that they might have placed their hands on my shoulders.
“Pray, gentlemen, wat you want? weel a you ‘av the goodness to permit us to go on?”
I now observed for the first time, with a kind of shock, that the shorter of the two men, who prevented our advance, was the person who had accosted me so offensively at Church Scarsdale. I pulled Madame by the arm, whispering, “Let us run.”
“Be quaite, my dear Maud,” was her only reply.
“I tell you what,” said the tall man, who had replaced his high hat more jauntily than before on the side of his head, “We’ve caught you now, fair game, and we’ll let you off on conditions. You must not be frightened, Miss. Upon my honour and soul, I mean no mischief; do I, Lollipop? I call him Lord Lollipop; it’s only chaff, though; his name’s Smith. Now, Lolly, I vote we let the prisoners go, when we just introduce them to Mrs. Smith; she’s sitting in the carriage, and keeps Mr. S here in precious good order, I promise you. There’s easy terms for you, eh, and we’ll have a glass o’ curaçoa round, and so part friends. Is it a bargain? Come!”
“Yes, Maud, we must go — wat matter?” whispered Madame vehemently.
“You shan’t,” I said, instinctively terrified.
“You’ll go with Ma’am, young ’un, won’t you?” said Mr. Smith, as his companion called him.
Madame was holding my arm, but I snatched it from her, and would have run; the tall man, however, placed his arms round me and held me fast with an affection of playfulness, but his grip was hard enough to hurt me a good deal. Being now thoroughly frightened, after an ineffectual struggle, during which I heard Madame say, “You fool, Maud, weel you come with me? see wat you are doing,” I began to scream, shriek after shriek, which the man attempted to drown with loud hooting, peals of laughter, forcing his handkerchief against my mouth, while Madame continued to bawl her exhortations to “be quaite” in my ear.
“I’ll lift her, I say!” said a gruff voice behind me.
But at this instant, wild with terror, I distinctly heard other voices shouting. The men who surrounded me were instantly silent, and all looked in the direction of the sound, now very near, and I screamed with redoubled energy. The ruffian behind me thrust his great hand over my mouth.
“It is the gamekeeper,” cried Madame. “Two gamekeepers — we are safe — thank Heaven!” and she began to call on Dykes by name.
I only remember, feeling myself at liberty — running a few steps — seeing Dykes’ white furious face — clinging to his arm, with which he was bringing his gun to a level, and saying, “Don’t fire — they’ll murder us if you do.”
Madame, screaming lustily, ran up at the same moment.
“Run on to the gate and lock it — I’ll be wi’ ye in a minute,” cried he to the other gamekeeper; who started instantly on this mission, for the three ruffians were already in full retreat for the carriage.
Giddy — wild — fainting — still terror carried me on.
“Now, Madame Rogers — s’pose you take young Misses on — I must run and len’ Bill a hand.”
“No, no; you moste not,” cried Madame. “I am fainting myself, and more villains they may be near to us.”
But at this moment we heard a shot, and, muttering to himself and grasping his gun, Dykes ran at his utmost speed in the direction of the sound.
With many exhortations to speed, and ejaculations of alarm, Madame hurried me on toward the house, which at length we reached without further adventure.
As it happened, my father met us in the hall. He was perfectly transported with fury on hearing from Madame what had happened, and set out at once, with some of the servants, in the hope of intercepting the party at the park-gate.
Here was a new agitation; for my father did not return for nearly three hours, and I could not conjecture what might be occurring during the period of his absence. My alarm was greatly increased by the arrival in the interval of poor Bill, the under-gamekeeper, very much injured.
Seeing that he was determined to intercept their retreat, the three men had set upon him, wrested his gun, which exploded in the struggle, from him, and beat him savagely. I mention these particulars, because they convinced everybody that there was something specially determined and ferocious in the spirit of the party, and that the fracas was no mere frolic, but the result of a predetermined plan.
My father had not succeeded in overtaking them. He traced them to the Lugton Station, where they had taken the railway, and no one could tell him in what direction the carriage and posthorses had driven.
Madame was, or affected to be, very much shattered by what had occurred. Her recollection and mine, when my father questioned us closely, differed very materially respecting many details of the personnel of the villainous party. She was obstinate and clear; and although the gamekeeper corroborated my description of them, still my father was puzzled. Perhaps he was not sorry that some hesitation was forced upon him, because although at first he would have gone almost any length to detect the persons, on reflection he was pleased that there was not evidence to bring them into a court of justice, the publicity and annoyance of which would have been inconceivably distressing to me.
Madame was in a strange state — tempestuous in temper, talking incessantly — every now and then in floods of tears, and perpetually on her knees pouring forth torrents of thanksgiving to Heaven for our joint deliverance from the hands of those villains. Notwithstanding our community of danger and her thankfulness on my behalf, however, she broke forth into wrath and railing whenever we were alone together.
“Wat fool you were! so disobedient and obstinate; if you ‘ad done wat I say, then we should av been quaite safe; those persons they were tipsy, and there is nothing so dangerous as to quarrel with tipsy persons; I would ‘av brought you quaite safe — the lady she seem so nice and quaite, and we should ‘av been safe with her — there would ‘av been nothing absolutely; but instead you would scream and pooshe, and so they grow quite wild, and all the impertinence an violence follow of course; and that a poor Bill — all his beating and danger to his life it is cause entairely by you.”
And she spoke with more real virulence than that kind of upbraiding generally exhibits.
“The beast!” exclaimed Mrs. Rusk, when she, I, and Mary Quince were in my room together, “with all her crying and praying, I’d like to know as much as she does, maybe, about them rascals. There never was such like about the place, long as I remember it, till she came to Knowl, old witch! with them unmerciful big bones of hers, and her great bald head, grinning here, and crying there, and her nose everywhere. The old French hypocrite!”
Mary Quince threw in an observation, and I believe Mrs. Rusk rejoined, but I heard neither. For whether the housekeeper spoke with reflection or not, what she said affected me strangely. Through the smallest aperture, for a moment, I had had a peep into Pandemonium. Were not peculiarities of Madame’s demeanour and advice during the adventure partly accounted for by the suggestion? Could the proposed excursion to Church Scarsdale have had any purpose of the same sort? What was proposed? How was Madame interested in it? Were such immeasurable treason and hypocrisy possible? I could not explain nor quite believe in the shapeless suspicion that with these light and bitter words of the old housekeeper had stolen so horribly into my mind.
After Mrs. Rusk was gone
