THE SCARECROW RIDES (12 page)

“Quickly now,” she went on. “Let me see you put on the dressing-gown
we gave you, and then I'll have some hot chocolate sent up for you. I'm
waiting.”

Hastening to obey this order, he reappeared at the window in the
added splendour of the quilted dressing-gown.

“That's better,” she laughed. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well. Did you?”

“Not very. I was anxious about our invalid, I suppose. She seems a
little better this morning, but is still dazed.”

“Poor girl,” sighed Dr. Syn.

“Yes, it's dreadful for her, isn't it? Her husband was such a
splendid young man. We were all devoted to him.”

“By the way, Miss Charlotte,” said the doctor, “I think it is my
turn to be 'fatherly.' If you spent a poor night, why are you dressed
and about so early?”

“I'm riding with my father at eleven, but I thought a gallop before
breakfast would wake me up. Breakfast is ordered late to-day, and you
are supposed to be sleeping still. Half-past nine breakfast; but it's a
moveable feast, and you can come down when you like. Would you care for
some hot chocolate now or later?”

“Now, please.”

“I'll send Robert—he's the footman who opened the door to you last
night. Oh, and if you would like him to shave you, you needn't worry.
Father says he has not met a barber to equal him in London.”

“Ah, then I will put my life into his hands and save myself the
bother of cutting my own throat,” he laughed.

She laughed too, but not at his facetious remark, but at her own
exclamation of: “So you've got it all the time, and I've set all the
servants looking for it. You see, it's not the value of the thing,
though it is quite good, but it was given me with five others by my
godmother, Lady Pembury; and as Lympne Castle is near enough for a
surprise visit any day, I have to be careful, as she's one of those
creatures who always wants to see how her presents are getting on. She
asked to see my silver-backed hair-brushes the other day, and carried
one away with her to have a dent removed. I suppose I dropped it in
your room when I brought your coat.”

“What?” asked Dr. Syn.

“Why, my lace handkerchief that you are holding so tightly,” she
answered, pointing up to his right hand.

Up to that moment Dr. Syn had been unaware that he had been doing
any such thing. He now realised that he must have clutched it all night
and risen with it still in his hand, but he had no intention of
confessing this to the charming young lady below.

“If you drop it down, I'll catch it,” she said.

“Always allowing that I am willing to part with it,” he replied.

“Oh, but think of my godmother. She can be a positive dragoon when
she's crossed. And think of me,” she pleaded, holding out her hands.

“If I were twenty, nay, ten years younger, Miss Charlotte, I should
think of nobody when it came to giving up this kerchief. But what
should an old parson do with such vanities? I should have the parish
crying 'shame.' Although, were I younger, as I say, I should find it
hard to refuse you anything. Catch.”

He dropped the kerchief and she caught it, giving him a curtesy of
thanks, which he returned with a bob of his nightcapped head which, had
the dairy-maid been witness of, would have heightened his resemblance
to Mr. Punch.

The dairy-maid, who was spying round the wall that protected the
cow-sheds, gained confidence when she saw that Miss Cobtree was joking
with the strange gentleman, and since he was now robed more respectably
than when she had first seen him, she advanced from her ambush into the
garden in order to deal with the upset milk-pails.

Charlotte went in to send up the chocolate, and Dr. Syn, closing the
window, went to unlock the door to admit Mrs. Lovell, who had taken it
upon herself to bring material for the building of a jolly fire. Dr.
Syn, with his bed-curtains half-drawn, sat upon the pillows with his
knees drawn up and chattered to her, not forgetting to ask the latest
news of the poor widow, knowing that the pleasant-looking old
housekeeper was one of the voluntary nurses.

“But what amazes me, sir,” she went on, after giving a lengthy mixed
description concerning medicines, cordials, the popularity of Abel
Clouder and Meg's love for him, “and it takes a deal to amaze an old
body like me who, with all my faults, have learned at least a
sympathetic understanding of most people, through being taught by the
many who have lavished kindness on me, but now that poor Meg is
recovered physically if not mentally, she does not distress herself so
much over poor Abel, which one would have expected and respected. But
no, sir, not a bit of it—she expends all her energy which she needs to
build herself up with, on fear. It's what the doctor calls 'obsession.”
And her obsession is really very strange.”

“How strange?” asked the doctor.

“Why, there's a worthless, God-cursed—and no wonder—drunken
ne'er-do-well in this otherwise happy village called Merry. Instead of
folk giving him the courtesy title of Mister, which a man of his years
and strength might with reason expect, he's called 'Wretched' Merry,
'Savage' Merry, 'Cruel' Merry, 'that dirty dog' Merry, 'that
double-faced' Merry, 'that fit of the miserables'—”

“In fact, everything opposite to what you and I would care to be
called, eh?” interrupted Dr. Syn.

“Exactly, sir, and I thank you for stopping me, for when that man
gets talked of, I can never stop giving my opinion of him.”

“Which is not good, eh?”

“No more than yours would be, sir, if you knew the man,” declared
the housekeeper.

“He carried my sea-chest for me last night, and I had a long talk
with him,” explained the doctor. “He is certainly a forbidding man, but
he has his qualities.”

“I should like to learn one, sir,” snorted the old lady.

“Well, he is strong-limbed for one thing. If you try the weight of
my sea-chest, you will be convinced of that. I always prefer a strong
bad man to a weak one.”

“Oh, he's strong enough,” allowed the housekeeper. “He could take a
throat in each hand and throttle them with ease, and has done so before
now, I'll be bound. There's ugly rumours about that man, sir, I can
tell you.”

“But what has he got to do with poor Meg Clouder?” he asked.

“Ah,” exclaimed the housekeeper. “That's just it. What? For with a
pretty, sweet-natured, respectably-married girl as she was, I say he
should have had nothing to do with her. And yet, if he has not been
near frightening her to death why, instead of crying out for her
husband, which would be natural, does she only go on imploring us to
keep Merry away from her. It must have been some black suggestion, and
God forbid it's no more, that can so prey on the girl's mind in the
midst of what should be collapse from natural grief.”

“A merciful dispensation of Providence, perhaps, Mrs. Lovell,”
suggested Dr. Syn. “May it not be a case where one evil drives another
out. The fear of one man overrides the love for another, and the latter
will never be death-blow that the former might have been. We have that
to be thankful for.”

“You mean that if we can ease her of her fear that by then she will
be reconciled to the loss which as yet she puts in a second place? Is
that it, sir?”

To Dr. Syn's nodding nightcap she added: “But shall we ease her of
it? If that vicious dog Merry knows the hold he has on her, he'll grip
the tighter. Aye, sir, till his teeth meet in the poor girl's heart. I
tell you he has only to be warned off Meg to make him torment her the
worse.”

The conversation was interrupted by the entry of Robert with the
promised hot chocolate. Upon the tray was a single rose with
pinky-white petals. Dr. Syn picked it up gently, or as it seemed to the
others, gingerly, as though her were afraid of breaking it. He laid it
on the palm of his hand, and slowly raising it to his face sniffed at
it audibly. Meanwhile, Robert was balancing the tray securely upon the
rich, if faded, damask covering of the bedclothes.

“Very kind of you, Robert,” said Dr. Syn.

“The gift of the rose is not mine, sir,” answered the stately young
footman, who was honest enough not to accept thanks that were not his
due.

“I meant for preparing this excellent chocolate,” explained the
doctor.

But yet again Robert insisted on being strictly honest. “I fear,
sir, that I merely had the honour of carrying up the tray. The
chocolate was prepared by Miss Charlotte herself, sir, and there is no
better hand at making it, sir, believe me. The rose was also her idea,
sir. Seeing that your reverence has been absent so long from England,
she thought that you should be welcomed by what she was pleased to call
'the heraldic flower of the realm.' There was quite a altercation
(Robert's tongue dwelt lovingly upon the word, which he felt could not
fail to win the respect due to it from the housekeeper) a pleasant
enough one, sir, and yet altercation it was, between the young ladies.
Miss Maria and Miss Cicely brought forward very spirited objections
when they saw to what use the pruning knife was to be put. You see,
sir, there has been a good deal of innocent gambling in connection with
that rose, not only below stairs, but amongst the family itself. You
see, sir, it has for some time now been the last bloom in the arbour,
and some were of the opinion that it would last the month out. It
certainly survived last night's storm in a miraculous manner.”

“My good Robert,” put in the housekeeper, “if the arbour is not
sheltered, what is?”

“And if that wasn't a big storm, what is?” retorted Robert, looking
at the housekeeper as though surprised at her daring to venture an
opinion in a gentleman's bedroom.

He turned again to the doctor, thoroughly satisfied that he had
silenced Mrs. Lovell for good and all. “So you see, sir, there was
every excuse for the younger young ladies' objection, though I must say
that when Miss Charlotte said that since the frost had come after the
storm it was better for the rose to die in the warm house than in the
cold arbour, and added that she knew for a fact that there was nothing
your reverence was so partial to as the perfume of roses, both younger
and youngest young ladies give way to the eldest young lady.”

“Very kind,” said Dr. Syn. “I am sure Mrs. Lovell will bear me out
that there is no more beautiful trait in a young lady being kind and
considerate to the old. If it were possible to feel envy towards my
dear friend the squire it would take the form of coveting such a
daughter as Miss Charlotte. I can imagine no greater happiness than to
be the proud father of such a beautiful young lady.”

“Amen,” said Mrs. Lovell, though it hardly applied in her case.

“Amen,” repeated Robert, not to be behindhand, though he was far too
young for such fatherly ambitions.

“And now that Mrs. Lovell has coaxed up such a cheerful fire, the
sooner I am dressing by it the better. I hear, Robert, that you are an
expert with the razor.”

“Before taking service with the squire, your reverence, I was
apprenticed to a barber in London, knowing that such accomplishments
are necessary to gentlemen's gentlemen. I paid a good deal of attention
to wig dressing too, for the same reason. I even cultivated
acquaintance with a French perruquier, from whom, I am bound to admit,
I learned a great deal.”

“Then bring razors, scissors, soaps, powders and all the rest of the
paraphernalia of barbering and prinking, and do your best to make an
old gentleman look respectable.”

Robert smiled as though this were a good joke and took his leave.
Mrs. Lovell also got up to go.

“I have had a good deal of experience, Mrs. Lovell, one way and
another with invalids of varying temperaments and suffering from all
manners of injuries to mind as well as body,” said Dr. Syn, “and have
been fortunate enough to see success attend my poor efforts as a
comforter. If I may be allowed to visit this poor young widow, I fancy
I may be able to remove this obsession under which she is suffering. As
to this questionable fellow, Mr. Merry—”

“Mister, indeed,” snorted the housekeeper under her breath.

“Well, I have lived so long amongst the wildest people that I fancy
I shall get this rogue under my thumb before long. In my ministry
abroad, to which I have given the best years of my life, I have had to
deal with men who made profession of committing even the seven deadly
sins daily. White men, too, Mrs. Lovell, and professed Christians just
as soon as they got scared and thought old Death was after them.”

“And you've lived with such men, sir?” asked the astonished and
horrified Mrs. Lovell.

“And that is not counting the Red Indians,” he went on. “I have a
great respect for the race on the whole, and count many a good friend
among them, being sworn brother to several chiefs. But a bad Red
Indian—well there—his ideas would be more blood-curdling than a
Spanish Inquisitor. Not that the good ones stick at much when dealing
with an enemy. But none stauncher to a friend. I'll give you an
example. Suppose now I were to be the vicar of Dymchurch—”

“We should be very lucky, sir, what with your learning and being the
squire's friend—” she said with a curtsey.

“We will suppose it then,” he replied. “And suppose in this village
I find I have a dangerous enemy—”

“Impossible, sir,” declared the housekeeper. “Unless, of course, it
was that pernicious Merry—”

“Well, let us have Merry then, by all means, as our supposition.
Well now, being a man of peace, I find that I cannot soil my hands by
punishing him—”

“Hand him over to the constables and see him hanged,” suggested the
housekeeper.

“Well, I hadn't thought of doing anything so drastic,” smiled Dr.
Syn. “In fact, I hadn't thought of punishing him, but just leaving his
own conscience to prick him—”

“Which it wouldn't,” put in the housekeeper.