The Great Roxhythe · Book III · Chapter 3 5 (2/2)

John was standing by his side, holding the empty glass. There was a look of dumb agony in his eyes.

Roxhythe stretched out his hand.

“My dear John, I am not like to die this time.”

John kissed his hand. Tears were running down his cheeks.

“My lord⁠—my lord⁠—”

“Yes. Go and get some canary for Mr. Burnest. Take it into the library.” He turned his head and saw Crewe, standing between the two footmen. He surveyed his servants coldly.

“What do you think you are doing?”

One of them fidgeted uncomfortably.

“My lord, Mr. Dart said⁠—”

“You have my permission to go.”

They glanced at Christopher, irresolute.

“I gave an order.” Roxhythe’s voice was icy.

Both men left the room hastily.

“Mr. Burnest, Chris will take you into the library. You must be thirsty after your run.”

“No, I thank you, sir. I am waiting to bleed you.”

“You are very kind,” said Roxhythe. “You will have to wait quite half an hour.”

“Indeed, no! It is imperative!”

“My good friend this is not the first time that I have been wounded. Chris, take him away.”

“I cannot, sir. I beg you will be reasonable.”

“You fatigue me,” sighed his lordship. “I am in the middle of a discussion with Sir Henry. I cannot be interrupted in this fashion.”

“There has already been an interruption! I want to know what it was!” cried Christopher.

“You always were inquisitive. Sir Henry has been showing me his pistols which are of a very exquisite workmanship. Unhappily they have a tricky way of exploding⁠—as you see.”

“That will not suffice, sir. You cannot put me off with such an explanation!”

The brown eyes were like stones.

“That is my explanation. Any who doubt my word may come and tell me.”

“Sir, I know something of what lies behind! I⁠—”

“Take Mr. Burnest to the library.”

“My lord⁠—”

“You hear me?”

Christopher flushed.

“Very well, sir.” He rose sullenly. “Mr. Burnest, will you⁠—”

“It is impossible! Lord Roxhythe, you cannot⁠—”

“You waste time,” said Roxhythe wearily.

“You had best come,” advised Christopher. “It will do no good to argue.”

“But⁠—! Heavens, Mr. Dart, he should be put to bed at once! He cannot stay talking to his friends! ’Tis madness! I⁠—”

“You heard him. He will ever go his own way.”

Burnest knew this. He turned to my lord.

“Sir, if I leave you, will you promise not to move, nor to exert yourself in any way?”

“Aught you please.”

“Then I will go. Against my wish!”

“I thank you.”

Burnest followed Christopher out.

There was silence. Roxhythe pressed his handkerchief to his lips. His face was rather drawn.

“Come and sit down, Crewe.”

Sir Henry spoke hoarsely.

“I’ll not take my life at your hands!”

“You will do exactly what I say. Sit down.”

Crewe obeyed limply. He had the look of one who is weary beyond words.

“Well, I compliment you,” remarked his lordship. “I did not think you would do it.”

Crewe flung out his hands.

“Before God, I swear I never meant to! It was a sudden madness! I fired before I had time to think! You must believe that! Oh⁠—”

“As usual you spoil everything. Including my coat. I had hoped it was your intention. I had thought the better of you.”

Crewe stared at him.

“You must be⁠—crazed!”

“No. Luckily I am sane. So we may come to an understanding.”

The wretched man groaned, his head in his hands.

“Now, what is this nonsense about your wife?”

“You know! Oh, heaven, must you add to your devilry?”

“You would greatly oblige me by dropping the heroic pose. You raved some nonsense about my meeting Millicent every day at my cousin her house. I have never met her there.”

Crewe looked up.

“If I could believe that⁠—!”

“You can. Our very harmless little affaire ended last March. I’ll swear to that if my word is not enough.”

“No⁠—no. But she came here three nights ago! You cannot deny that!”

“I make no attempt to deny it. She had come to ask me not to appear at the rout next week.”

“Not to⁠—That seals her guilt!”

“Fool. She feared your mad jealousy would prompt you to make a scene. You have so worked on her with your passions that she is well-nigh crazed herself. There is naught between us.”

Crewe sprang up.

“Swear it! Swear it!”

“Very well, I swear it. You can ask her. She will tell the same tale. Last year she was infatuated by me. Soit. It ended as you know. Had you then behaved sensibly towards her all would have been well. You preferred to enact the heroic husband. That too is ended. You’ll go to her and ask her pardon on your knees.” Few had heard that lazy voice so stern.

Crewe was silent, fighting himself.

“If you say naught concerning this afternoon’s work there will be no scandal. I shall not allow any man to question my explanation. But.⁠ ⁠…” he paused.

“But?” Crewe stepped forward.

“But you must withdraw yourself for⁠—a year. I suggest you take Millicent away. I believe I suggested that before.”

“I see.” Crewe struggled for words. “You have treated me⁠—better than I⁠—deserve, sir.”

“Yes,” said Roxhythe. “Goodbye.”