CHAPTER V. THE ENCOUNTER
Ruth Wesmacott rode back like one in a dream, with vague and hazynotions of what she saw or did. So overwrought was she by the interviewfrom which she came, her mind so obsessed by it, that never a thoughthad she for Diana and her indisposition until she arrived home tofind her cousin there before her. Diana was in tears, called up by thereproaches of her mother, Lady Horton--the relict of that fine soldierSir Cholmondeley Horton, of Taunton.
The girl had arrived at Lupton House a half-hour ahead of MissWestmacott, and upon her arrival she had expressed surprise, eitherfeigned or real, at finding Ruth still absent. Detecting the alarmthat Diana was careful to throw into her voice and manner, her motherquestioned her, and elicited the story of her faintness and of Ruth'shaving ridden on alone to Mr. Wilding's. So outraged was Lady Hortonthat for once in a way this woman, usually so meek and ease-loving,was roused to an energy and anger with her daughter and her niece thatthreatened to remove Diana at once from the pernicious atmosphere ofLupton House and carry her home to Taunton. Ruth found her still at herremonstrances, arrived, indeed, in time for her share of them.
"I have been sore mistaken in you, Ruth!" the dame reproached her. "Ican scarce believe it of you. I have held you up as an example to Diana,for the discretion and wisdom of your conduct, and you do this! You goalone to Mr. Wilding's house--to Mr. Wilding's, of all men!"
"It was no time for ordinary measures," said Ruth, but she spoke withoutany of the heat of one who defends her conduct. She was, the slylywatchful Diana observed, very white and tired. "It was no time to thinkof nice conduct. There was Richard to be saved."
"And was it worth ruining yourself to do that?" quoth Lady Horton, hercolour high.
"Ruining myself?" echoed Ruth, and she smiled never so weary a smile. "Ihave, indeed, done that, though not in the way you mean."
Mother and daughter eyed her, mystified. "Your good name is blasted,"said her aunt, "unless so be that Mr. Wilding is proposing to make youhis wife." It was a sneer the good woman could not, in her indignation,repress.
"That is what Mr. Wilding has done me the honour to propose," Ruthanswered bitterly, and left them gaping. "We are to be married this dayse'night."
A dead silence followed the calm announcement. Then Diana rose. At themisery, the anguish that could impress so strange and white a lookon Ruth's winsome face, she was smitten with remorse, her incipientsatisfaction dashed. This was her work; the fruit of her scheming. Butit had gone further than she had foreseen; and for all that no resultcould better harmonize with her own ambitions and desires, for themoment--under the first shock of that announcement--she felt guilty andgrew afraid.
"Ruth!" she cried, her voice a whisper of stupefaction. "Oh, I wish Ihad come with you!"
"But you couldn't; you were faint." And then--recalling what hadpassed--her mind was filled with sudden concern for Diana, even amid herown sore troubles. "Are you quite yourself again, Diana?" she inquired.
Diana answered almost fiercely, "I am quite well." And then, with achange to wistfulness, she added, "Oh, I would I had come with you!"
"Matters had been no different," Ruth assured her. "It was a bargainMr. Wilding drove. It was the price I had to pay for Richard's life andhonour." She swallowed hard, and let her hands fall limply to her sides."Where is Richard?" she inquired.
It was her aunt who answered her. "He went forth half an hour agone withMr. Vallancey and Sir Rowland."
"Sir Rowland had returned, then?" She looked up quickly.
"Yes," answered Diana. "But he had achieved nothing by his visit to LordGervase. His lordship would not intervene; he swore he hoped the cubwould be flayed alive by Wilding. Those were his lordship's words, asSir Rowland repeated them. Sir Rowland is in sore distress for Richard.He has gone with them to the meeting."
"At least, he has no longer cause for his distress," said MissWestmacott with her bitter smile, and sank as one exhausted to a chair.Lady Horton moved to comfort her, her motherliness all aroused for thismotherless girl, usually so wise and strong, and seemingly wiser andstronger than ever in this thing that Lady Horton had deemed a weaknessand a folly.
Meanwhile, Richard and his two friends were on their way to the moorsacross the river to the encounter with Mr. Wilding. But before theyhad got him to ride forth, Vallancey had had occasion to regret that hestood committed to a share in this quarrel, for he came to know Richardas he really was. He had found him in an abject state, white andtrembling, his coward's fancy anticipating a hundred times a minute thedeath he was anon to die.
Vallancey had hailed him cheerily.
"The day is yours, Dick," he had cried, when Richard entered the librarywhere he awaited him. "Wild Wilding has ridden to Taunton this morningand is to be back by noon. Odsbud, Dick!--twenty miles and more in thesaddle before coming on the ground. Heard you ever of the like madness?He'll be stiff as a broom-handle--an easy victim."
Richard listened, stared, and, finding Vallancey's eyes fixed steadilyupon him, attempted a smile and achieved a horrible grimace.
"What ails you, man?" cried his second, and caught him by the wrist. Hefelt the quiver of the other's limb. "Stab me!" quoth he, "you are in nocase to fight. What the plague ails you?"
"I am none so well this morning," answered Richard feebly. "LordGervase's claret," he added, passing a hand across his brow.
"Lord Gervase's claret?" echoed Vallancey in horror, as at someoutrageous blasphemy. "Frontignac at ten shillings the bottle!" heexclaimed.
"Still, claret never does lie easy on my stomach," Richard explained,intent upon blaming Lord Gervase s wine--since he could think of nothingelse--for his condition.
Vallancey looked at him shrewdly. "My cock," said he, "if you're tofight we'll have to mend your temper." He took it upon himself to ringthe bell, and to order up two bottles of Canary and one of brandy. If hewas to get his man to the ground at all--and young Vallancey had a duesense of his responsibilities in that connection--it would be well tosupply Richard with something to replace the courage that had oozedout overnight. Young Richard, never loath to fortify himself, provedamenable enough to the stiffly laced Canary that his friend set beforehim. Then, to divert his mind, Vallancey, with that rash freedom thathad made the whole of Somerset know him for a rebel, set himself to talkof the Protestant Duke and his right to the crown of England.
He was still at his talk, Richard listening moodily what time he wasslowly but surely befuddling himself, when Sir Rowland--returning fromScoresby Hall--came to bring the news of his lack of success. Richardhailed him noisily, and bade him ring for another glass, adding, witha burst of oaths, some appalling threats of how anon he should serveAnthony Wilding. His wits drowned in the stiff liquor Vallancey hadpressed upon him, he seemed of a sudden to have grown as fierce andbloodthirsty as any scourer that ever terrorized the watch.
Blake listened to him and grunted. "Body o' me!" swore the town gallant."If that's the humour you're going out to fight in, I'll trouble you forthe eight guineas I won from you at Primero yesterday before you start."
Richard reared himself, by the help of the table, and stood a thoughtunsteadily, his glance laboriously striving to engage Blake's.
"Damn me!" quoth he. "Your want of faith dishgraces me--and 't 'shgracesyou. Shalt ha' the guineas when we're back--and not before."
"Hum!" quoth Blake, to whom eight guineas were a consideration in thesebankrupt days. "And if you don't come back at all upon whom am I todraw?"
The suggestion sank through Dick's half-fuddled senses, and the scare itgave him was reflected on his face.
"Damn you, Blake!" swore Vallancey between his teeth. "Is that a decentway to talk to a man who is going out? Never heed him, Dick! Let himwait for his dirty guineas till we return."
"Thirty guineas?" hiccoughed Richard. "It was only eight.Anyhow--wait'll I've sli' the gullet of's Mr. Wilding." He checked ona thought that suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Vallancey with aludicrous solemnity. "'Sbud!" he swore. "'S
a scurvy trick I'm playingthe Duke. 'S treason to him--treason no less." And he smote the tablewith his open hand.
"What's that?" quoth Blake so sharply, his eyes so suddenly alert thatVallancey made haste to cover up his fellow rebel's indiscretion.
"It's the brandy-and-Canary makes him dream," said he with a laugh, andrising as he spoke he announced that it was high time they should setout. Thus he brought about a bustle that drove the Duke's business fromRichard's mind, and left Blake without a pretext to pursue his questfor information. But the mischief was done, and Blake's suspicions wereawake. He bethought him now of dark hints that Richard had let fallto Vallancey in the past few days, and of hints less dark with whichVallancey--who was a careless fellow at ordinary times--had answered.And now this mention of the Duke and of treason to him--to what Dukecould it refer but Monmouth?
Blake was well aware of the wild tales that were going round, and hebegan to wonder now was aught really afoot, and was his good friendWestmacott in it?
If there was, he bethought him that the knowledge might be of value,and it might help to float once more his shipwrecked fortunes. The hastewith which Vallancey had proffered a frivolous explanation of Richard'swords, the bustle with which upon the instant he swept Richard and SirRowland from the house to get to horse and ride out to Bridgwater werein themselves circumstances that went to heighten those suspicions ofSir Rowland's. But lacking all opportunity for investigation at themoment, he deemed it wisest to say no more just then lest he shouldbetray his watchfulness.
They were the first to arrive upon the ground--an open space on theborders of Sedgemoor, in the shelter of Polden Hill. But they had notlong to wait before Wilding and Trenchard rode up, attended by a groom.Their arrival had an oddly sobering effect upon young Westmacott, forwhich Mr. Vallancey was thankful. For during their ride he had begun tofear that he had carried too far the business of equipping his principalwith artificial valour.
Trenchard came forward to offer Vallancey the courteous suggestion thatMr. Wilding's servant should charge himself with the care of the horsesof Mr. Westmacott's party, if this would be a convenience tothem. Vallancey thanked him and accepted the offer, and thus thegroom--instructed by Trenchard--led the five horses some distance fromthe spot.
It now became a matter of making preparation, and leaving Richard todivest himself of such garments as he might deem cumbrous, Vallanceywent forward to consult with Trenchard upon the choice of ground. Atthat same moment Mr. Wilding lounged forward, flicking the grass withhis whip in an absent manner.
"Mr. Vallancey," he began, when Trenchard turned to interrupt him.
"You can leave it safely to me, Tony," he growled. "But there issomething I wish to say, Nick," answered Mr. Wilding, his manner mild."By your leave, then." And he turned again to Valiancey. "Will you be sogood as to call Mr. Westmacott hither?"
Vallancey stared. "For what purpose, sir?" he asked.
"For my purpose," answered Mr. Wilding sweetly. "It is no longer my wishto engage with Mr. Westmacott.
"Anthony!" cried Trenchard, and in his amazement forgot to swear.
"I propose," added Mr. Wilding, "to relieve Mr. Westmacott of thenecessity of fighting."
Vallancey in his heart thought this might be pleasant news for hisprincipal. Still, he did not quite see how the end was to be attained,and said so.
"You shall be enlightened if you will do as I request," Wildinginsisted, and Vallancey, with a lift of the brows, a snort, and a shrug,turned away to comply.
"Do you mean," quoth Trenchard, bursting with indignation, "that youwill let live a man who has struck you?"
Wilding took his friend affectionately by the arm. "It is a whim ofmine," said he. "Do you think, Nick, that it is more than I can affordto indulge?"
"I say not so," was the ready answer; "but..."
"I thought you'd not," said Mr. Wilding, interrupting. "And if anydoes--why, I shall be glad to prove it upon him that he lies." Helaughed, and Trenchard, vexed though he was, was forced to laugh withhim. Then Nick set himself to urge the thing that last night had plaguedhis mind: that this Richard might prove a danger to the Cause; thatin the Duke's interest, if not to safeguard his own person from somevindictive betrayal, Wilding would be better advised in imposing areliable silence upon him.
"But why vindictive?" Mr. Wilding remonstrated. "Rather must he havecause for gratitude."
Mr. Trenchard laughed short and contemptuously. "There is," said he, "norancour more bitter than that of the mean man who has offended you andwhom you have spared. I beg you'll ponder it." He lowered his voice ashe ended his admonition, for Vallancey and Westmacott were coming up,followed by Sir Rowland Blake.
Richard, although his courage had been sinking lower and lower in ameasure as he had grown more and more sober with the approach of themoment for engaging, came forward now with a firm step and an arrogantmien; for Vallancey had given him more than a hint of what was toward.His heart had leapt, not only at the deliverance that was promised him,but out of satisfaction at the reflection of how accurately last nighthe had gauged what Mr. Wilding would endure. It had dismayed him then,as we have seen, that this man who, he thought, must stomach any affrontfrom him out of consideration for his sister, should have ended bycalling him to account. He concluded now that upon reflection Wildinghad seen his error, and was prepared to make amends that he mightextricate himself from an impossible situation, and Richard blamedhimself for having overlooked this inevitable solution and given way toidle panic.
Vallancey and Blake watching him, and the sudden metamorphosis that waswrought in him, despised him heartily, and yet were glad--for the sakeof their association with him--that things were as they were.
"Mr. Westmacott," said Wilding quietly, his eyes steadily set uponRichard's own arrogant gaze, his lips smiling a little, "I am here notto fight, but to apologize."
Richard's sneer was audible to all. Oh, he was gathering courage fastnow that there no longer was the need for it. It urged him to lengths ofdaring possible only to a fool.
"If you can take a blow, Mr. Wilding," said he offensively, "that isyour own affair."
And his friends gasped at his temerity and trembled for him, not knowingwhat grounds he had for counting himself unassailable.
"Just so," said Mr. Wilding, as meek and humble as a nun, and Trenchard,who had expected something very different from him, swore aloud and withsome circumstance of oaths. "The fact is," continued Mr. Wilding, "thatwhat I did last night, I did in the heat of wine, and I am sorry forit. I recognize that this quarrel is of my provoking; that it wasunwarrantable in me to introduce the name of Mistress Westmacott, nomatter how respectfully; and that in doing so I gave Mr. Westmacottample grounds for offence. For that I beg his pardon, and I venture tohope that this matter need go no further."
Vallancey and Blake were speechless in astonishment; Trenchardlivid with fury. Westmacott moved a step or two forward, a swaggerunmistakable in his gait, his nether-lip thrust out in a sneer.
"Why," said he, his voice mighty disdainful, "if Mr. Wilding apologizes,the matter hardly can go further." He conveyed such a suggestion ofregret at this that Trenchard bounded forward, stung to speech.
"But if Mr. Westmacott's disappointment threatens to overwhelm him," hesnapped, very tartly, "I am his humble servant, and he may call upon meto see that he's not robbed of the exercise he came to take."
Mr. Wilding set a restraining hand upon Trenchard's arm.
Westmacott turned to him, the sneer, however, gone from his face.
"I have no quarrel with you, sir," said he, with an uneasy assumption ofdignity.
"It's a want that may be soon supplied," answered Trenchard briskly,and, as he afterwards confessed, had not Wilding checked him at thatmoment, he had thrown his hat in Richard's face.
It was Vallancey who saved the situation, cursing in his heart thebearing of his principal.
"Mr. Wilding," said he, "this is very handsome in you. You are of thehappy few who may tender
such an apology without reflection upon yourcourage."
Mr. Wilding made him a leg very elegantly. "You are vastly kind, sir,"said he.
"You have given Mr. Westmacott the fullest satisfaction, and it is withan increased respect for you--if that were possible--that I acknowledgeit on my friend's behalf."
"You are, sir, a very mirror of the elegancies," said Mr. Wilding, andVallancey wondered was he being laughed at. Whether he was or not, heconceived that he had done the only seemly thing. He had made handsomeacknowledgment of a handsome apology, stung to it by the currishness ofRichard.
And there the matter ended, despite Trenchard's burning eagerness tocarry it himself to a different consummation. Wilding prevailed uponhim, and withdrew him from the field. But as they rode back to ZoylandChase the old rake was bitter in his inveighings against Wilding's follyand weakness.
"I pray Heaven," he kept repeating, "that it may not come to cost youdear."
"Have done," said Mr. Wilding, a trifle out of patience. "Could I wedthe sister having slain the brother?"
And Trenchard, understanding at last, accounted himself a numskull thathe had not understood before. But he none the less deemed it a pityRichard had been spared.