Harvest, Mrs. Humphry Ward [best pdf reader for ebooks txt] 📗

"I'll get the horse and cart myself."

For it was market day at Millsborough, and peace or no peace, she had some business that must be done there.

"Oh, I've no call to go, Miss," said Hastings. "I'd rather stay and look after things."

His eyes met Janet's, and she nodded imperceptibly. She was relieved to think of Hastings--good, faithful, unassuming creature!--remaining on guard. The very desertion of the farm-houses on this great day might tempt marauders--especially that thief or madman who had been haunting their own premises. She hoped the police would not forget them either. But Hastings' offer to stay till the girls came back from the Millsborough crowds and bands at about nine o'clock quite eased her mind. And meanwhile she and Hastings, as had been agreed, kept their anxieties from Rachel.

Rachel went off at twelve o'clock in her khaki suit, driving a spirited young horse in a high cart, which was filled with farm produce. She was to take early dinner with some new friends, and then to go and look at a Jersey cow which Janet coveted, in a farm on the other side of Millsborough.

"Don't wait tea for me," she said to Janet, "I shall get some somewhere." And then with a smile to them both she was off. Janet stood looking after her, lost in a painful uncertainty. "Can't you let it alone?" Lord Melbourne was accustomed to say suavely to those members of the Cabinet who brought him grievances or scandals that wanted seeing to. One half of Janet's mind was saying, "Can't you let it alone?" to the other half.


XI

The daylight had all gone when Rachel at last got into her cart in the yard of the Rose and Thistle at Millsborough and took the reins. But there was a faint moonrise struggling through the mist in which the little town and countryside were shrouded. And in the town, with its laughing and singing crowds, its bright shop windows, its moist, straggling flags, the mist, lying gently over the old houses, the moving people, the flashes and streamers of light, was extraordinarily romantic and beautifying.

Rachel drove slowly through the streets, delighting in the noise and excitement, in the sheer new pleasure of everything, the world--human beings--living--the end of the war. And out among the fields, and in the country road, the November sun was still beautiful; what with the pearly mist, and the purple shapes of the forest-covered hills. She had been much made of in Millsborough. People were anxious to talk to her, to invite her, to do business with her. Her engagement, she perceived, had made her doubly interesting. She was going to be prosperous, to succeed--and all the world smiled upon her.

So that her pulses were running fast as she reached Ipscombe, where, in the mild fog, a few groups were standing about, and a few doors were open. And now--there was home!--in front of her. And--Heavens! what had Janet done? Rachel pulled up the horse, and sat enchanted, looking at the farm. For there it lay, pricked out in light, its old Georgian lines against the background of the hill. Every window had a light in it--every blind was drawn up--it was Janet's illumination for the peace. She had made of the old house "an insubstantial faery place," and Rachel laughed for pleasure.

Then she drove eagerly on into the dark tunnel of trees that lay between her and the house.

Suddenly a shape rushed out of the hedge into the light of the lamps, and a man laid a violent hand upon the horse's reins. The horse reared, and Rachel cried out,--

"What are you doing? Let go!"

But the man held the struggling horse, at once coercing and taming it, with an expert hand. A voice!--that sent a sudden horror through Rachel,--

"Sit where you are--hold tight!--don't be a fool!--he'll quiet down."

She sat paralysed; and, still holding the reins, though the trembling horse was now quiet, a man advanced into the light of the left-hand lamp.

"Well--do you know me?" he said quietly.

She struggled for breath and self-control.

"Let those reins alone!--what are you doing here?"

And snatching up her whip, she bent forward. But he made a spring at it, snatched it easily with a laugh, and broke it.

"You know you never were strong enough to get the better of me. Why do you try? Don't be an idiot. I want to make an appointment with you. You can't escape me. I've watched you for weeks. And see you alone, too. Without that fellow you're engaged to."

Her passion rose, in spite of her deadly fear.

"He'll take care of that," she said, "and the police. I'm not helpless now--as I used to be."

"Ah, but you'd better see me. I've got a great deal to say that concerns you. I suppose you've told that American chap a very pretty story about our divorce? Well, it took me a long time to get to the bottom of it myself. But now I'm--well, disillusioned!"

He came closer, close to the rail of the cart and the lamp, so that she saw clearly the haggard wreck of what once had been Roger Delane, and the evil triumph in his eyes.

"Who stayed the night alone, with Dick Tanner, on his place, when I was safely got rid of?" he said, in a low but clear voice. "And then who played the innocent--who did?"

"Liar!"

"Not at all. I've got some new evidence now--some quite fresh light on the scene--which may be useful to me. I want money. You seem to have a lot. And I want to be paid back a little of what I'm owed. Oh, I can hold my tongue, if it's made worth my while. I don't suppose you've told your American young man anything about Dick Tanner--eh?"

"Let go the horse!" she said fiercely, trying to recapture the reins. "You've nothing to do with me any more."

"Haven't I? Oh, by all means tell your Yankee that I've waylaid you. I shouldn't at all object to an interview with him. In fact, I rather think of asking for it. But if you want to prevent it, you've got to do what you're told."

He came closer, and spoke with slow emphasis. "You've got to arrange a time--when I can see you--_alone?_ When shall it be?"

Silence. But far ahead there were sounds as of some one approaching. Delane leapt on the step of the cart.

"This is Monday. Wednesday night--get rid of everybody! You can do it if you like. I shall come at nine. You've got to let me in."

Her white, quivering face was all his answer.

"Don't forget," he said, jumping down. "Good-night!"

And in a second he was gone, where, she could not tell.

The reins fell from her grasp. She leant back in the cart, half fainting. The horse, finding the reins on his neck, strayed to the grassy side of the road, and began grazing. A short time passed. In another minute or two the left wheel would have gone done into a deep ditch.

"Hallo!" cried a man's voice. "What the matter?"

Rachel tried to rouse herself, but could only murmur inarticulately. The man jumped off his bicycle, propped it against a tree, and came running to her.

He saw a woman, in a khaki felt hat and khaki dress, sitting hunched up in a fainting state on the seat of a light cart. He was just in time to catch the horse and turn it back to the road. Then in his astonishment John Dempsey altogether forgot himself.

"Don't be frightened, Mrs. Delane! Why, you've had a faint. But never mind. Cheer up! I'll get you home safe."

And Rachel, reviving, opened her heavy eyes to see stooping over her the face of the lad in the hooded cart whom she had last seen in the night of that November snowstorm, two years before.

"What did you say?" she asked stupidly. Then, raising herself, with an instinctive gesture she smoothed back her hair from her face, and straightened her hat. "Thank you, I'm all right."

Dempsey's mouth as he retreated from her shaped itself to an involuntary grin.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am--but I think I've seen you in Canada. Didn't I once come to your place, with a parcel from Mr. Grimes--that was my employer--of Redminster? I remember you had a Jap servant. And there was another time, I think"--the lad's eyes fixed her, contracted a little, and sharp with curiosity--"when you and Mr. Dick Tanner gave me that fizzling hot coffee--don't you remember?--in that awful blizzard two years ago? And Mr. Tanner gave the horses a feed, too. Awfully good chap, Mr. Tanner. I don't know what I should have done without that coffee."

Rachel was still deathly white, but she had recovered possession of herself, and her mind was working madly through a score of possibilities.

"You're quite mistaken," she said coldly, "I never saw you before that I am aware of. Please let go the reins. I can manage now quite well. I don't know what made me feel ill. I'm all right now."

"You've got the reins twisted round the shaft, miss," said Dempsey officiously. "You'd better let me put 'em right."

And without waiting for a reply, he began to disentangle them, not without a good deal of fidgeting from the horse, which delayed him. His mouth twitched with laughter as he bent over the shaft. Deny that she was Mrs. Delane! That was a good one. Why, now that he had seen her close, he could swear to her anywhere.

Rachel watched him, her senses sharpening rapidly. Only a few minutes since Roger had been there--and now, this man. Had they met? Was there collusion between them? There must be. How else could Roger know? No one else in the world but this youth could have given him the information. She recalled the utter solitude of the snow-bound farm--the heavy drifts--no human being but Dick and herself--till that evening when the new snow was all hard frozen, and they two had sleighed back under the moon to her own door.

What to do? She seemed to see her course.

"What is your name?" she asked him, endeavouring to speak in her ordinary voice, and bending over the front of the cart, she spoke to the horse, "Quiet, Jack, quiet!"

"My name's John Dempsey, ma'am." He looked up, and then quickly withdrew his eyes. She saw the twitching smile that he now could hardly restrain. By this time he had straightened the reins, which she gathered up.

"It's curious," she said, "but you're not the first person who's mistaken me for that Mrs. Delane. I knew something about her. I don't want to be mistaken for her."

"I see," said Dempsey.

"I would rather you didn't speak about it in the village--or anywhere. You see, one doesn't like to be confused with some people. I didn't like Mrs. Delane."

The lad looked up grinning.

"She got divorced, didn't she?"

"I dare say. I knew very little about her. But, as I said, I don't want to be mistaken for her."

Then, tying the reins to the cart, she jumped down and stood beside him.

His hand went instinctively to the horse's mouth, holding the restive animal still.

"And I should be very much obliged to you if you would keep what you thought about me to yourself. I don't want you to talk about it