The Dust of Conflict. Harold Bindloss
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Название: The Dust of Conflict
Автор: Harold Bindloss
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4064066206956
isbn:
“Clever!” said Appleby. “I begin to understand the thing.”
“Well,” said Tony, “I never went near his place since then, and the girl went away, but soon after I was engaged to Violet, Davidson turned up again. This time it was a more serious tale—the usual one—but you have got to believe what I told you.”
“Yes,” said Appleby, “I think I can. You were often a fool, Tony, but that contented you.”
“I gave him twenty pounds. If I’d had any sense I would have knocked him down instead; but it was an unpleasant story, and I was engaged to Violet. Godfrey Palliser was bent on the match too, though it wasn’t that which influenced me. Then Davidson commenced to come for money regularly, and I can’t get out of the fact that I’ve been subsidizing him without perjury; while it’s evident that if I told the truth now nobody would believe me. I tell you, Bernard, the thing has been worrying the life out of me.”
This was apparent from his strained voice and the dejection in his face, but Appleby smiled reassuringly. “You should have gone to a lawyer long ago, Tony; but you can leave it to me,” he said. “Davidson expects you to give him money to-night?”
“Yes. He makes me come out at midnight and meet him to show he holds the whip over me. Thirty pounds—and I can only raise twenty—at half-past eleven by the fir spinny! Have you the slightest hope of doing anything with him?”
Appleby nodded as he took out his watch. “I shouldn’t wonder if I bring you good news to-morrow. Remember, you are to say nothing to anybody. Give me what money you have and then go to sleep. You look as if you needed it.”
He took the notes Palliser handed him, and when he went away hung about the head of the stairway until Violet Wayne came up with a white-haired lady. He contrived to catch her eye, and though she passed on with her companion within five minutes she came back again.
“Well?” she said expectantly.
Appleby smiled. “If you can let me have ten pounds and ask no questions I think it will be an excellent investment, though it is quite possible that I shall be able to hand you them back to-morrow,” he said. “If I were a richer man I would not ask you.”
The girl made a little gesture of impatience and flitted away, but in a few minutes she once more stood beside him, a trifle breathless, and there was a crisp rustle, as she slipped something into his hand.
“Thank you ever so much! When you can you will tell me,” she said.
Appleby only nodded, and went down the stairway. He took a riding crop from the rack in the hall, and then passed through the drawing-room into the conservatory, the outer door of which was not fastened yet. He opened it noiselessly and slipped out into the night, taking the key with him; but, though he did not know this, a man who afterwards remembered it saw him and noticed that he carried the riding crop.
II—DAVIDSON MEETS HIS MATCH
IT was with confused feelings that Appleby, treading softly as he crossed the gravelled terrace, slipped into the gloom of a shrubbery. There was a trace of frost in the air, and the stars shone brightly, but here and there a thin white mist hung in filmy wisps. He was, however, conscious of an elation which had a curious bracing effect. Violet Wayne had trusted him with her confidence, and it was the first time a woman of her station had cast more than a passing glance on him. Her reposeful serenity, with its faint suggestion of imperiousness, had impressed him more than her beauty, and he was sensible of an unbounded respect and admiration for Tony’s fiancée. Tony had also, in his indolent fashion, and perhaps because the favors he dispensed cost him nothing, been a good friend to him, which was, however, not astonishing, since Appleby had fought most of his battles for him and stood between him and the results of his easy-going carelessness at school. Tony Palliser was one of the men who need the guidance of a stronger hand, and usually obtain it.
Appleby had, however, affairs of his own to think of that night, and as he swung across a misty meadow the half-formed resolution which had been long in his mind took definite shape, and he decided he would not go back to the drudgery his soul detested. His father had risen by valor from the ranks, and the instincts he had stubbornly held in check at last asserted themselves dominantly. He remembered the sordid poverty, the struggle to maintain appearances, and the strain of forced attention to an uncongenial task, and asked himself half contemptuously why he had borne them so long. He had spent his early years in Spain, where he had been taught out of charity by an army chaplain, and had reckless brown-faced muleteers and smugglers and grave artillery officers, the gatekeepers of the Mediterranean, for his friends, while the fortnight spent at Northrop had brought back old associations overwhelmingly.
It was, however, not the leisure and wealth and luxury which appealed to him—and indeed there was little of the latter at Northrop Hall—but the smell of the brown woods and the ringing of the guns. There were also the horses, for Appleby had learned to ride in Spain, the wide spaces he could gallop through with tingling blood, and the hours he had spent pitting every faculty against the wariness of the grayling in the stream. He felt he could never go back to the old colorless life again, and as he looked out into the dusky blueness under the stars and across the dim landscape which rolled away before him, silent, and wide, and shadowy, his courage rose. There was room, he felt, beyond the confines of English cities for men with thews and sinews who were willing to hew their own way to fortune out in the wind and sun.
He stopped for a few moments on a hillside and looked about him, while his heart throbbed faster. There was still a light or two in the hall behind him, but none in the village, and the earth lay asleep wrapped in fleecy draperies of drifting mist, while the low murmur of the river came out of the great stillness. He could see its pale blink where it slid out from the gloom of a wood, and above, across the stubble where the footpath led, a clump of rigid spires that rose black and solid against the faintly luminous night. That, he knew, was the fir spinny where he was to meet the blackmailer, and shaking all thought of his own affairs from him he went on quietly resolute to do battle for his friend. Appleby was an impulsive man, quick to decide; but there was also an obdurate persistency in him, and the decision once made was usually adhered to. Keeper Davidson was not to find an easy victim that night.
He stopped outside the spinny with the riding crop held, where it would not be seen, behind him, and a man who had been listening for his footsteps came out of it. It was unfortunate for him that he had spent most of the evening in the hostelry at the village, or he might have recognized the difference between them and Tony Palliser’s reluctant tread. Appleby had come up with swift, resolute stride, as one who had a purpose, and meant to accomplish it.
“Davidson?” he said, with a little ring in his voice, which was very unlike Tony’s then.
The man stared at him. “It was Mr. Palliser I expected to see,” he said.
“I have come in place of him, and don’t think it likely that he will meet you here again,” Appleby said dryly. “In fact, unless we can come to some arrangement, it is very probable that you will get a month’s notice from Mr. Godfrey Palliser to-morrow.”
Davidson laughed unpleasantly. СКАЧАТЬ