Denzil Quarrier Part 44

"Lilian!" she called aloud, involuntarily.

She sprang to the front door and looked about in the little garden.

Some one moving behind caused her to turn round; it was the servant.

"Annie, has Mrs. Quarrier left the house?"

"Yes, m'm, she has. I just had the kitchen door open, and I saw her go out--without anything on her head."

"Where can she be, then? The gate hasn't been opened; I should have heard it."

One other way there was out of the garden. By pa.s.sing along a side of the cottage, one came into the back-yard, and thence, by a gate, into one of the fields which spread towards Bale Water. Mrs. Wade remembered that Lilian had discovered this exit one day not long ago.

"I don't understand it," she continued, hurriedly. "You run and put your hat on, and then look up and down the road. I'll go to the back."

Regardless of the cold night air, she hastened in the direction that Lilian must necessarily have taken. Reaching the field, she could at first distinguish no object in the dark s.p.a.ce before her. But the sky was clear and starry, and in a few moments, running on the while, she caught sight of a figure not very far in advance. That undoubtedly was Lilian, escaping, speeding over the meadows--whither?

The ground rose gradually, and at a distance of less than a quarter of a mile cut clearly across the sky. Still advancing, though with less speed, she saw Lilian's form gain the top of the rise, and there stand, a black, motionless projection from the ground. If now she called in a loud voice, the fugitive must certainly hear her; but she kept silence.

By running quickly over the gra.s.s she might overtake her friend, who still lingered; but, as if her limbs had failed, she crouched down, and so remained until the dark figure all at once disappeared.

Immediately she started to her feet again, and pressed forward. A few minutes, and she was at the top of the field, where Lilian had paused; panting, her heart throbbing, a cold sweat on her forehand. From this point she looked over a gra.s.sy slope, towards the trees which shadowed Bale Water. But her eye could discern nothing save outlines against the starry heaven. All the ground before her lay in a wide-spreading hollow, and darkness cloaked it.

Again she crouched down, pressing her hand against her heart, listening. It was a very still night, and few sounds disturbed its peacefulness. Somewhere, far off, a cart rumbled along; presently one of the Polterham clocks began to strike, faintly but clearly. That caused her to look in the direction of the town; she saw the radiance of lights, and thought of what was going on over there--the shouting, rus.h.i.+ng, fighting.

A night-insect buzzed against her, and, almost in the same moment, there came from down in the hollow, from beyond the trees, a sound which chilled her blood, stopped the wild beating of her heart. It seemed to echo with dreadful clearness from end to end of the heavens.

A dull splash of water, that was all; in reality, scarcely to be heard at this distance save by an ear straining in dreadful expectation.

She made one effort to rise, but could not. Another, and she was fleeing back to the cottage as if chased for her life.

The back-door was locked; she had to go round into the garden, and there the servant was waiting.

"Have you found her, m'm?"

"No--I can't think--go in, Annie."

The girl was frightened; yet more so when, by the light from the sitting-room, she saw her mistress's face.

"Do you think she's gone home, m'm?"

"Yes, no doubt. Go into the kitchen. I'll call you again."

Mrs. Wade entered the parlour, and closed the door. Her dress was in disorder; her hair had in part fallen loose; on her hands were traces of mud. She did not sit down, and remained just within the door; her look and att.i.tude were those of a terrified listener.

Presently she moved towards the fire, and knelt before it--though she had no need of warmth. Starts and shudders indicated her mental anguish. Yet no sound escape her, until, in a sudden convulsion of her frame, she gave a cry of terror, and threw herself at full length upon the ground. There she lay, struggling with hysterical pa.s.sion, half choked by sobs, now and then uttering a hoa.r.s.e wail, at length weeping with the self-abandonment of a child.

It lasted for ten minutes or more, and then followed a long silence.

Her body still quivered; she lay with her face half hidden against the hearth-rug, lips parted, but teeth set, breathing heavily.

The clock upon her mantelpiece sounded the third quarter--a quarter to nine. It drew her attention, and at length she half raised herself.

Still she had the look of one who listens. She stood up, mechanically smoothed her hair, and twice walked the length of the room. Nearing the door yet again, she opened it, and went upstairs.

Five minutes, and she had made herself ready to go out. At the foot of the stairs she called to her servant.

"I must go into Polterham, Annie. If Mr. Quarrier should come whilst I'm away, say that Mrs. Quarrier and I have gone out, but shall be back very soon. You understand that?"

Then she set forth, and hurried along the dark road.

CHAPTER XXV

Only one vehicle pa.s.sed her before she came within sight of the streets; it was a carriage and pair, and she recognised the coachman of a family who lived towards Rickstead. Quarrier was doubtless still in the town, but to find him might be difficult. Perhaps she had better go to his house and despatch a servant in search of him. But that was away on the other side of Polterham, and in the meantime he might be starting for Pear-tree Cottage. The polling was long since over; would he linger with his friends at the committee room?

Yet she must go to the house first of all; there was a reason for it which only now occurred to her.

The main thoroughfares, usually silent and forsaken at this hour, were alive with streams of pedestrians, with groups of argumentative electors, with noisy troops of lads and girls who occasionally amused themselves with throwing mud at some unpopular person, or even breaking a window and rus.h.i.+ng off with yells into the darkness of byways.

Public-houses were doing a brisk trade, not without pugilism for the entertainment of such as lounged about the doors. For these sights and sounds Mrs. Wade had no attention, but frequently her ear was smitten with the name "Quarrier," spoken or roared by partisan or adversary.

Her way led her through the open place where stood the Town Hall; here had gathered some hundreds of people, waiting for the result of the poll. As she hurried along the ragged edge of the crowd, a voice from somewhere close at hand checked her.

"If you imagine that Quarrier will do more for the people than any other politician, you will find yourselves mistaken. Party politics are no good--no good at all. You working men ought to have the sense to form a party of your own."

It was Northway, addressing a cl.u.s.ter of mill-hands, and evidently posing as one of a superior cla.s.s who deigned to give them disinterested advice. She listened for a minute longer, but heard nothing that could excite her alarm.

When she reached the house it was a quarter to ten. This part of the town lay in obscurity and quietness; not a shout sounded in her hearing.

Mr. Quarrier had not been at home since early in the afternoon.

"He must be found at once," said Mrs. Wade, adding quickly, "I suppose Mrs. Quarrier hasn't come?"

The servant gave a surprised negative.

"You must please send some one to find Mr. Quarrier, without a moment's delay. I will come in and wait."

The coachman happened to be in the kitchen. Mrs. Wade had him summoned, and despatched him for his master. Though her limbs shook with fatigue, she could not remain seated for more than a few minutes at a time; she kept the drawing-room door open, and kept going out to listen. Her suspense lasted for more than half an hour; then at length she heard a cab rattle up the drive, and in another moment Quarrier stood before her. This was the second time within a few days that her face had been of ill omen to him; he frowned an anxious inquiry.

"You haven't seen Lilian?" she began.

"Seen her?"

"She has gone--left the cottage--I can't find her."

"Gone? When did she go?"

"I have bad news for you. Northway has come back; he called at the cottage about seven o'clock. I didn't let him know Lilian was there, and soon got rid of him; he said he would have to see you again. Lilian was dreadfully agitated, and when I happened to leave the room, she went out--disappeared--I thought she must have come home "----

"What do the servants say?"