head. Anyhow, it’s all up with you, Ivie, and no mistake this time. I suppose it’s sauve qui peut now. I shall go on to Perth to the Loders, and simply deny the whole affair from beginning to end. I wash my hands of you and your misdeeds utterly for the future.” And she left the room to hasten on her preparations for starting.

Ivie still stood motionless as though he did not hear her. Another dread was beginning to force itself upon him. What if the poor little thing had not returned to Lochiel! Something, no doubt, had aroused her suspicions overnight and she had taken flight, but how could she, alone and undirected in the dark, find her way over the fifteen miles which separated Ardvaroch from Lochiel? What if she had wandered out of the road or met with some misadventure? It was too horrible to think of. “Lilla may cry sauve qui peut if she will,” he said aloud. “I know I’m black as the devil himself, but I’m not quite black enough for that.”

He went down to Lilla.

“I’m going at once to the inn where McKenzie is, and will tell them to send round my cart with Dido and Daniel for you. I shall take Donegal and ride over to Lochiel and see if she is there all right.”

“You are mad!” screamed Lilla after him. But he took no heed and went.

How Aunt Rosamond lived through that terrible night of suspense she did not know. Mrs. Rosneath kindly offered to sit up with her.

“No,” said the old lady resolutely, “if you’ll only be kind enough to let everything go on as usual. We are supposed to be shut in for the night. Well, let us be shut in, and tomorrow no doubt something will occur to show us what we ought to do. Only make everyone believe Lettice is laid up with a sprained ankle.”

Next came Lady Elizabeth Mackreth, very solicitous, as became a hostess, and wishful to see Lettice and say good night.

“I dare not disturb her” (“Heavens! I’ve told enough lies for her!”⁠—this in her own heart), “and I fear I must say goodbye as well as good night, Lady Elizabeth, for I know we shall have to start so very early tomorrow, before you will be down. We leave Mrs. Rosneath’s tomorrow en route for Paris or Wales, I’m not quite sure which.” Lady Elizabeth looked politely surprised. “Lettice will be so sorry,” continued Miss Tremarten, “but I fear it must be. Good night.”

Lady Elizabeth went away with the impression that her guest was slightly deranged. She had not known Miss Tremarten very long nor very intimately, and was quite at a loss to understand her extraordinary behaviour on this occasion.

Poor Aunt Rosamond! She knew perfectly well that her structure of lies was built upon a very shallow foundation, and that sooner or later it must crumble into dust, but nevertheless she resolved that while she could she would do what she could for this niece of hers who had brought her so much anxiety and heartache.

And with the morning there came a very great and welcome surprise to Aunt Rosamond, which was nothing more nor less than the appearance of Dr. Herron on the scene. Miss Tremarten had just released her sister and Matthews, after ascertaining that they were in a more reasonable and calmer state of mind, and was consulting with them as to the possibility of arousing the Rosneaths and commencing the day’s work of telegraphy and inquiry which she knew was before her, when a servant brought a message that Dr. Herron was below and wished to see her.

“Dr. Herron!” exclaimed the old lady joyfully. Under other circumstances she would have wished him, to say the least, in another hemisphere, but with this accumulation of responsibility upon her shoulders she was ready almost to fall down and worship him.

“Let him come up at once,” she said. “Now, Judith, be calm, I beg; don’t interrupt us, or else I shall lock you and Matthews up together again. Matthews, stay where you are; I won’t trust you out of my sight.”

Dr. Herron entered, frank and honest-looking as ever, although perhaps a little graver than when Lettice last said goodbye to him in the flower-garden of her pleasant country home.

He quickly explained his unexpected arrival.

“Mr. Tremarten was very uneasy after receiving your last letter,” he said to Aunt Rosamond, “and could not understand why, if there were any cause for anxiety on your part with regard to the insulting attention paid by Captain McCormack to Miss Tremarten, she could not return home at once. He did not at all approve of your plan of taking her for a long trip through Europe and America; he did not at all like the idea even of her coming here for the archery fête after the impertinent manner in which you have been annoyed and followed. He did not feel equal (his health has not been good lately) to the long journey so far North, and I as an old friend volunteered to come in his stead, and express more fully than could be done by letter his wishes respecting his daughter. By dint of rapid travelling I arrived at Perth late last night, could get nothing on wheels to bring me on, so was compelled to wait till daybreak. Before the sun was up I was, and here I am.”

In all this Dr. Herron was scarcely so honest and plainspoken as was his wont. If he had told the simple, unvarnished truth, it would have run somewhat in this fashion:⁠—

“I have suffered agonies of torment ever since I heard that scoundrel McCormack was on friendly terms with your niece, and the torment reached its culminating point when your last letter told us of his daring to follow you here to Scotland. I said to Mr. Tremarten, ‘There is much behind all this, or why should they be so anxious to carry her off for a tour round the world? That archery fête may bring matters to a crisis, and Heaven only knows what will follow. Look here, Mr. Tremarten, if you can stay here quietly while mischief is being done I can’t. You’ve not been particularly strong lately, and are scarcely fit to travel. I would like the journey, and if you’ll allow me will start at once.’ ”

However, Aunt Rosamond had too much on her mind at that moment to criticise Dr. Herron’s forms of expression very closely, and was only too thankful to welcome him as a friend in this her sore necessity.

“Dr. Herron,” she said very gravely, “I have a sad story to tell you. God knows I’ve been telling lies enough since last night, but to you, at any rate, I will tell the simple truth.” And she told it in all its sadness from beginning to end.

No one interrupted the old lady; she told her story her own way in a simple, direct fashion. Once or twice her voice quivered and she seemed to choke down a sob in her throat, and once only Aunt Judith gave a slight moan from the sofa where she sat, and then looked nervously towards her sister, expecting an instant sharp reproof.

Dr. Herron did not move a muscle as he stood listening in front of Aunt Rosamond, but the veins stood out ominously on his broad forehead, and his fingers were clenched into his hand with the force of the restraint he put upon himself.

Then he spoke very quietly. “Miss Tremarten, someone else has been telling lies here besides you. You are making a great mistake in believing the infamous story that has been told you. Lettice may be wilful, Lettice maybe wild, but elope with that scoundrel she could not. She will come out of this purer than ever. We won’t waste time going over old ground; we will⁠—”

But Dr. Herron’s sentence is not to be finished. There is another rap at the door, and the servant brings in a telegram, which Aunt Rosamond opens hurriedly, reads with one glance, and then falls back in her chair half-unconscious for the thrill of joy that bounds through her heart.

This is what she read:⁠—

“Your puir lassie is safe and under my roof.”

Dr. Herron picked up the telegram and read it through.

“Thank God!” he said, drawing a long breath. “I will go to her at once, and if well enough will bring her back here with me.”

Were the surprises and interruptions of that morning never to end? There is another rap, and this time it is Captain McCormack who wishes to see Miss Tremarten.

“How dare he!” exclaimed Aunt Rosamond, aflame with anger. “Dr. Herron, what shall I do with him?”

“Serve him as you did your sister last night,” growled the doctor. “Lock him up somewhere till I come back. I can’t stop to settle accounts with him now.”

“Lock him up?” repeated the lady. “Where can I put him? There’s only the observatory”⁠—a small round tower built out from the castle parapet⁠—“There’s a big key in the door too,” added the old lady reflectively, “but however am I to get him there?”

“Send down word that you wish to see him in the observatory. First have the big key put on the outside. Then, when he’s fairly in, go up the stairs yourself, lock him up, and put the key in your pocket.”

“Ah,” said Aunt Rosamond, “that’s something worth doing. Judith, be quiet!” Judith was again laughing and sobbing on the sofa. “Dr. Herron, one moment.” The doctor paused on the threshold. “Will it be possible to get Lettice back here in the dark somehow?⁠—smuggle her in without any fuss?”

“I don’t think it would,” answered Dr. Herron, “and I don’t think it would be worth while trying either.”

“But,” pursued the lady, “you see I’ve told so many lies one way or another already, and I really don’t know how to account for it all without connecting Lettice’s name with Captain McCormack’s unless I make up another little story.”

“Tell the simple truth, Miss Tremarten, when you know what it is,” was Dr. Herron’s parting advice, “and see who’ll come out of it blackest⁠—Lettice or Captain McCormack.”

Then he went down to Lord Lochiel to explain his appearance at the castle and to ask for a horse or some means of conveyance to the manse at Loanhead.

It was midday when Dr. Herron arrived at the quiet little parsonage. Miss Maggie Forbes, a gentle-looking, soft little maiden of about Lettice’s own age, met him at the door, rightly guessing the object of the doctor’s visit. “She’s lying down now in the little parlour where we laid her this morning,” she said. “She has been asleep for hours, and lies so still I’m almost frightened when I look at her. Please come in.”

Dr. Herron went in.

The room was small and but scantily furnished, for the good old pastor had not much money to spend upon the refinements or luxuries of life. A high narrow bookcase, flanked by a spindle-legged square table, were the first things that caught the eye on entering. A faded green carpet covered the floor, and long muslin curtains hung on either side of the somewhat low window, which was still further shaded by hanging creepers and a balcony full of plants.

A large old-fashioned sofa stood against the wall sideways to the light, and on this, with a good supply of pillows and a warm striped rug thrown over her, lay Lettice in a calm sweet sleep.

“As a lily among thorns, as a white dove among crows,” was or might have been Dr. Herron’s thought as he looked down on the pure pale face. She slept so lightly she scarcely seemed to breathe. Of course the bright brown hair was tumbling all over the face, and half veiled the neck and arms besides; one little hand supported her head, the other lay outside on the bright-coloured rug. Dr. Herron instinctively and professionally put his two fingers on the wrist.

“She’ll likely have an illness,” said Miss Maggie, anxiously looking up in the doctor’s face.

“She’ll likely have no such thing,” said Dr. Herron indignantly. “She’s too young and healthy for that. All she’ll want will be some long quiet hours of sleep and some good nourishing food directly she wakes.”

As he spoke a rosy flush of colour passed over Lettice’s face, there was a slight fluttering of her breath, and she opened her eyes. Her gaze wandered from Dr. Herron to Maggie, and thence round the small room with its faded furniture.

Gradually the recollection of the terrors of the past night came back to her mind, and she shuddered and closed her eyes, as though she would shut them out from her sight.

Dr. Herron bent over her.

“You see, Lettice,” he said, taking possession of her hand, “I was so tired of waiting for an answer to my letter (written no matter how long ago) that I have come myself in person to beg for it.”

“How very undignified!” said Lettice. “It looks almost like being in a hurry.”

“Then it looks like exactly what it is,” replied Dr. Herron, thankful to hear the old ring in Lettice’s voice and to see the old sparkle in her eye; “but we won’t have any talking just yet, please. I want you to have some good food and another long sleep, and then perhaps tomorrow or next day we can begin the journey back to Wales.”

Lettice made no reply, and closed her eyes once more. It was all so unreal to her, like some delicious dream almost, as it might be a falling asleep in purgatory and an awakening in paradise.

But before Dr. Herron returned to Lochiel that evening he had much to hear, and, self-contained and calm-tempered man as he was, he found it difficult to restrain his indignation and anger as Lettice told simply and plainly the whole story of the McCormacks treachery and falsehood. Dr. Forbes and his daughter were present at the time by Dr. Herron’s express wish, “for,” he argued wisely enough, “the story, in one form or another, will be sure to be spread about the country, and it is as well you should hear the real facts of the case from the young lady’s own lips.”

“To think it should be the very same captain after all, father,” sobbed poor Maggie in her father’s arms, after Dr. Herron had gone, and Lettice had been comfortably settled in Maggie’s own room for a good night’s rest. “The very same captain, father, I know, because I showed Miss Tremarten the photograph he gave me, and she said he was the very same captain. And father” (this in a very low whisper), “I’m not at all in love with him now, and never, never want to see him again.”

“Then thank the guid Lord that your eyes are opened, my child,” replied the old pastor, “and another time be sure not to give away your heart till you get something for it in return. Something for nothing is never the way to bring grist to the mill,” concluded the old Scotchman sententiously.

The day which had passed so pleasantly for Lettice and Dr. Herron at the manse had been trying in the extreme to Aunt Rosamond. Hide it as she would, the suspense and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours had told upon her terribly. If she had been equal to it she would have gone off with the doctor to fetch back her niece, but after the overnight’s vigil she felt it was perfectly useless to attempt so long a journey.

“If I had screamed like you, Judith, or cried like you, Matthews, I daresay I should not have felt it so much,” said the old lady to her sister after Dr. Herron had started; “but as it is, my only outlet has been a number of small lies, which I daresay have done as much harm as good. You and I, Judith, I am bound to say, cut a very poor figure in the whole affair. We first take this girl away from her father, in order to save her from an entanglement with a country doctor next let her carry on a flirtation under our very eyes with a disreputable captain, and then suffer the country doctor to come upon the scene again to save her from the aforesaid captain. Now I ask you, mightn’t the doctor just as well have had her at first without all this fuss?”

Judith opened her eyes in amazement. “Indeed,” she said humbly, “I thought you really wanted the girl to come to London. I didn’t urge it⁠—”