JOAN HASTE, H. RIDER HAGGARD [free ereaders TXT] 📗

the speech was dictated by a low cunning like her own. Well, perhaps it was fortunate that she did not believe her; for, if she had, what would have happened?

Very soon it became clear to Joan that on this point it would be best not to undeceive her aunt, since to do so might provoke some terrible catastrophe of which she could not foresee the consequences. After further reflection, another thing became clear to her: that she must vanish from Bradmouth. What was truth and what was falsehood in Mrs. Gillingwater's story, she could not say, but obviously it contained an alloy of fact. There had been some quarrel between Henry and his dying father, and in that quarrel her name had been mentioned. Strange as it seemed, it might even be that he had declared an intention of marrying her. Now that she thought of it, she remembered that he had spoken of such a thing several times. The idea opened new possibilities to her--possibilities of a happiness of which she had not dared to dream; but, to her honour be it said, she never allowed them to take root in her mind--no, not for a single hour. She knew well what such a marriage would mean for Henry, and that was enough. She must disappear; but whither? She had no means and no occupation. Where, then, could she go?

For two or three days she stayed in her room, keeping her aunt as much at a distance as possible, and pondering on these matters, but without attaining to any feasible solution of them.

On the day of Sir Reginald's funeral, which Mrs. Gillingwater attended, and of which she gave a full account, she received Henry's message brought to her by the doctor, and returned a general answer to it. Next morning her uncle Gillingwater, who chanced to be sober, brought her word that Mr. Levinger had called, and asked that she would favour him with a visit at Monk's Lodge so soon as she was about again. Joan wondered for what possible reason Mr. Levinger could wish to see her, and her conscience answered that it had to do with Henry. Well, if he was not her guardian, he took an undefined interest in her, and it occurred to her that he might be able to help her to escape from Bradmouth, so for this reason, if for no other, she determined to comply with his wish.

Two days later, accordingly, Joan started for Monk's Lodge, having arranged with the local grocer to give her a lift to the house, whither his van was bound to deliver some parcels; for, after being laid up, she did not feel equal to walking both ways. About two o'clock, arrayed in her best grey dress, she went to the grocer's shop and waited outside. Presently she heard a shrill voice calling to her from the stable-yard, that joined the shop, and a red-haired boy poked his head through the open door.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Joan Haste," said the boy, who was none other than Willie Hood; "but I've been cleaning up the old horse's bit in honour of having such a swell as you to drive. Stand clear now; here we come." And he led out the van, to which a broken-kneed animal was harnessed, that evidently had seen better days.

"Why, you're never going to drive me, Willie, are you?" asked Joan in alarm, for she remembered the tale of that youth's equestrian efforts.

"Yes, I am, though. Don't you be skeered. I know what you're thinking of; but I've been grocer's boy for a month now, and have learned all about hosses and how to ride and drive them. Come, up you get, unless you'd rather walk behind."

Thus adjured, Joan did get up, and they started. Soon she perceived that her fears as to Willie Hood's powers of driving were not ill-founded; but, fortunately, the animal that drew them was so reduced in spirit that it did not greatly matter whether any one was guiding him or no.

"Is /he/ all right again?" said Willie presently, as, leaving the village, they began to travel along the dusty road that lay like a ribbon upon the green crest of the cliff.

"Do you mean Captain Graves?"

"Yes: who else? I saw him as they carried him into the Crown and Mitre that night. My word! he did look bad, and his trouser was all bloody too. I never seed any one so bloody before; though, now I come to think of it, you were bloody also, just like people in a story-book. That was a bad beginning for you both, they say."

"He is better; but he is not all right," answered Joan, with a sigh. Why would every one talk to her about Henry? "Captain Graves is not here now, you know."

"No; he's up at the Hall. And the old Squire is dead and buried. I went to see his funeral, I did. It was a grand sight--such lots of carriages, and such a beautiful polished coffin, with a brass cross and a plate with red letters on it. I'd like to be buried like that myself some day."

Joan smiled, but made no answer; and there was silence for a little time, while Willie thrashed the horse till his face was the colour of his hair.

"I say, Joan," he said, when at last that long-suffering animal broke into a shuffling trot, which caused the dust to rise in clouds, "is it true that you are going to marry him?"

"Marry Sir Henry Graves! Of course not. What put that idea into your head, you silly boy?"

"I don't know; it's what folks say, that's all. At least, they say that if you don't you ought to--though I don't rightly understand what they mean by that, unless it is that you are pretty enough to marry anybody, which I can see for myself."

Joan blushed crimson, and then turned pale as the dust.

"No need to pink up because I pay you a compliment, Joan," said Willie complacently.

"Folks say?" she gasped. "Who are the folks that say such things?"

"Everybody mostly--mother for one. But she says that you're like to find yourself left on the sand with the tide going out, like a dogfish that's been too greedy after sprats, for all that you think yourself so clever, and are so stuck-up about your looks. But then mother never did like a pretty girl, and I don't pay no attention to her--not a mite; and if I was you, Joan, I'd just marry him to spite them."

"Look here, Willie," answered Joan, who by now was almost beside herself: "if you say another word about me and Sir Henry Graves, I'll get out and walk."

"Well, I dare say the old horse would thank you if you did. But I don't see why you should take on so just because I've been answering your questions. I expect it's all true, and that you do want to marry him, or else you're left on the beach like the dogfish. But if you are, it's no reason why you should be cross with me."

"I'm not cross, Willie, I am not indeed; but you don't understand that I can't bear this kind of gossip."

"Then you'd better get out of Bradmouth as fast as you can, Joan, for you'll have lots of it to bear there, I can tell you. Why, I'm downright sick of it myself," answered the merciless Willie. Then he lapsed into a dignified silence, that for the rest of the journey was only broken by his exhortations to the sweating horse, and the sound of the whacks which he rained upon its back.

At length they reached Monk's Lodge, and drove round to the side-entrance, where Joan got down hurriedly and walked to the servants' door.

CHAPTER XIX(RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION)

 

On the day before Sir Reginald's funeral Mr. Samuel Rock presented himself at Monk's Lodge, and was shown into the study. As he entered Mr. Levinger noticed that his mien was morose, and that dejection beamed from his pale blue eyes, if indeed dejection can be said to beam.

"I fancy that my friend's love affairs have gone wrong," he thought to himself; "he would scarcely look so sulky about a cow shed." Yet it was of this useful building that he began to speak.

"Well, Mr. Rock," he said cheerfully, "have they dug out the foundations of that shed yet?"

"Shed, sir?" answered Samuel (he pronounced it /shodd/): "I haven't come to speak to you about no sheds. I have come to speak to you about the advice you gave me as to Joan Haste."

"Oh! yes, I remember: you wanted to marry her, didn't you? Well, did you take it?"

"I took it, sir, to my sorrow, for she wouldn't have nothing to do with me. I went so far as to try and kiss her."

"Yes. And then?"

"And then, sir, she pushed me off, that's all, and stood there saying things that I would rather forget. But here's the story, sir." And with a certain amount of glozing and omission, he told the tale of his repulse.

"Your case does not seem very promising," said Mr. Levinger lightly, for he did not wish to show his vexation; "but perhaps the lady will change her mind. As you know, it is often darkest before the dawn."

"Oh yes, sir," answered Samuel, with a kind of sullen confidence, "sooner or later she will change her mind, never fear, and I shall marry her, I am sure of it; but she won't change her heart, that's the point, for she's given that to another."

"Well, perhaps, if you get the rest of her, Mr. Rock, you may leave the heart to the other, for that organ is not of very much practical use by itself, is it? Might I ask who the other is?"

Samuel shook his head gloomily, and answered:

"It's all very well for you to joke about hearts, sir, as haven't got one--I mean, as don't take no interest in them; but they're everything to me--at least Joan's is. And as for who it is, sir, if half I hear is true, it's that Captain, I mean Sir Henry Graves. You warned me against him, you remember, and you spoke strong because I grew angry. Well, sir, I did right to be angry, for it's him she loves, Mr. Levinger, and that's why she hates me. They're talking about them all over Bradmouth."

"Indeed. Well, Bradmouth always was a great place for scandal, and I should not pay much attention to their tongues, were I you, Mr. Rock. Girls will have their fancies, you know, and I do not think it is necessary to hunt round for explanations because this one happens to flout you. I dare say it will all come right in time, if you have a little patience. Anyway there will be no more gossip about Joan Haste and Sir Henry Graves, for he has gone home, where he will find plenty of other things to occupy him, poor fellow. And now I have a plan of the shed here: perhaps you can explain it to me."

Samuel expounded his plan and went away, this time without the offer of any port wine, for it seemed to his host that he