The House 'Round the Corner Part 33

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH THE AREA WIDENS

If any critic, on perusing this chronicle, is moved to peevish condemnation of Armathwaite's amazing conduct that morning, the man himself would be the last to protest. He might urge that he was dazzled by the new and entrancing realm whose bright waters and fair meads he could discern beyond the present rough and dangerous ground. He might plead the literal truth--that when he went in pursuit of Marguerite Ogilvey he had no more intention of declaring his love than of hastening to Dover and endeavoring forthwith to swim the English Channel. But, making every allowance for a confirmed celibate who had suddenly become a devout lover, and to whose arms the lady of his choice had committed herself without any pretense of restraint, it must still be admitted that he was guilty of a most singular omission in failing to make known to her his very ident.i.ty!

He remembered the phenomenal lapse when too late. Even to that practical side of his character which reproached the emotional side with a ridiculous forgetfulness, he could only say, in mitigation of sentence, that the sudden appearance of the car brought about such a novel situation that all else yielded to the need for prompt and skillful judgment in deciding Marguerite's immediate future.

It was all the more difficult to think logically and act decisively when Marguerite herself, ever and anon, was lifting adorably shy eyes to his while the two were making the best of the unusual meal he had provided.

There, nevertheless, within a few feet, stood the obedient giant whose stout mechanism rendered many things possible that were hitherto impossible. The chauffeur, who gave his name as Storr, had taken off the bonnet for a critical glance at the six cylinders which had forced nearly two tons of metal and wood up the stony and rutted surface of one of the worst moorland tracks in Yorkshire. He seemed to be more than satisfied. The water in the radiator had got rather excited, but that was only to be expected. A close eye was given to other essentials, and the tire covers were examined, but every part of the car had withstood the strain of a fearsome hill splendidly.

Storr had never doubted, but, like a prudent general, he reviewed his forces after the engagement, and found them not only intact, but ready for mightier deeds. Then, merely to gratify the sense of touch, as a horseman strokes a willing and well-groomed steed, he fingered a tap or two, shut off the engine, and asked Armathwaite if he might smoke a cigarette while awaiting further orders.

His employer thanked him for the word. It recalled the motive of Marguerite's flight. Some plan of action must be arrived at, and without delay.

"Smoke, by all means," he said, summing up the man at a glance as a bluff and honest sort of follow who would be thoroughly dependable if properly handled. "How long did the run from York to Elmdale take?"

"A little more than two hours, sir. I started at half-past seven. Your telegram said I was to arrive by noon, but our people thought they'd please a new customer by bein' a bit afore time. They didn't wire, because the car would be to hand almost as quick as a telegram."

"Can you go from Leyburn to York in two hours?"

"Easily, sir."

"Very well. Just pull your machine a few yards ahead, and Miss Ogilvey and I will discuss the day's program."

Storr obeyed, and Armathwaite outlined to a willing listener the project he had already formed.

"First," he said, "here is a telegram from your mother. I opened it. I thought it was best----"

"Why, of course, Bob dear; why shouldn't you?"

Bob dear! It was very pleasant to hear the phrase on Marguerite's lips, yet it rendered doubly distasteful the suggestion he had in mind; since where is the lover who will bring himself willingly to the task of telling his lady-love that they must part? But it had to be done.

Marguerite must go--not quite so far as Cornwall, it is true, but much too far to please him, and he must return to the Grange, where, a sure instinct warned him, weighty matters would be settled that day.

A cry of dismay from the girl gave him the cue he wanted.

"Oh, she has started already!" she almost sobbed. "While I was flying to Warleggan she is traveling North. We shall pa.s.s each other on the way!"

"No," he said, "that must not happen. You are going to be a good little sweetheart, and do as I tell you. This most excellent and comfortable car will take you to York. There you will ascertain from an obliging station-master what time Mrs. Ogilvey can arrive from Tavistock, a.s.suming she left there at or about the hour stated in the message, and you'll meet her. At a rough guess, Mrs. Ogilvey should be in York about six o'clock. You'll escort her to the station hotel, give her something to eat, and calmly discuss the whole affair while the same luxurious automobile is bringing you back to Elmdale."

"But, what of the danger dad may be in?"

"I am coming to that. I believe, somehow, that your mother will relieve your mind in that respect. Remember, I have always held, since the main features of this extraordinary affair became clear, that your father has acted throughout with his wife's cognizance, if not with her complete approval. Now, if that is so, she is the one person who can decide whether you return with her to Elmdale or hasten through the night to Warleggan. Again hazarding a guess, I don't think you could reach your father to-night, even though you caught the first available train from York. Cornwall is a long way from Yorkshire. By starting this minute, you might be in York by one o'clock. Allowing eleven hours for the journey, an estimate I am doubtful about, you would arrive at Tavistock at midnight, whereas it is highly probable there is no such train, nor one so rapid. By the way, why, do you think, did Mrs. Ogilvey telegraph from Tavistock?"

"She would drive there--some twelve miles. No telegram could be dispatched from Warleggan before the post office opened at eight."

"She may have had an even more powerful reason. The message is sent to 'Garth,' not to 'Ogilvey.' Isn't it quite rational to suppose that she hopes no one in Elmdale knows about the change of name?"

"Yes," said Meg, trying to look calmly judicial. "That sounds reasonable."

"Then every consideration points to the wisdom of awaiting your mother at York."

"But, Bob dear, have you thought of the awful result if Percy carries out his threat?"

"Percy will not do anything dramatic to-day, I promise you. I have scared him badly already, and I'm going back now with the full intent that he shall cause no more mischief until I hear from, or see, Mrs.

Ogilvey and yourself, or one of you. Perhaps, to relieve my anxiety, you will send a message from York announcing your decision?"

"Yes; I'll do that. You are really convinced that I ought to meet mother?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Then you can trust me. I'll do as you say. You needn't have any fear that between here and York I'll change my mind. Bob, you believe me, don't you, when I tell you that I ran away this morning because I dared not take you into my confidence? I could not bring myself to explain the true meaning of Percy's horrid insinuations."

"Please, forget Percy. I'll deal with him."

"But you won't be too angry with him? It is hard to endure, I know, that he should play on his defenseless state, but, if he were quite well and uninjured, he could offer you no resistance."

He laughed. The notion of Percy Whittaker and himself engaging in a desperate conflict for physical supremacy was intensely amusing.

"If you mean that I am not to a.s.sault him, I promise that with all my heart," he said. "I gripped him rather strenuously an hour ago, I admit, but then I was angry with him. Now I feel that I owe him a deep debt of grat.i.tude, because he has brought to pa.s.s something which I hardly dared dream of. Don't you see, dearest, that if Percy hadn't behaved meanly to you I shouldn't now be calling you dearest, and wishing that our sharp-eyed chauffeur were anywhere else in the wide world but where he is. Now, no more words, but deeds! Off you go to York! What money have you?"

"Plenty."

"What do you call plenty?"

"Dad gave me fifteen pounds when I left home, and I've spent less than five."

"Well, then, sweetheart, it is good-by till this evening."

"Oh, Bob darling, I shall pray that it may be so!"

Storr received his orders without lifting an eyelid, which was highly creditable to him, having regard to the peculiar conditions under which he had met his employer. Of course, he was ignorant of the state of affairs at the Grange. He imagined that Mr. Armathwaite was escorting a young lady over the moor to Leyburn, which was a funny way to reach York, when Nuttonby lay on a better road, which was also the more direct route. But there was nothing unusual in the fact that he should be taking Miss Ogilvey to meet her mother, while the car would make light of the three journeys.

"You'd better have this, sir, and see if it's right," he said, giving Armathwaite a note. A glance showed that it dealt with terms for the hire of the car.

"Tell your people it is quite satisfactory," said Armathwaite, and, after a farewell pressure of Meg's hand, and a look from the brown eyes which remained with him like a blessing, the car started. He watched until it had vanished over a long undulation of the road, and saw the last flutter of Meg's handkerchief ere she crossed the sky-line. Then he mounted the bicycle, and rode swiftly back to the tiny hamlet in which, during two short days, he had pa.s.sed through so many and so much varied experiences.

Looking down from the crest of the hill at the sunlit panorama of farm and field, woodland and furze-grown common, with Elmdale's cl.u.s.ter of homesteads nestling close beneath the moor, and the spire of Bellerby Church (near which lay the mortal remains of "Stephen Garth") rising above a cl.u.s.ter of elms in the middle distance, it seemed to be a fantastic and unreal notion that so many of life's evils, so much of its beauty and happiness, could have found full scope for their expression in that tiny and remote place.

As the hill was too dangerous in parts to ride, he dismounted twice. He was about to coast down the last straight slope to the house when a thought struck him with such blinding force that he nearly lost control of the bicycle. Fool that he was, his first care should have been to tell Marguerite that his name was not Armathwaite; that he had adopted an incognito simply to avoid the prying eyes and inquisitive tongues of those with whom he might be brought in contact; that, in marrying him, she was stepping forth from the seclusion of a student's retreat into the full glare of public life. Oh, the deuce take all complications and worries! He had won Marguerite by extraordinary means--he must do his wooing in more orthodox manner, and in his true colors.

He was traveling at a rate which kept pace with the tornado in his mind, but the second nature brought into being by an adventurous career bent a watchful eye on the inequalities of the road, so that he was actually slowing up somewhat short of the gate leading to the Grange garden when he became aware of an unusual concourse of people gathered in the roadway. A motor-car and two dog-carts were halted near the gable of Mrs. Jackson's cottage, and a number of men--among them two in police uniform--who seemed to have collected into a chatting group, dissolved into units when he approached.

He recognized a groom at a horse's head as Dr. Scaife's man; all the others were total strangers.

But not for long.