The Star-Gazers Part 84

"When you do, sir, you shall have as fine a bit o' shooting as a gentleman could wish to have. Talk about a warm corner, sir; it shall be the best in the whole preserves."

"Well, I'm glad your daughter is getting better. Is there any prospect of her coming down here?"

"Not a bit, sir, and I don't know as I want her. They don't want me, and I don't want them. You see I'm not a fool, doctor. I know well enough that if I went seeing 'em, it would look bad before the servants.

I shouldn't be comfortable. I should want to go down in the kitchen to have my meals, so I don't go."

"Perhaps it is wise," said Oldroyd. "I'm sure it is, sir. He's made a lady of her, and, of course, he couldn't make a gentleman of me. Judy sends me some money now and then, but I allus have it sent back. I couldn't take his money. He don't like me, and has never forgiven me, and I don't like him. Poor la.s.s! She'd have done better and been happier if she'd stopped at home, and took to some stout young chap of our lot."

"Poacher?"

"Well, no, sir," said the great dark fellow, smiling grimly; "keeper, sir. There's not many poachers about here now. I told all I knowed as they must clear out, for I meant to do my dooty; and they saw that it was sense, for there'd be no chance for them again a man as knowed as much as I did, so they went off."

"By the way, Hayle," said the doctor, "didn't you go to the major on the day before his appointed wedding?"

"Night, sir, night? I went to him straight as soon as I knew it for certain; but it was days before I could get to him. When I did get face to face with him, I says, 'It's my Judith, captain,' I says, 'or one of us is going to be hung for this night's work.' He bl.u.s.tered a bit, and tried to frighten me; but he couldn't do that; and when he found I meant mischief, he gave in. He swore he'd marry her, but he cheated me then.

Next time I got hold of him, there was no nonsense, I can tell you. He rang for his man to fetch the police, and I went off; but he never stirred after that without seeing me watching him, and at last he gave in out of sheer fright, and come to where I'd got Judith waiting, and he married her. If he hadn't, I'd have--"

The man's lips tightened, and he involuntarily c.o.c.ked the double gun he carried, but only to lower it once more beneath his arm.

"I'm not a boasting man, sir," said the keeper huskily; "but I loved that gal, and the man who did her harm was no better than so much varmin to me. I should have stopped at nothing, sir; I was that wound up.

He'd give me nothing but treachery, leading my gal astray, making her lie and say she was going to nurse the old granny out there on the common, when it was only to go off in the woods to him. I told him of it all, and that I was a father--her father. I told him a rat would fight for its young, and that if he expected, because I was a common man, I was not going to do my duty by my gal, he was mistaken.

"'Why, what will you do?' he says.

"'Do?' I says to him; 'do you think I've forgotten that you shot me down out there in the fir wood that night?'

"'It was an accident,' he says.

"'It was no accident,' I says. 'There was light enough for me to see you take aim at me; and then, when I was lying half dead there in my bed, you took advantage of it to lead my child away. It's no use for you to pretend you didn't know. She told you fast enough that I was lying there, and that made it safe.'

"'Look here, sir,' I says at last, 'there shall be no more s.h.i.+lly-shally between you and me. As I say, I'll let bygones be bygones, if you'll do the right thing. If you don't--well, p'r'aps it won't be this year, nor next year. My chance will come some day, and then--'"

There was a pause, and Oldroyd marked the strange glare in the keeper's eyes as he drew in his breath with a loud hiss.

"Yes, doctor," he said, after looking round him for a few moments, as if in search of the object he named, "he'd have been like so much varmin to me, and if he hadn't married my poor la.s.s, I should have shot him as I would a stoat."

Time ran on after its fas.h.i.+on, but few changes took place at Brackley.

Sir John Day used to thank Oldroyd for introducing to him the best keeper who ever stepped, for Hayle was the higher in favour from his being a man who was a capital judge of stock, and one who could keep a good eye upon the farm when the squire went away year by year for a long stay abroad. When at home, Glynne was her uncle's constant companion in his botanical walks, and these generally ended in her being left at the cottage where Mrs Alleyne, widowed of son as well as husband, took up her residence in full view of the gloomy old Firs, lately taken by a famous astronomer, who vastly altered the former occupant's position by his eagerness to acquire Moray Alleyne's costly instruments which had been carefully cared for by his mother's hands.

At The Warren, Mrs Rolph, grown careworn and grey, resided still with her niece for companion, her son never having been there since Marjorie was left to her despair. The servants were not above talking, and rumours reached Brackley Hall that Mrs Rolph had cursed her son, and was never going to see him again, that it was a place no servant could stop in, for the old lady's temper was awful, and Miss Marjorie as mad as a March hare; while even Oldroyd hinted to his wife, after being called in, that Miss Emlin was rather flighty and strange.

"They never go out anywhere," he said; "and from what I saw, I should say they are always either quarrelling or making it up. Seem fond of one another though, all the same."

"But what do you mean by flighty and strange?" said Lucy. "You don't mean ready to flirt with men?"

Oldroyd burst into a hearty laugh, and caught up his youngest child.

"Don't be alarmed," he cried. "Never will I be false to thee. How does the song go? She's got the complaint that ladies have who have been crossed in love as folks call it. Seriously, dear, I should not be surprised if she did turn a little crazy."

"Oh, Phil; how horrible!"

"Yes; my dear," he said seriously, but with a humorous twinkle in his eye; "I understand these things. I knew a young doctor once who very nearly became a candidate for a private asylum."

"Phil!--Yes; what is it?"

"Messenger, ma'am, from Brackley. Would master be kind enough to step over."

"Oh, Phil, dear; Glynne is ill," cried Lucy, piteously. "I had a presentiment last night. Here, I'll take the children over to mamma, and come with you."

"Wait a moment," cried Oldroyd, and he ran out to speak to Sir John's groom and came back.

"All right," he said. "No one ill? Something about Hayle the keeper the man says. Wanted directly."

"Poor fellow's wound has broken out again," thought Oldroyd, as he jumped into the dog-cart the groom had waiting, and he questioned the man, who only knew that the keeper had come in to see Sir John that morning, and then he had been sent off to fetch the doctor.

"Terrible dry time, sir," said the man as the horse sped along toward the park. "We out of the stables had all to go and help the gardeners two whole days watering."

"Yes; the crops are suffering badly, my man."

"They just are, sir. The lake's half empty, and the fish getting sick, and Hayle says the boggy bits beyond the park where they get the snipe in winter's nearly all dried up."

"The conversation ended as the dog-cart was rattled up the lime avenue, and there, at the great porch, stood Sir John, the major, and Hayle the keeper."

"Morning! Glad you've come," said Sir John, shaking hands. "That will do, Smith."

The groom, who was eager to know what was the matter, drove sulkily round to the stables, while Sir John took the doctor's arm.

"Look here, Oldroyd," he said; "the keeper has made a discovery in the bog wood over yonder."

"Poacher shot!" exclaimed the doctor.

"Wait and see," said Sir John, who was looking pallid; while the major had a peculiarly stern look in his fierce face.

Oldroyd bowed, and they walked rapidly across the park, and through some of the preserves. Then in and out among the pines till an open moorland patch was reached, dotted here and there with scrubby pines, and here Sir John turned.

"Now, Hayle," he said; "you lead."

The keeper went in front, and Sir John followed; while the major came abreast of the doctor.

"We thought it better to have you with us, doctor," whispered the major.

"It's a terrible business--a clearing up of a sad event from what I can see."

Oldroyd felt more mystified than ever, but he was soon to be illumined, for the keeper led them over the dry cotton rushes and rustling reeds to a dried up pool, half in the open, half hidden by a dense growth of alder.

Here he paused and pointed.

"On yonder, Sir John, about fifty yards."