Starvecrow Farm Part 62

Behind the closed door the two haggard-faced women looked at one another. Mrs. Tyson had not left her bed for many days. But she had heard the knocking at the outer door and the answering growl of the dog chained under her window; and hoping, yet scarcely daring to expect, that the nightmare was over and her husband or her friends were at hand, she had dragged herself from the bed and opened the door as soon as the knocking sounded in turn at that.

For days, indeed, one strand, and one only, had held the feeble, frightened woman to life; and that strand was the babe that lay beside her. The sheep will fight for its lamb, the wren for its fledglings.

And Mrs. Tyson, if she had not fought, had for the babe's sake borne and endured; and surrounded by the ruffians who had the house at their mercy, she had survived terrors that in other circ.u.mstances would have driven her mad.

True, Bess had not ill-treated her. On the contrary, she had been almost kind to her. And lonely and ill, dependent on her for everything, the woman had lost much of her dread of the girl; though now and again, in sheer wantonness, Bess would play with her fears.

Certain that the weak-willed creature would not dare to tell what she knew, Bess had boasted to her of Henrietta's presence and her danger and her plight. When Henrietta, therefore, the moment the door was unfastened, flung herself into the room, and with frantic fingers helped to secure the door behind her, Mrs. Tyson was astonished indeed; but less astonished than alarmed. She was alarmed in truth, almost to swooning, and showed a face as white as paper.

Luckily, Henrietta had resumed the wit and courage of which stupor had deprived her for a time. She had no longer Bess at her elbow to bid her do this or that. But she had Bess's example and her own spirit.

There was an instant of stricken silence, during which she and the woman looked fearfully into one another's faces by the light of the poor dip that burned beside the gloomy tester. Then Henrietta took her part. She laid down the child, to which she had clung instinctively; and with a strength which surprised herself, she dragged a chest, that stood but a foot on one side of the opening, across the door. It would not withstand the men long, but it would check them. She looked doubtfully at the bed, but mistrusted her power to move it. And before she could do more, a sound reached them from an unexpected quarter, and struck at the root of her plans. For it came from the window; and so unexpectedly, that it flung them into one another's arms.

Mrs. Tyson screamed loudly. They clung to one another.

"What is it? What is it?" Henrietta cried.

Then she saw a spectral face pressed against the dark cas.e.m.e.nt. A hand tapped repeatedly on a pane.

Henrietta put Mrs. Tyson from her and approached the window. She discovered that the face was a woman's face, and with fumbling fingers she slid aside the catch that secured the window.

"Tell the missus not to be scared," whispered an anxious voice. "Tell her it's me! I got up the pear tree to see her, and I saw you. I knew that Bess was lying, and I thought I'd--I thought I'd just get up and see for myself!"

"Thank G.o.d!" Henrietta cried, clinging to the sill in a pa.s.sion of relief as she recognised the stolid-faced servant. "You know me?"

"You're the young lady that's missing?" the woman answered, taking a securer hold of the window-frame, and bringing her head into the room.

"I know you. I was thinking if I dared scare the missus, when I see you tumble in--I nigh tumbled down with surprise! I'll go hot-foot and take the news, miss!"

"No, no, I shall come!"

"You let me go and fetch 'em! I'll bet, miss, I'll be welcome. And do you bide quiet and safe. Now we know where you are, they'll not harm you."

But Henrietta had heard a footstep on the stairs, and she was not going to bide quiet. She had no belief in her safety.

"No," she said resolutely. "I am coming. Can you take the child?"

"Well, if you must, but----"

"I must! I must!"

"Lord, you are frightened!" the woman muttered, looking at her face.

And then, catching the infection, "Is't as bad as that?" she said.

"Ay, give me the child, then. And for the Lord's sake, be quick, miss.

This pear is as good as a ladder, and the dog knows me as well as its own folk!"

"The child! The child!" Henrietta repeated. Again her ear had caught the sound of shuffling feet, and of whispering on the stairs. She carried the child, which seemed paralysed by fear, to the sill, and delivered it into the other's arm.

The sill of the window was barely ten feet from the ground, and an old pear tree, spread-eagled against the wall, formed a natural ladder.

The dog, which had been chained under the window to guard against egress, knew the woman and did no more than stand below and wag its tail. In two minutes Henrietta was safe on the ground, had taken the child from the other's arms, and was ready for flight.

But the servant would not leave until she had made sure that her mistress had strength to close the window. That done, she turned to Henrietta.

"Now come!" she said. "And don't spare yourself, miss, for if they catch us after this they'll for certain cut our throats!"

Henrietta had no need of the spur, and at their best pace the two fled down the paddock, the servant-wench holding Henrietta by the elbow and impelling her. The moon had risen, and Mrs. Tyson, poor, terrified, trembling woman, watching them from the window, could follow them down the pale meadow, and even discern the dark line of the rivulet, along the bank of which they pa.s.sed, and here and there a patch of higher herbage, or a solitary boulder left in the middle of the turf for a scratching-post. Perhaps she made, in leaning forward, some noise which irritated the dog; or perhaps the moonlight annoyed it. At any rate, it began to bay.

By that time, however, Henrietta and her companion had gained the shadow of the trees at the upper end of the wooded gorge through which the stream escaped. They stood there a brief while to take breath, and the woman offered to carry the child. But Henrietta, though she felt that her strength was uncertain, though she experienced an odd giddiness, was unwilling to resign her charge. And after a pause they started to descend the winding path which followed the stream, and often crossed and re-crossed it.

They stumbled along as fast as they could. But this was not very fast.

For not only was it dark in the covert, but the track was beset with projecting roots, and overhead branches hung low and sc.r.a.ped their faces. More than once startled by a rabbit, or the gurgle of the falling water, they stopped to listen, fancying that they were pursued. Still they went fast enough to feel ultimate safety certain; and Henrietta, as she held an end of the other's petticoat between her fingers and followed patiently, bade herself bear up a little longer and it would be over. It would soon be over, and she--she would put his child in his arms. It would soon be over, and she would be able to sink down upon her bed and rest. For she was very weary--and odd.

Very, unaccountably weary. When she stumbled or her foot found the descent longer than she expected, she staggered and swayed on her feet.

But, "We shall soon be safe! We shall soon be safe!" she told herself.

"And the child!"

Meanwhile they had pa.s.sed the darkest part of the little ravine. They had pa.s.sed the place where the waterfalls made the descent most arduous. They could even see below them a piece of the road lying white in the moonlight.

On a sudden Henrietta stopped.

"You must take the child," she faltered, in a tone that startled her companion. "I can't carry--it any farther."

"I'll take it. You should have given it me before!" the woman scolded.

"That's better. Quiet, my lad. I'll not hurt you!" For the child, silent hitherto, had begun to whimper. "Now, miss," she continued sharply, "bear up! It's but a little way farther."

"I don't think--I can," Henrietta said. The crisis over, she felt her strength ebbing away in the strangest fashion. She swayed, and had to cling to a tree for support. "You must go on--without me," she stammered.

"I'll not go on without you," the woman answered. She was loath to leave the girl helpless in the wood, where it was possible that she might still come to harm. "You come down to the road, miss. Pluck up!

Pluck up! It's but a step!"

And partly by words, partly by means of a vigorous arm, the good creature got the girl to the bottom of the wood, and by a last effort, half lifted, half dragged her over the stile which closed the gap in the wall. But once in the road, Henrietta seemed scarcely conscious where she was. She tottered, and the moment the woman took her hands from her, she sank down against the wall.

"Leave me! Leave me!" she muttered, with a last exertion of sense.

"And take the child! I'm--giddy. Only giddy! I shall be better in a minute." Then, "I think--I think I am fainting."

"I think you are," the woman answered drily. She stooped over her.

"Poor thing!" she said. "There's no knowing what has happened to her!

But she'll freeze as she is!"

And whipping off her thick drugget shawl--they made such shawls in Kendal--she wrapped it about the girl, s.n.a.t.c.hed up the child, and set off running and walking along the road. The Low Wood Inn lay not more than four furlongs away, and she counted on returning in twenty minutes.

"Ay, in twenty minutes!" she muttered, and then, saving her breath, she kept on steadily along the moonlit road, soothing the child with a word when it was necessary. In a very brief time she was out of sight.

For a while all was still as death. Then favoured by the rec.u.mbent position, Henrietta began to recover; and presently, but not until some minutes had elapsed, she came to herself.

She sighed deeply, and gazing upward at the dark sky, with its twinkling stars, she wondered how she came to be in such a strange place; but without any desire to rise, or any wish to solve the riddle. A second sigh as deep as the first lifted the oppression from her breast; and with returning strength she wondered what was the long dark line that bounded her vision. Was it, could it be, the head-board of her bed? Or the tester?

It was, in fact, the wall that bounded the wood, but she was not able to take that in. And though the nipping air, blowing freely on her face, was doing its best to refresh her, and she was beginning to grope in her memory for the past, it needed a sound, a voice, to restore to her, not her powers, but her consciousness. The event soon happened. Two men drew near, talking in low fierce tones. At first, lying there as in a dream, she heard without understanding; and then, still powerless under the spell, she heard and understood.

"Why didn't you," Lunt's voice growled hoa.r.s.ely, "loose the dog, as I told you? We'd have had her by now."

"Ay, and have had the country about our ears, too," Giles answered angrily.