Starvecrow Farm Part 59

"So would you," came the answer--in Bess's voice--"if you'd had twenty-four hours of it, my lad. All the same, she'll have to go back."

Trembling and dazed, Henrietta peered from one to the other. Mistress of herself two minutes before, she was now on the verge of hysteria, and controlled herself with an effort.

"Oh!" she cried. "Oh! thank G.o.d you've come! Thank G.o.d you've come! I thought you had left me."

She was thankful--oh, she was thankful; though these were no rescuers, but the two who had consigned her to that horrible place. Bess raised the lanthorn so that its light fell on the girl's haggard, twitching face.

"We could not come before," she said, with something like pity in her tone. "That's all."

"All!" Henrietta gasped. "All! Oh, I thought you had left me! I thought you had left me!"

Bess considered her, and there was beyond doubt something like softening in the girl's dark face. But her tone remained ironical.

"You didn't," she said, "much fancy your bedroom, I guess?"

Henrietta's teeth chattered.

"Oh, G.o.d forgive you!" she cried. "I thought you had left me! I thought you'd left me!"

"It was your own folks' fault," Bess retorted. "They've never had their eyes off the blessed house, one or another of them, from dawn to dark! We could not come. But now here's food, and plenty!" raising the light. "How's the child?"

"Bad! Bad!" Henrietta muttered.

She was coming to her senses. She was beginning to understand the position; to comprehend that no rescuers were here, no search party had found her; and that--and that--had not one of them dropped a word about her going back? Going back meant going back to that--place! With a sudden gesture she thrust the food from her.

"Ain't you going to eat?" Bess asked, staring. "I thought you'd be famished."

"Not here! Not here!" she answered violently.

"Oh, nonsense!" the other rejoined. "Don't be a fool! You're clemmed, I'll be bound. Eat while you can."

But, "Not here! Not here!" Henrietta replied. And she thrust the food away.

The man interposed.

"Stow it!" he said, in a threatening tone. "You eat while you can and where you can!"

But she was desperate.

"I'll not eat here!" she cried. "I'll not eat here! And I'll not go back!" her voice rising. "I will die before I will go back. Do you hear?" with the fierceness of a wild creature at bay. "I do not care what you do! And the child is dying. Another night--but I'll not suffer it! And if you lay a finger on me"--repelling Bess, who had made a feint of seizing her--"I will scream until I am heard! Ay, I will!" she repeated, her eyes sparkling. "But take me to the house and I will go quietly! I will go quietly!"

It was plain that she was almost beside herself, and that fear of the place in which she had pa.s.sed so many hours had driven out all other fear. The two, who had not left her alone so long without misgiving, looked at one another and hesitated. They might overpower her. But the place was so closely watched that a single shriek might be heard; then they would be taken red-handed. Nor did Bess at least wish to use force. The position, and her views, were changed. All day curious eyes had been fixed on the house, and inquisitive people had started up where they were least expected. Bess's folly in bringing this hornets'

nest about their ears had shaken her influence with the men; and the day had been one long exchange of savage recriminations. She owned to herself that she had done a foolish thing; that she had let her spite carry her too far. And in secret she was beginning to think how she could clear herself.

She did not despair of this; for she was crafty and of a good courage.

She did not even think it would be hard; but she must, as a _sine qua non_, conciliate the girl whom she had wronged. Unluckily she now saw that she could not conciliate her without taking her to the house. And she could not with safety take her to the house. The men were irritated by the peril which she had brought upon them; they were ferocious and out of hand; and terribly suspicious to boot. They blamed her, Bess, for all: they had threatened her. And if she was not safe among them, she was quite sure that Henrietta would not be safe.

There was an alternative. She might let the girl go there and then.

And she would have done this, but she could not do it without Giles's consent; and she dared not propose it to him. He was wanted for other offences, and the safe return of Henrietta and the child would not clear him. He had looked on the child, and now looked on the girl, as p.a.w.ns in his game, a _quid pro quo_ with which--if he were taken while they remained in his friends' hands--he might buy his pardon. Bess, therefore, dared not propose to free Henrietta: and what was she to do if the girl was so foolish as to refuse to go back to the place where she was safe?

"Look here," she said at last. "You're safer here than in the house, if you will only take my word for it."

But there is no arguing with fear.

"I will not!" Henrietta persisted, with pa.s.sion. "I will not! Take me out of this! Take me out! The child will die here, and I shall go mad!--mad!"

"You're pretty mad now," the man retorted. But that said, he met Bess's eyes and nodded reluctantly. "Well," he said, "it's her own lookout. But I think she'll repent it."

"Will you go quiet?" Bess asked.

"Yes, yes!"

"And you'll not cry out? Nor try to break away?"

"I will not! I will not indeed!"

"You swear it?"

"I do."

"And by G--d," the man interposed bluntly, "she'd better keep to it."

"Very well," Bess said. "You have it your own way. But I tell you truly, I put you in here for the best. And perhaps you'll know it before you're an hour older. However, all's said, and it's your own doing."

"Why don't you let me go?" Henrietta panted. "Let me go, and let me take the child!"

"Stow it!" the man cried, cutting her short. "It's likely, when we're as like as not to pay dear for taking you. Do you shut your talking-trap!"

"She'll be quiet," Bess said, more gently. "So douse the glim, lad.

And do you give me the child," to Henrietta.

But she cried, "No! No!" and held it more closely to her.

"Very good! Then take my hand--you don't know the way. And not a whisper, mind! Slip the bolt, Giles! And, mum, all!"

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

IN TYSON'S KITCHEN

The distance to the house was short. Before Henrietta had done more than taste the bliss of the open night, had done more than lift her eyes in thankfulness to the dark profundity above her, she was under the eaves. A stealthy tap was answered by the turning of a key, a door was quickly and silently opened, and she was pushed forward. Bess muttered a word or two--to a person unseen--and gripping her arm, thrust her along a pa.s.sage. A second door gave way as mysteriously, and Henrietta found herself dazzled and blinking on the threshold of the kitchen which she had left twenty-four hours before. It was lighted, but not with the wastefulness and extravagance of the previous evening. Nor did it display those signs of disorder and riot which had yesterday opened her eyes.

She was sinking under the weight of the child, which she had hugged to her that it might not cry, and she went straight to the settle and laid the boy on it. He opened his eyes and looked vacantly before him; but, apparently, he was too far gone in weakness, or in too much fear, to cry. While Henrietta, relieved of the weight, and perhaps of a portion of her fears, sank on the settle beside him, leant her face on her arms and burst into pa.s.sionate weeping.

It was perhaps the best thing in her power. For the men had followed her into the kitchen; and Lunt, with brutal oaths, was asking why she was there and what new folly was this. Bess turned on him--she well knew how to meet such attacks; and with scornful tongue she bade him wait, calling him thick-head, and adding that he'd learn by-and-by, if he could learn anything. Then, while Giles, ill-content himself, gave some kind of account of the thing, she began--as if it were a trifle--to lay the supper. And almost by force she got Henrietta to the table.