Trevlyn Hold Part 71

"What can be done?" she gasped.

"Nothing. Nothing, except that we must endeavour to conciliate Mr.

Chattaway. If he can be appeased, the danger will pa.s.s."

"Never will he be appeased!" she answered. "He will think of the value of the ricks, the money lost to him. George, if it comes to the worst--if they try Rupert, I shall die."

"Hush, my dear, hus.h.!.+ Try and look on the bright side of things, Maude; your grieving cannot influence Rupert, and will harm you. Nothing shall be left undone on my part to serve him. I wish I had more influence with Mr. Chattaway."

"No one has any influence with him,--no one in the world; unless it is Aunt Diana."

"She has--and I can talk to her as I could not to Chattaway. I intend to see her privately in the morning. Maude, how you s.h.i.+ver!"

George bent to take his farewell, and went on his way. Ere he was quite out of sight, he turned to take a last look at her. She was standing in the white moonlight, her hands clasped, her face one sad expression of distress and despair. A vague feeling came over George that this despondency of Maude's bore ill omen for poor Rupert. But he could not have told why the feeling should come to him, and he put it from him as absurd and foolish.

The night wore on at the Hold, and its master did not return. All sat up, ladies, children, and servants; wondering where he could be. It was close upon midnight when his ring sounded at the locked door.

Mr. Chattaway came in with his face scratched and a bruise over one eye.

The servant stared in astonishment, and noticed, as his master unb.u.t.toned a light overcoat, that the front of his s.h.i.+rt was torn. Mr.

Chattaway was not one to be questioned by his servants, and the man went off to the kitchen and reported the news.

"Good Heavens, papa! what have you done to your face?"

The exclamation came from Octave, who was the first to catch sight of him as he entered the room. Mr. Chattaway responded by an angry demand why they were not in bed, what they did sitting up at that hour: and he began to light the bed-candles.

"What _have_ you done to your face?" reiterated Miss Diana, coming close to take a nearer view.

"Nothing," was his curt response.

"What's the use of saying that?" retorted Miss Diana. "It looks as though you had been fighting. And your s.h.i.+rt's torn!"

"I tell you there's nothing the matter with it; or with my s.h.i.+rt either," he said testily. "Can't you take an answer?" And, as if to put an end to questioning, he took a candle and went up to his room.

The scratches were less apparent in the morning, and the bruise was only a slight one. Cris, in his indifferent manner, said the Squire must have walked into the branches of a th.o.r.n.y tree.

By tacit consent they avoided all mention of Rupert. It is possible that even Miss Diana did not care to mention his name to Mr. Chattaway.

Whilst they were at breakfast, Hatch came and put his head inside the door.

"Jim Sanders is back, sir."

Mr. Chattaway started up, a certain flas.h.i.+ng light in his dull eyes that boded no good to Jim. "Where is he?" he cried. "How do you know?"

"Ted, the cow-boy, has just seen him at work at Mr. Ryle's as usual, sir. I thought you might like to know it, and made bold to come in and tell ye. Ted asked him where he had runned away to yesterday, and Jim answered he had not runned away at all; only overslep' hisself."

Mr. Chattaway hastened from the room, followed by Cris; and Mrs.

Chattaway took the opportunity to ask Hatch if he had seen or heard anything of Mr. Rupert. But Hatch only stood stolidly in the middle of the carpet, and made no reply.

"Did you not hear Madam's question, Hatch?" sharply asked Miss Diana.

"Why don't you answer it?"

"Because I don't like to," responded stolid Hatch. "Happen Madam mayn't like to hear the answer, Miss Diana."

"Nonsense!" quickly cried Miss Trevlyn. "Have you heard of him?"

"Well, yes, I have," answered Hatch. "They be talking of it now in the sheep-pen."

"What are they saying?" asked Mrs. Chattaway, in eager tones.

But the man remained silent, staring at his mistress.

"What are they saying?--do you hear?" imperatively repeated Miss Diana.

Hatch could not hold out longer. "They be saying that he's dead, ma'am."

"That he is--_what_?"

"They be saying that Mr. Rupert's dead," equably repeated Hatch; "he was killed down in the little grove last night, as you go through the fields to Barbrook. I didn't like to tell the Squire, because they be saying that if he be killed, happen the Squire have killed him."

Only for a moment did Miss Diana Trevlyn lose her self-possession. She raised her hands to still the awestruck terror around her, and glanced at Mrs. Chattaway's blanched face. "Hatch, where did you hear this?"

"In the sheep-pen, ma'am. The men be a-talking on't. They say he was killed last night--murdered."

Her own face for once in her life was turning white. "Be still, all of you, and remain here," she said. "Edith, if ever you had need of self-command, it is now."

She went straight off to the sheep-pen, bidding Hatch follow her. From the first moment Hatch had spoken, there had risen up before her, as an ugly picture--a dream to be shunned--the scratched and bruised face of Mr. Chattaway.

The sheep-pen was empty: the men had dispersed. Cris came out of the stables, and she signed to him. He advanced to meet her. "Where is your father?" she asked.

"Off to Barbrook," returned Cris. "Sam wasn't long getting his horse ready, was he? He has gone to order Bowen to look after Mr. Jim Sanders."

"Have you heard this report about Rupert?" she resumed, her hushed tones imparting to Cris a vague sense of something unpleasant.

"I have not heard any report about him. What is the report? That he's dead?"

"Yes; that he is dead."

Cris had spoken in a half-jesting, half-sneering tone; but his face changed at the answer, consternation in every feature, "What on earth do you mean, Aunt Diana? Rupert----"

"Good morning, Miss Diana."

They turned to behold George Ryle. He had come up thus early to know if they had news of Rupert. The scared expression of their faces struck him that something was wrong.

"You have bad news, I see. What is it?"

Miss Diana rapidly turned over a question in her mind. Should she mention this report to George? Yes; he was thoroughly trustworthy; and might be of use.

"Hatch came in a few minutes ago, and frightened us very greatly," she said. "I was just telling Cris about it. The man says there's a report going about that Rupert is--is"--she scarcely liked to bring out the word--"is dead."

"What?" uttered George.