Our Admirable Betty Part 88

"Then Sergeant, go and hammer!"

The Sergeant went like one in a dream.

CHAPTER XLVIII

OF THE INSUBORDINATION OF SERGEANT ZEBEDEE TRING

"Man Jack," sighed the Colonel, ogling the wine in his gla.s.s, "now mark me, Jack, for pure Christian drink there's nought may compare with wine of Oporto, 'tis a heart-warmer, a soul-expander, a sharpener o' th'

intellect, a loosener o' tongues. Moreover it doth beget good fellowship and love o' mankind in general. Begad sir, wine of Oporto is--is--I say Oporto wine is--is, well--wine. So give me Oporto----"

"And now and then a dish of tea, George!" added the Major solemnly. At this Colonel Cleeve might have been observed to quail slightly.

"You have acquired the taste--very lately, I think, sir?" enquired the Viscount.

"True, sir," answered the Colonel, rolling his eyes, "and on the whole ha' managed it very well. Tea is none so bad--once 'tis disposed of, I've drank worse stuff ere now--aye and so has Jack. Tea hath its virtues, sir, first 'tis soon over--a dish or so may be swallowed readily enough when cool by a determined effort----"

"Though," murmured the Viscount, "though 'tis better thrown out o' the window, 'twould seem, sir."

Colonel Cleeve rolled his fierce eyes again, sprinkled himself with snuff and finally laughed:

"Agad, Viscount, ya' ha' me there true enough. Look'ee now, one dish I can manage creditably enough, two at a pinch with my lady's eye on me, but three and with Belinda's eye off me--damme, no! So--out o' the window it went, aha! But how came ya' to spy me do't--eh?"

"I came to bring you news, sir, but seeing you so--ah--particularly engaged I let it wait."

"What news, lad--ha?"

"I am become a soldier, sir. I have secured a commission in His Majesty's Third Regiment of Foot."

"Ha, the old regiment--dooce take me, Viscount, but I rejoice to hear it!" exclaimed the Colonel and leapt to his feet with hand outstretched. "The 'Third' is the one and only--eh, Jack? And hath the n.o.blest and highest traditions, yet--high and n.o.ble though they be, I'm bold to say you'll do 'em credit and be worthy of 'em, Viscount Tom--eh, man Jack?"

"Nay sir," answered the Viscount, clasping the proffered hand, "if I can but emulate in some small way nunky's and your achievements I shall be proud indeed."

"Whose company are ya' 'tached to--and when?"

"Ogilvie's sir--a fortnight hence."

"Begad, but Ogilvie's hath been cast for foreign service."

"'Tis why I chose it, sir."

"Aha!" exclaimed the Colonel, "Oho! Another case o' the heart, I judge. There was young Denholm talking but yesterday about a red coat, death and glory, or bleaching his dead bones on some foreign sh.o.r.e."

The Viscount smiled serenely:

"I do confess love hath something to do with it, sir," said he, "though not altogether. I've had the project in mind for some time."

"Love--G.o.d bless it!" exclaimed the Colonel, "love hath made a many fine soldiers ere now, sir, and begad there's nought can cure a heartache like a brisk campaign. Come, a toast--and b.u.mpers! Here's health and long life, honour and fortune to Ensign Viscount Merivale!"

So my Lord Cleeve and the Major rose and drank the toast with hearty goodwill while the Viscount, his smooth cheek a little rosier than usual, bowed his acknowledgments.

"And now," quoth the Colonel, setting down his empty gla.s.s, "the bottle's out, 'tis near twelve and I'm for bed. To-morrow, Viscount, I'll give ya' certain advices may be of service to ya' in the regiment and write ya' a letter to Ogilvie. And so good-night, sir!"

"Good-night, George!" said the Major and reaching out suddenly he grasped Lord Cleeve's hand and wrung it hard.

"Why Jack!" said the Colonel, staring, "y'are dooced impressive, one would think ya' were going out to-night on a forlorn hope. Talking o'

which, d'ya' remember the storming o' Douai, Jack? Aha, those were times--stirring times--but past and done, since, like you, I mean to quit the service for wedlock--'tis a great adventure that, Jack, belike the greatest of all, may we front it with a like resolution."

With which the Colonel bowed and betook himself to bed.

"Tom," said the Major, staring wistfully into the fire, "I'm glad you've chosen the old regiment--'ours'--very glad, because I know you will be worthy of it and this England of ours and help to add to the glory and honour of both. But Tom, as to your--your--er--love trouble, dear lad, I--trust 'tis no mistaken idea of self-sacrifice, no idea that--that she loveth--that she--I----"

"Nay sir, that you love her I do know right well, that she loveth you I cannot doubt, aye, despite the--despite the wall, with a curse on't!

But that she loveth not me I am perfectly sure. So here is no self-sacrifice, nunky, never fear. And sir," continued the Viscount, taking out his snuff-box and tapping it with one delicate finger, "sir, I have a feeling, a premonition that, so far as you and she are concerned, matters will right themselves anon. For if--if she did sit on that--that curst wall, she is always her pure, sweet self and remember, sir, she kicked the d.a.m.ned fellow's hat off!" Here he opened his snuff-box and gazed into it abstractedly as he went on: "Sir, when love cometh to such as you and she, there are few things in earth may thwart or stay such a love, 'tis a fire consumeth all obstacles and pettiness. And indeed, in my mind I see her, in days to come, here beside you, filling this great house with gladness and laughter and, wherever I may be, you will know that in your happiness I am happy too.

And sir, as she is the only woman i' the world, I do think you are the only man truly worthy of her and I--ha--I therefore--nunky--er----"

Here the Viscount inadvertently took a pinch of snuff and immediately sneezed violently: "O Lard--O Lard!" he gasped. "'Tis the d.a.m.ndest stuff! Always catches me--vilely! A--a curse--on't and--goo'-night, sir!" And, turning abruptly away he sneezed himself out of the room.

For a long while the Major stood looking down into the dying fire, then he stirred, sighed, shook his head and, extinguishing the candles, tramped heavily upstairs, closing the door of his bedchamber a little louder than was necessary. Then, seated at his writing-table he fell to work and wrote so industriously that the clocks were striking the hour of one when at last he rose and stood listening intently. The house lay very still, not a sound reached him save the whisper of the night-wind beyond his open lattice. Treading softly, he crossed to the hearth, above which the Sergeant had hung his swords, half-a-dozen light, richly-hilted walking-swords and his heavier service blade, the colichemarde. This he reached down, drew it from shabby leathern scabbard and found the steel bright and glittering with the Sergeant's unremitting care; so he sheathed it, girded it to his side and, opening a tall, carved press, took thence his old campaign cloak, stained by much hard service, and a pair of long and heavy riding-boots. Kicking off buckled shoes he proceeded to don this c.u.mbrous footgear but paused, and rising, took the spurred boots under his arm together with the cloak and crossing the wide room in stockinged feet, softly opened the door and stood again to listen; finally he took his candle, closed the door with infinite care and crept softly down the great, wide staircase. Reaching the foot he paused to look back up that n.o.ble stair and to glance round the s.p.a.cious hall with its tapestries, its dim portraits, its gleaming arms and armour then, sighing, took his way to the library. Here he paused to shift the candle from one hand to the other; then he opened the door and fell back, staring.

The Sergeant advanced one pace and came to attention. Very upright he stood in ancient, buff-lined, service coat, in cross-belts and spatterdashes, his hat at its true regimental c.o.c.k, his wig newly ironed and powdered--a soldier from the crown of his head to the lowest b.u.t.ton of his long, white gaiters, a veteran grim and ineffably calm.

The scarlet of his coat was a little faded, perhaps, but the sheen of broad white belts and the glitter of buckles and side-arms made up for that. His chin, high-poised above leathern stock, looked squarer than usual and his arm seemed a trifle stiffer as he saluted.

"Your honour," said he, "the horses are saddled and ready."

"Zeb--Zebedee!" exclaimed the Major, falling back another step. "A Gad's name what does this mean?"

"Sir," answered the Sergeant, staring stonily before him, "same do mean as I, like the horses, am ready and waiting to march so soon as you do give the word."

"Then, damme Zeb, I'll not permit it! I ride--alone. D'ye hear?"

"I hear, sir."

"You understand, Zebedee, alone!"

"Aye, sir."

"Consequently you will go back--back to bed, at once, d'ye hear?"

"Aye sir, I hear."

"Then begone."

"Axing your grace, your honour, but same can't nowise be, orders notwithstanding nevertheless--no!"

"Ha! D'ye mean you actually--refuse to obey?"

The Sergeant blinked, swallowed hard and saluted: