The Reluctant Widow

Chapter VIII

Since the clock in the bookroom did not go, Elinor had no means of ascertaining for how long she was left confronting Nicky’s zealous pet. It seemed a very long time. While she remained still, Bouncer lay peaceably enough, with his head on his paws and his eyes half Closed. But the smallest movement brought his head and his bristles up, while an attempt to win him over by blandishments he took in such bad part that Elinor thought it prudent to desist. Her workbox and the pile of linen to be mended were alike out of her reach, but she found that by stretching out her arm she could reach the whatnot that stood near her chair. There was a small book upon one of its shelves, and she managed to secure this without incurring censure from her guardian. It proved to be a copy of the Turf Remembrancer, and for the next hour and more it was Elinor’s only solace. She culled from it much valuable information such as had not before come in her way, and followed with bewildered interest the careers of several animals who rejoiced in names which ranged from the comparatively commonplace to the wildly fanciful. She could conjure up little enthusiasm for Lightning or Thunderbolt, but read with satisfaction an account of the parentage and prowess of Watch-them-and-catch-them and of Fear-not-Victorious, and would have been almost ready to answer a catechism on their form and the weights they would be likely to carry in any forthcoming race.

But however entrancing the names of race horses might be, the Turf Remembrancer could not but pall upon her. By the time Barrow came into the room midway through the afternoon she was heartily sick of it, and would have been hard put to it not to throw it at Nicky’s head had it been he and not Barrow who entered.

“You never ate the luncheon Mrs. Barrow sent up to the dining parlor, ma’am,” observed Barrow reproachfully. “She made sure you’d be glad of a bite, too.”

“Yes, and so I should,” said Elinor crossly, “but this stupid dog of Mr. Nicholas’s will not let me move from my chair! Do, pray, call him off!”

“Whatever did Master Nicky take and leave that nasty brute here for?” demanded Barrow, eying Bouncer with dislike.

“He—well, he thought I should have him to guard me!” explained Elinor rather lamely.

“Have him to guard you?” said Barrow incredulously. “It’s midsummer moon with Master Nick, surely! What would you be wanting with a guard, ma’am?”

“I don’t want one at all and I wish you will call him away!”

Barrow looked with considerable misgiving at the dog. Bouncer returned the stare enigmatically. “The thing is,” said Barrow, “that there dog is a tedious fierce brute, ma’am, and I’d as lief let Master Nick call him off.”

“But Master Nick is not here!”

Barrow looked nonplused. As his mistress clearly expected him to do something, he patted his leg in a tentative way and invited Bouncer to come to him. Bouncer growled at him. This caused the servitor to retire strategically into the doorway, seeing which Bouncer rose to his feet and barked with all the zest of a dog who finds his threats succeed beyond his expectations.

“Try to tempt him away with some meat!” commanded the exasperated prisoner.

“Ay, that’s what I’ll do!” agreed Barrow, and went off to procure some of the mutton laid out for Elinor’s refreshment.

He returned with this and with Mrs. Barrow too, who stalked in armed with a long-handled broom, declaring her intention of soon ridding mistress of the plaguey creature. Bouncer, not unnaturally, took instant exception to the broom, and such a pandemonium of barking, scolding, and growling ensued that Elinor could only beg her would-be rescuer to go away. Barrow then held down the plate of meat and chirped at Bouncer, who made one of his short rushes at him and so caused him to drop the plate and leap back to the door. Bouncer hastily consumed the offering, licked his lips, and waited expectantly for more.

“There’s only one thing to be done, ma’am,” said Barrow. “I’ll have to shoot him, that’s what I’ll have to do.”

“Good God, no!” cried Elinor. “I would not have you do such a thing for the world! Why, whatever would Master Nicky say?”

“Master Nicky indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Barrow indignantly. “I’ll Master Nicky him when I see him! The idea of his playing off his tricks on you, ma’am! I’ve a very good mind to tell his lordship what a naughty boy he is!”

“Indeed, I—I think he meant it for the best!” said Elinor. “And he said he would come back presently. Do you think you could contrive to bring a tray to me, with some bread and butter and coffee? And perhaps you might also push that table to where I may reach it, so that I may at least occupy myself with darning those tablecloths!”

Bouncer seemed disinclined at first to permit this disarrangement of the room, but Mrs. Barrow had the happy notion of bribing him with a large marrow bone. He accepted this and lay down with it between his paws, gnawing it, and beyond growling in a minatory fashion made no further objection to the table’s being pushed toward Elinor. He seemed so intent on his bone that she tried the experiment of rising from her chair. This was going too far, however, and she was obliged to sit down again in a hurry. Bouncer then returned to his bone. His teeth appeared to be in excellent condition. When Mrs. Barrow cautiously came back into the room with a tray he cocked a watchful eye at her and paused in his work of demolition to consider the possibilities of the tray. He evidently thought it worth while to investigate it, for he rose and approached the table, Mrs. Barrow told him to be off, so he chased her from the room and returned to try what blackmail could achieve in the way of sustenance. Elinor gave him a crust, which he rejected scornfully. He went back to his bone and remained happily occupied with it for some time and finally buried what remained of it under one of the sofa cushions.

“You are an odious animal!” Elinor said severely. “I hope your master beats you!”

He yawned at her contemptuously, cast himself down before the fire again, and resumed his vigil.

Not until nearly five o’clock did Nicky return to Highnoons, and by that time Elinor was in such a temper that she could happily have boxed his ears. He was admitted by Barrow, who had evidently told him how his plan had miscarried, for he came at once to the bookroom, laughing delightedly and saying, “Oh, Cousin Elinor, indeed I beg your pardon! Have you been there all day? I don’t mean to laugh, but it is the drollest thing!” He bent over Bouncer, who was frisking round him joyfully. “You rascal, what have you been about? Yes, good dog. Down! Down!”

“He is not a good dog! He is an excessively bad dog!” said Elinor, quite exasperated. “It is all very well for you to stand there laughing and encouraging that horrid creature, but I am quite out of patience with you!”

“Well, I am really excessively sorry,” Nicky said penitently, “but it was not Bouncer’s fault! He did not perfectly understand me! But only fancy his guarding you like that all this while! I cannot help being pleased with him for, you know, I was not above half sure that he would guard anything! You must own that he is a clever fellow!”

“I own nothing of the sort,” said Elinor, getting up and shaking out her skirts. “He appears to me to have a very disordered intellect. And pray what have you been about all this time? And where is your brother?”

“Oh, he is not here!” Nicky said blithely. “When I reached home again our butler told me that he was gone up to London. He will not be back until tomorrow, I dare say. But do not be in a pucker, ma’am! I mean to stay with you, and only fancy if we caught that stranger without Ned’s knowing anything about it! That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

“Nicky, I am in no humor for this nonsense, and so I warn you!” said Elinor. “If Lord Carlyon is away from home, I insist on your securing that door!”

“Oh, no, I have a much better notion than that!” Nicky said blithely. “If you should not dislike it, I mean to spend the night in that room abovestairs, and then if anyone comes up the secret stair, I shall catch him.”

The outraged widow gave him to understand in the plainest terms that nothing could exceed her dislike of this project. He remained entirely unconvinced, merely setting himself to coax and cajole her into relenting. After twenty minutes of his persuasive eloquence she began to weaken, partly because she was a kindhearted woman and perceived that a refusal to let him amuse himself in this way would bitterly disappoint him, and partly because from having had a good deal to do with young gentlemen of tender years she was well aware that however weary of the argument she might be, he would be ready to continue it with unabated vigor until a late hour of the night. She gave way at last, and with an acid reference to the well-known effect of the dropping of water upon stones, said that he might do as he pleased.

Passing over this rider with all the air of one too well accustomed to listen to such odious comparisons to pay any heed to them, Nicky favored her with one of his blinding smiles and said that he had known all along that she was pluck to the backbone. She thanked him for this tribute and inquired how he meant to account for his presence in the house to the Barrows.

“Oh, there can be no difficulty!” he answered. “I shall say you are in the fidgets because of what happened last night, and I am come so that you may be comfortable.”

“Well, if you are set on keeping watch over that stair, I think you should tell Barrow the whole, and let him bear you company,” she said.

This, however, he would by no means agree to, indignantly demanding whether she thought him to be incapable of dealing unassisted with any midnight marauder. She mendaciously assured him that she had every confidence in his ability to capture, single-handed, any number of desperate persons, and he relented enough to show her a serviceable pistol which he had had the forethought to bring with him.

She eyed this weapon with misgiving. “Is it loaded?” she asked.

“Loaded! Ay, of course it is loaded!” he said impatiently. “What would be the use of it if it were not, pray? It is not cocked, however, so if you are thinking that it may go off you may be quite easy on that score.”

“Oh!” she said. “Is it your own pistol?”

“Well, no,” he admitted airily. “As it happens, it is one of Ned’s. But he will not object to my having borrowed it.”

“Oh!” said Elinor again. She added carelessly, “I dare say you are quite in the habit of using firearms?”

“Good God, yes!” he replied. “Why, what a flat you must be thinking me! Ned taught me to handle a gun when I was scarcely breeched!”

“Did he indeed?” said Elinor politely. “What a prodigy you must have been! I had no notion of it! You must forgive me!”

He grinned. “Well, I am sure I was no more than twelve, at all events; And naturally I have shot at Manton’s times out of mind. I don’t mean to say that I am a crack shot like Ned and Harry, but I have more than once culped a wafer.”

“You put me quite at my ease. And yet I cannot help thinking that perhaps it might be as well if you did not shoot at anyone unless you found yourself absolutely obliged to.”

“Indeed I shall not! Particularly now that this inquest is hanging over us all. I don’t wish to be putting Ned to more trouble, you know.”

“No,” she agreed. “I do feel that to expect him to bring you off safe from two such inquiries might tax even his ingenuity a little far.”

“Oh, he would contrive it, never fear!” he said cheerfully. “But don’t put yourself in a pucker! I don’t mean to do more than hold the fellow up and discover what mischief he is up to. And I’ll tell you what, Cousin Elinor. If he does come again, I shall not show myself immediately. I shall follow him to see where he goes and what he finds. I think that is what I should do, don’t you?”

She agreed to it, tactfully concealing from him her comfortable conviction that no midnight visitor was at all likely to reward his vigil. Had she had any real fear that the Frenchman would return she must, she believed, have alienated her youthful guest forever by divulging the whole to Barrow. She was happy in not feeling herself obliged to spoil sport in this dreary fashion, and volunteered instead to acquaint the Barrows with Ms intention of spending the night at Highnoons.

The information was greeted in the kitchen with scant favor. Mrs. Barrow opined darkly that she knew Master Nick well enough to be in no doubt that-he-was up to some mischief, while Barrow said that in his opinion to have Master Nick capering about like a fly in a tar box could afford no comfort whatsoever to anyone suffering from nervous qualms. “I tell you to your head, ma’am, that Master Nick, not to wrap it up in clean linen, is tedious loose in the hilts!” he said severely.

Mrs. Barrow, with a passing admonition to him to hold his tongue, informed her mistress that this bodeful pronouncement meant merely that Master Nick, being but a lad, was scarcely to be relied on. “But it’s no matter!” she said. “He’ll be company for you, I dare say, ma’am. But mind you make him tie that nasty dog of his up!”

This, in the event, proved to be unnecessary. Nicky had already decided that Bouncer must be shut up in one of the loose boxes, for fear of his giving tongue at the approach of a stranger. The faithful hound, therefore, after being regaled with a large plateful of meat and broken biscuits, was led off stableward, bearing in his jaws the remnants of the bone with which his hostess had thoughtfully presented him. His attitude to her now was that of one who in the execution of his duty yet bore no malice toward his victim. She could not acquit him of grinning at her, and told him that he was a vile creature, a tribute which he accepted with a flattening of his ears and a perfunctory wag of the tail.

Mrs. Cheviot and the Honorable Nicholas Carlyon dined very cosily together, off a neck of veal stewed with rice, onions, and peppercorns, followed by pippin tarts, and some ramekins which moved Nicky to send a message to the kitchen assuring Mrs. Barrow of favorable treatment if ever she should desire a post as cook up at the Hall. Barrow then set a decanter of port on the table and Elinor very correctly withdrew to the bookroom, whither her guest soon followed her with a suggestion that they should while away the evening with a rubber or two of piquet. As the pockets of both gamesters were, in Nicky’s phrase, wholly to let, they played for fabulous but imaginary stakes, with the result that when the tea tray was brought in Elinor found herself several thousand pounds to the good. Nicky very handsomely said that he only wished he could pay her the half of such a sum and they sat down to drink their tea in perfect amity.

Nicholas favored his hostess with some reminiscences of his past career which made her laugh heartily. In her turn she entranced him with an account of her father’s exploits in every realm of sport, and in this way an hour or two was very pleasantly beguiled. In fact, on such easy terms with Nicky did Elinor feel herself to be by the time they went up to bed that she seriously jeopardized the honorable position she held in his esteem by suggesting that he should allow her to have the bed made up in the room he meant to occupy so that he might pass the night in comfort. His shocked face recalled her to her senses, however, and she made haste to beg pardon, assuring him that she had spoken without thinking. He explained to her with the utmost patience that the sight of a gentleman sleeping in that room would effectually scare any intruder into a precipitate retreat. She confessed that she had been shatterbrained from a child, and they parted on the best of terms, she to lie awake for some time smiling over the simple enthusiasm of an engaging boy, he to stretch himself out on the unmade bed in the little square room determined on no account to fall asleep.

This, after the first hour, proved to be more difficult than he had bargained for, and he more than once thought wistfully of the bed made up for him in the best spare bedchamber. He had removed his riding boots and hidden them behind a chair, and his feet grew steadily colder as the night advanced. He was obliged at last to cast one of his pillows over them, which alleviated his discomfort so much that he presently began to drop asleep. Had Elinor but known it, he only half believed in his own arguments and had no very real conviction that an adventure did in very truth await him. He was at that stage in his development when, without having given up all hope that the wonderful would happen, only a part of his eager brain expected it. For this reason, it was with a feeling of delighted incredulity that he was aroused, when just slipping over the border between waking and sleeping, by a sound coming from the direction of the concealed cupboard. It jerked him fully awake and he raised himself on his elbow, hardly believing his own ears. But there could be no doubt about it. Someone was lifting the trap door in the cupboard.

With a gasp of excitement Nicky snatched up the pillow covering his feet, restored it to its place at the head of the four-poster, and slid from the bed to the floor on the farther side of it, his pistol firmly held in one hand. The moon was not shining in at the unshuttered window, but there was a fault gray light in the room enabling him to discern the outlines of the few pieces of furniture.

He heard the scroop of the panel sliding back and caught the reflection of a beam of yellow light cast on the wall. Whoever had entered by the secret stair had brought a lantern with him. Nicky’s heart beat fast, but although his mouth certainly felt a little dry suddenly, he was honestly delighted. He took care to remain crouched down behind the bedstead and breathlessly awaited events. The beam of light shifted. He heard shod feet softly crossing the room in the direction of the doorway and could scarcely refrain from raising his head to peep. The door handle turned with a tiny scraping sound and a creeping draft informed Nicky that the door stood open. He tried to peer under the bed and was rewarded by a glimpse of an oblong of that yellow light lying on the threshold of the room. Another instant and it disappeared. The unknown visitor had stepped out into the corridor. Nicky resolutely counted up to twenty before he allowed himself to rise from the floor. He was alone in the dim room, and the door, as he had guessed, stood open. He stole to it, taking care to cock his pistol, and saw the yellow light at the head of the uncarpeted stair. Again it halted. The unknown stood still, probably listening for any sound of stirring in the house, Nicky thought. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness he could vaguely perceive the outline of a figure. He flattened himself against the wall and waited. Apparently satisfied that the house slept, the figure moved again, going stealthily down the stairs. Nicky followed at a discreet interval, his stockinged feet making no sound on the wood floor. He was so excited by this time that the heavy thudding of his heart made him feel almost sick. He stole down the stairs, sliding his hand along the baluster rail and letting it take most of his weight, to obviate any treacherous creaking of the stair boards. The hall below was closely shuttered and in dense darkness, save for the oblong of light cast by the intruder’s lantern. Nicky reached the foot of the stairs in time to see the beam light up the door of the bookroom. It stopped suddenly and veered round, as though its holder had heard some sound and was turning to discover the cause of it. Nicky instinctively stepped back, collided with the suit of rusted armor behind him, and brought it clattering to the ground, himself with it. With an exasperated oath he scrambled up, thankful that his finger had not been upon the trigger of his gun, and called out, “Stand fast! I have you covered!”

The beam of light found him out. Before he was fairly on his feet again there was a flash of whiter light, a loud report, and he was knocked over again, and knew as he fell that he had been hit. He managed to get up onto one elbow and to fire in the direction of the lantern, but although his ball shattered the lantern it missed its holder, who became lost in the thick darkness. Nicky heard the shriek of bolts drawn back and shouted frantically, “Barrow! Barrow!” The next instant a shaft of moonlight and a current of cold air streamed in through the open front door, and he knew that his quarry had made good his escape.

Upstairs in the yellow bedchamber Mrs. Cheviot had just dropped off to sleep. The first shot roused her and even as she started up, scarcely crediting her ears, the second followed it and brought her out of bed in a flash, groping for her slippers. She had kept an oil lamp burning low beside her bed and she turned it up with trembling fingers. Hastily struggling into her dressing gown she ran out of the room, calling, “Nicky, where are you? Oh, what in the world are you about?”

“I’m in the hall,” his voice answered her, a trifle faintly but reassuringly cheerful. “The devil’s in it that I missed the fellow!”

She hurried down the stairs, holding the lamp up, and saw him rather unsteadily picking himself up. “Nicky! Good God, do not tell me he did indeed come back?”

“Come back? Of course he did!” Nicky said, cautiously feeling his shoulder. “What’s more, I should have had him if you would not keep a damned suit of armor in the stupidest place anyone ever thought of!

Oh, I beg pardon! But indeed it is enough to try the patience of a saint!”

“Nicky, you are hurt!” she cried, quite horrified. “Oh, if I had dreamed that anything was likely to happen I would never—My poor boy, lean on me! Did he fire at you? I heard two shots and I was never more shocked in my life! Good God, you are bleeding! Let me help you into a chair this instant!”

“I think he winged me,” said Nicky, allowing himself to be assisted to a tattered leather chair and sinking down into it. “I never touched him, but I did shatter his lantern, and that would have been pretty fair shooting, I can tell you, if I had been aiming at it. But it is the most cursed mischance, Cousin! I have no notion who he was or what he wanted, except that he was making for the bookroom, which I guessed he would be in any event.”

“Oh, never mind that!” she said, setting the lamp down on the table and running to shut the front door.

“As long as you are not badly wounded! Oh, what in the world will Lord Carlyon say to this? I am culpably to blame!”

Nicky grinned feebly. “Hell say it was just like me to make such a botch of it. Don’t be in a taking! It’s only a scratch!”

By this time Barrow had appeared on the scene, a tallow candle held waveringly in one hand and on his face an expression compound of amazement and consternation. He was sketchily attired in breeches and his nightshirt, but he forgot this unconventional raiment when he saw Nicky clutching one hand to his left shoulder and came hurrying down the stairs, clucking with dismay. He was almost immediately followed by his spouse, scolding and exclaiming at once. Between them, she and Elinor eased the coat from Nicky’s shoulders and laid bare a wound which, though it bled nastily, Mrs. Barrow announced to be not by any means desperate.

“I believe you are right!” Elinor said, with a sigh of relief. “It is too high to have touched any fatal spot! But a doctor must be fetched instantly!”

“Oh, fudge! It’s nothing!” Nicky said, trying to shake them off.

“Be still, Master Nicky, will you?” said Mrs. Barrow. “Likely you have the ball lodged in you! But who fired at you? Sakes alive, what is the world acoming to? Barrow, don’t stand there gawping! Fetch some of Mr. Eustace’s brandy to me straight, man! Oh, dear, what a hem setout this is, to be sure!”

Elinor, meanwhile, had snatched Barrow’s candle from him and had hurried into the bookroom. She came back with one of the tablecloths she had been mending in her hand, and began to tear it into serviceable strips. Nicky was looking very faint and had his eyes closed, but he revived when Barrow forced some brandy down his throat, choked, coughed, and again said that it was only a scratch. Elinor ordered Barrow to support him upstairs to the spare bedroom, and followed anxiously in their wake carrying the torn cloth and the brandy bottle. By the time Nicky had been laid upon the bed Mrs. Barrow had fetched a bowl of water and was ready to bathe his wound. She and Elinor stanched the bleeding and bound the shoulder as tightly as they could. The patient smiled sweetly up at them and murmured, “What a rout you do make! I shall be as right as a trivet by morning.”

“Great boast, small roast!” grunted Barrow, covering him with the quilt. “I’d best ride for the doctor, no question. But who shot you, Master Nicky? Don’t tell me that plaguey Frenchy was in the house again, because I double-bolted every door, and so I’ll swear to, sure as check!”

“I don’t know if it was he or another,” Nicky replied, shifting uneasily on his pillows. “I didn’t mean to tell you, but he came in by a secret stair that goes down the bakehouse chimney. I found it this morning.”

Mrs. Barrow gave a scream and dropped the strip of linen she was rolling into a bandage.

“Do-adone, Martha!” said Barrow, happy to be able to take a lofty tone with her. “Master Nicky’s gammoning you. That old stair’s been shut this many a year!”

“Well, it has not,” said Nicky, nettled to find that Barrow knew of his discovery. “And I’m not gammoning you! I was in that room where the entrance to it is and I saw this fellow come out of the cupboard.”

Mrs. Barrow sat down plump upon the nearest chair and expressed her conviction that she was unlikely ever to recover from the shock her nerves had sustained,

“You shouldn’t ought to have stayed there without me to see you didn’t come to no harm, Master Nick!” said Barrow. “The cat’s in the cream pot now, surely, for what his lordship will have to say about this night’s work I daren’t, for my ears, think on! If it ain’t like you, sir, to be flying at all game, and never no thought taken to what may come of it! Ah, well, I’ll saddle one of the horses and fetch Dr. Greenlaw to you straight!”

“But what in the name of heaven can anyone want in this house?” demanded Elinor.

“There’s no saying what any Frenchy may want,” said Barrow austerely, “but you can lay your life, ma’am, it ain’t anything good.”