_ BOOK II. SHADOW
CHAPTER V. STORM AND TEMPEST
A blusterous wind that fluttered the skirts of my long, caped coat, that filled the night with stir and tumult and flaws of sudden rain; a wind that whirled black masses of ragged cloud across a lowering heaven lit by a pallid moon that peeped stealthily and vanished, to peep again.
And glancing from desolate, wind-swept streets to flying cloud-wrack, I judged there was worse to come and knew a strange, unnatural joy therefore, as I bent my head to buffeting wind and reined the fiery animal I bestrode to less furious pace.
We crossed the river at London Bridge, a dark horror of moving waters swirling here and there in the ineffectual beam of lamp or lanthorn; on past gloomy streets and narrow courts where dim forms jostled, and ever and always the blusterous wind rioting 'twixt heaven and earth, booming in chimneys, moaning in dark corners, rattling windows, clapping-to crazy shutters and setting signboards a-swing on scolding hinges.
On and on through this ever-growing turbulence, while Wildfire tossed proud head, snorted defiance upon the elements, and bored eagerly upon the bit. But once the great city was behind us, I gave him his will and away we went headlong into the wind, the clatter of his galloping hoofs drowned in the universal uproar. But fast as he sped, the demon of doubt and suspicion and growing dread kept pace, and for once, riding Wildfire, I forgot Wildfire and all else save the hell within me.
A black-bodied chaise picked out in yellow!
And now came the rain to lash me and I bared my head the better to feel it. Before me in the swirling dark were twinkling lights lurching rapidly nearer, and down upon me loomed a stagecoach, a mountainous shape that flitted by me like a phantom. A phantom? The very night seemed peopled by phantoms; I sped past phantom wains and waggons, piled high with phantom loads, that moved with no sound of hoofs or wheels; spectral horsemen flitted by, soundless; in the shadow of hissing hedgerow and raving, wind-tossed trees crawled miserable, nebulous shapes, seen but to be lost again, swallowed in the howling murk.
Rushing wind and lashing rain; pale gleams of a fitful moon to show swaying trees that tossed wild arms to heaven, and a splashing quag below, mud and wind-swept pools, all lost again in the swirling dark. And buffeted thus, beaten by rain, smitten by unseen things, gasping in the wind's fierce gusts, my one thought was:
A black-bodied chaise with red wheels--Captain Danby!
How long I galloped at this wild and reckless pace I do not know, but little by little I became aware that the rain had ceased, the clouds were rent asunder and the moon looked down, pale and remote, upon a desolate countryside very ghostly and unreal and wholly unfamiliar. Before me was a winding road fringed with dripping, sombre trees and reining Wildfire to a standstill, I found that the wind had greatly abated its fury. But though the storm was over, the storm within me raged fierce as ever; therefore, heedless of where the morning found me, I spurred Wildfire forward and rode with slackened rein, leaving him to take me where he would.
A black-bodied chaise--What should bring Diana in company with such brutal satyr as Captain Danby?
Lost thus in agonising thought, I was riding with loosened rein and lax grip when Wildfire shied, swerved violently, throwing me from the saddle, and lying half-stunned, I heard him gallop away down the road.
For a while I lay there with no desire to move, but at last, summoning all my resolution, I scrambled weakly to my feet and endeavoured to follow, but after some while, wondered to see it so dark and found I was among trees that closed about me ever denser. Yet I struggled on, pushing my way haphazard through the undergrowth, being yet much shaken by my fall, until I came out into a narrow way lit by the moon; but scarcely was I here than I paused to lean against a tree, overcome by a sick faintness. And thus leaned I some while to recover my strength, and in my ears the dismal drip, drip of sodden trees and the mournful sighing of the wind in their branches, a sigh that rose every now and then to a low wailing, very dreadful to hear.
Now, all at once, I lifted my aching head, for, as my brain cleared, I knew that this wailing was not of the wind; thus I stood with breath in check waiting for it to come again. And suddenly I heard it, a low, murmurous cry, unutterably doleful.
"O God--O God--I want to be dead--I want to be dead!"
So I turned aside and, following the path, saw it ended at a frowning doorway set within a high and sinister wall; and recognising this door, this high wall and gloomy wood, I felt myself cold with that indefinable sense of impending evil which this desolate place had awoke in me before--
"O kind God--if I could only die!"
Going in among the trees I saw a shape of misery outstretched face-down upon the sodden earth, a shape that wrung pale hands and writhed in awful manner. Trembling, I sank on one knee beside her.
"Woman!" said I, laying hand lightly on her shoulder.
"Child!"
She raised a haggard face, its youthful beauty distorted by horror, its pallid cheeks stained with mire, and I blenched before the look in these wide eyes.
"Don't touch me!" she whispered hoarsely. "Don't look at me--I can't abide it--go away--let me die--"
"Child, where is your home?"
"None!" she whispered. "None! I durs'n't go back ... now. Oh, never no more ... they made me drunk ... when I woke ... ah, don't look at me ... I wish the sun 'ud go out for ever ... If I could only die!... I fought them as long as I could.... Oh, kill me, God.... I want to be dead ... but I want Tom first ... my Tom ... I want him to know 't weren't ... my fault. O Tom dear, Tom as I loved ... how can I tell 'ee. O God, I want to be dead!"
"Come, child," said I gently. "Come with me, you shall be safe, sheltered for to-night, and in the morning Tom shall be found for you--"
"Ah, no, no!" she panted, shrinking from my touch. "You're a man too--let me die!"
"Poor girl, poor child," said I, "there is an inn near by and a good woman to comfort you, come, you shall be safe, I swear, and find your Tom--"
Despite her feeble struggles, I got her afoot and half-led, half-carried her along that tortuous path and so at last out of that evil wood. Afar, across the meadows, I spied the chimneys of the "Soaring Lark" and, though dawn was not broken, to my joyful wonder saw its hospitable windows aglow and the beam of a moving light in the yard.
How we accomplished the distance I do not know, but we reached the inn at last and beheld a lanthorn borne by a stalwart form.
"Who's yon?" demanded a gruff voice.
"George," I panted, "if that's you--bear a hand with this poor girl--quick, she's swooning--"
"Why, Mr. Vereker!" exclaimed George's astonished voice, and next moment the fainting girl was caught up in powerful arms and borne into the inn kitchen, I staggering after.
"Mary--Moll--O Mary, old woman!"
A patter of quick feet upon the stair and George's Mary came running, seeming as bonny and buxom as ever, despite her scant
deshabille, as she bent above the swooning girl.
"Poor maid--out i' the storm an' clemmed wi' cold an' 'unger, poor lass! Bring her upstairs--our warm bed, Jarge--an' then brandy, lad, an' the kettle on th' fire--up wi' you!"
Left alone, I filled the kettle from a bucket in a corner, and setting it upon the fire, drew up a chair and sat to dry my clothes and warm my shivering limbs, and presently, what with my weariness and the fire's comfort, began to nod. Opening unwilling eyes, I found George beside me, holding a steaming glass to my lips, and now felt myself deathly cold and shivering in every limb.
"Drink it, sir--hot rum an' a slice o' lemon--nought like it--drink it. Lord, Mr. Vereker, sir--'ere be a go sure-ly!" he exclaimed, smiling and nodding, as I sipped the fragrant beverage. "Awhile agone comes an 'orse into the yard, a-stampin' and a-neighin', so up I jumps and looks out o' winder. 'Lord, old woman,' I sez, 'yonder's Mr. Vereker's Wildfire,' I sez, 'I'd know 'im anywheers,' I sez; 'but what beats me,' I sez, 'there ain't Mr. Vereker.' So down I comes, rubs down the 'oss, takes the lanthorn an' is about to start lookin' for you when in you comes an' wi' you this poor lass--so wot I says now is, Lord, Mr. Vereker, sir, 'ere 's a go, sure-ly!"
"It is!" said I. "What of the girl, poor soul?"
"All right, Mr. Vereker, sir--she'm wi' my old woman, y' see, consequently she'll be right as ninepence in the morning, bless your 'eart, sir."
"I doubt it, George. You see, I found her--in the pine wood yonder, close beside that damnable gate in the wall."
"Did ye so, sir, did ye so?" said he in altered voice. Then, clenching his brawny fists, he raised frowning eyes to a bayonet above the mantel, a long, deadly-looking thing that glittered with constant cleaning. "Ah, by God!" he growled fiercely, "by God, Mr. Vereker, sir--there's them as I'd like t' have wrigglin' their beastly lives out on the end o' my old bagnet--"
"Hot water, Jarge!" commanded the buxom Mary from the stairs.
"Comin', old woman--comin'! Get a nap, Mr. Vereker, sir; your wet clo'es won't hurt 'ee now--I've slep' in wetter many a time in the Peninsula--nothin' like rum took 'ot an' plenty on 't sir. Comin,' old woman--comin'!" and whisking the heavy kettle from the fire, he nodded and hurried up the stair. _