menu_book Chapter 14

CHAPTER I. TIGHT SHOES. You shall be willingly supplied with such conveniences for the night as this cavern will afford. RASALAS. CHAPTER XXI.

On the edge of the road, which runs from Tartan in south Devon down to the little port of Stowe, there was growing in the summer of 1813 a certain gigantic elm, larger and more stately than its fellows. For some two hundred years it had duly thrown its quota of shade over the heads of the travellers and country folk who passed below it, though but few of these had been conscious of its

separate identity. The sudden death of this tree, however, was to attract more attention than its long and serviceable life had ever done. For on the evening of the eleventh of August in that year, a windy but not excessively The cables which for so long had moored the great elm to the soil were snapped without

warning, as is the way with its kind, and with a vast crashing and rending it fell, and since the hour was too far advanced to begin sawing operations, lay where it fell, presenting an impassable barrier to all vehicles on the stowy road, and a pleasing test of gymnastic ability to the young of the nearest cottages. By them the day the great elm blowed down would be agreeably remembered, and Captain

Hervey Barrington, R.N., of Fairhaven, Stowy, was to remember it also. He was at this moment one of the descending passengers of the stage coach, plying twice a day between Stowy and Tarton, which conveyance, having received no previous warning of the downfall of the elm, had just come to a rather indignant standstill before the prostrate giant, and this at seven in the evening.

Some of its occupants, indeed all who had any baggage worth mentioning, were favoring the alternative of returning in the coach to Tarton and spending the night there. But Captain Barrington, who had only been to that little town for the day on business, was not encumbered in this way, nor did a three-mile walk in the least dismay him. Very soon the bulk of the great elm, sprawling like Goliath across the road, was exercising,

not without laughter, the returning Stowyites, farmers or well-to-do fishermen for the most part. Us'll have to climb in for sure, or creep on our bellies beneath them. But Captain Barrington surveyed the noble tree with a tint of regret, and was meanwhile conscious of the voice of the guard behind him, addressing someone still in the coach.

Why shouldn't advise you to go on to Stowy tonight, Miss? A matter of three or four miles it is. Why not go back with us as far as Tarton? If so be as you couldn't get a room to yourself at the Lyon, you'd get a bed to yourself for sure.

The only person in the coach who could be addressed as Miss was a girl in grey already there when Captain Barrington had entered it at Tarton, a girl to whom his attention had subsequently been drawn, indifferent, though he was, to the sex, mainly because she seemed so desirous of attracting none, sitting very demurely in her corner, her face almost invisible under the gauze veil depending from the front of her small poke bonnet.

But he had quite forgotten about her again, till now he heard her reply hastily. Ah no, thank you, I must go on to Stowy. The slight foreign accent piqued Captain Barrington's curiosity sufficiently to cause him to turn his head, and thus he got a glimpse of the speaker where she stood, above his level, at the top of the steps, looking down at the guard outside.

She had put back her veil, and her face was more clearly revealed now. Handsome, striking even, rather than beautiful, a little hollow in the cheeks, whereburned a somewhat hectic colour, but not timid like her demeanour, not shrinking. And he wondered for a moment who she could be, just possibly a member of some French royalist household.

Very well, Miss, said the guard. I dare say some gentleman going to Stowy will carry your valise for you, and, as for company, there's Mrs. Stratton as lives at Stowy. You've started already, if so be she's got past that old toad of a tree. Thank you, said the girl again, and still, as it seemed to hervey hurriedly.

I will not trouble anybody, my little valise is not heavy, and no doubt I shall overtake this lady. She descended, helped by the solicitor's guard, Captain Barrington having moved away for fear of alarming her with proffered attentions. He then asked her to leave her to Mrs. Stratton.

Moreover, at this moment he happened to inquire from a rustic standing by what steps were going to be taken to ensure that no chase or horsemen should collide with the fallen tree after dark. None that the rustic knew of. Oh, what, you're going to leave a wreck in the fairway without buoying it, exclaimed

Captain Barrington indignantly, not with my consent. He then went to the nearest farm. He soon returned with farmer cadmen and half a dozen lanterns, and it was not till he had seen them lighted and strung on either side of the obstacle that he himself set off on his homeward way.

At present on half pay, and likely, for all that promotion had come rapidly to him, so to remain, owing to a mishap at sea for which he was not responsible. Captain Barrington, a bachelor, lived in a comfortable house by the river about a mile on the hither side of Stowe, looked after by an excellent and commanding housekeeper and her husband, who had been his coxswain.

For though Captain Barrington's spinster sister, a good eighteen years older than himself, he was one and forty, also dwelt near Stowe, the two had never joined their domestic forces, though the theory was that they were going to do it some day. Perhaps they secretly knew that they were at heart too dissimilar for such an arrangement ever to be successful, that Hervey was too set in his ways, and Miss Lavinia too free

with her tongue, and too much of a quiz. But they were very good friends, and each had a room assigned and always ready for occupation in the other's house. In fact, Miss Lavinia was arriving this very evening at Fairhaven to spend a couple of days there en route to Exeter.

For all her teasing tongue, nobody understood better than Miss Barrington how his inactivity fretted her brother, how savage was the resentment at the injustice which had laid him aside in time of war for a blunder which was not his. The wound went too deep to be often handled, but it stung always. It was stinging now, as Hervey Barrington walked along in the soft Devonshire twilight.

He had the road to himself, for the business with the tree had delayed him by quite twenty minutes, and all the other wayfarers were a mile or so ahead of him by this time. All but one, that is, for as he turned a corner he saw dimly, some forty yards ahead, the figure of a woman carrying something, and it looked like that of a foreign girl. She was walking with a limp, and outside of her Captain Barrington's curiosity was revived.

Even if she were lame, how had she contrived to spend so much time covering so little ground, and to have lagged so far behind everyone else? Had she stayed behind on purpose? Well, she had already struck him as wishing to avoid notice, but it was strange that at so late an hour she had not preferred to avail herself of company on the road, not to speak

of someone to carry her for lease. And despite the limp she was not walking so slowly as to have been unable to keep up with stout Mrs. Stratton, for instance. At his present pace Hervey could not avoid overtaking her in a moment or two, and he should then feel bound to offer her his escort, whether she wanted it or no.

It was not fitting for a young woman, a stranger, to be on a lonely road by herself at this time of day. Before he was up to her, the foreigner had heard his footfalls and half glanced round, quickening her pace a little. But in another thirty seconds he was level with her.

"'Madam,' he said, raising his hand, "'it is not right that you should carry that baggage of yours. I beg you to allow me to do it for you.'" The girl did not stop. She walked on with a limp and said, as if she meant it, "'Oh, sir, you are very kind,

but no, it is not necessary. The valise is truly very light." "'Oh, but you, you are walking with difficulty already. You are fatigued,' observed Hervey, as he kept pace with her. "'And you still have more than a couple of miles to go.

You really must permit me.'" And respectfully but firmly he too possessed himself of the handle of the disputed object. The fingers which held it tightened for a moment, then relaxed their grip unwillingly. "'You are indeed kind, sir,' murmured their owner as she relinquished her burden, but there was no real gratitude in her tone.

She had, however, spoken the truth about the little portmanteau, for it was light, extremely light. Hervey began to wonder what was her destination in Stowe. He could not think of any of its inhabitants, who were at all likely to be expecting such a guest.

"'Are you a visiting friend in Stowe, I expect, madam?' he said tentatively, excusing his question to himself on the ground that he would ultimately have to learn to what house he was to his quarter. "'And no,' replied the traveller after a moment. "'I go to an inn, is it not?'

"'An inn,' said Hervey, still more surprised. "'None of the inns at Stowe, madam, is very suitable for a lady, and the Dolphin, a better class house, is closed for repairs. The others are only fit for sailors and suchlike.' "'O sailors will not hurt me,' she murmured.

Her voice sounded dejected, or so Hervey thought, and she was most indubitably lame. She was hobbling. "'I must insist on your taking my arm,' he said somewhat masterfully. "'You will never reach Stowe at all without assistance.' "'And the girl seemed to think so too, for after a moment she took the proffered support

without looking at him. That is to say, she lent her hand, not much more, upon it, and they proceeded for a little in silence. Side by side with her, Hervey could not see her face because of the poke bonnet. "'You have already walked today, perhaps, madam,' he suggested, as the weight on his

arm gradually increased. "'Or do you think it is possible that there is a nail or a stone in your shoe?' "'No,' said the girl rather shortly. "'I fear there is no nail, no stone. It is not for that reason that they hurt me.'

"'But would it not be well to make sure,' persisted Hervey, really sorry for her, since he could see that she was suffering. "'Or will you not at any rate sit down on this wall and rest a little?' "'For the road, no longer tree-shadowed, on either hand, had been for some minutes following the snowy river, whose outgoing tide lapped along the foot of the low wall on their left.'

"'Yes, I will sit down for a small moment, sir,' agreed the girl quickly, and she sank down without more ado on the stone parapet. "'How you are, I take it, a stranger to these parts,' observed Captain Barrington conversationally. "'Yes,' replied the traveller, after a moment's pause. "'I come from Yorkshire.'

"'Her from Yorkshire?' exclaimed Hervey involuntarily. "'Oh, surely she was not trying to pass herself off as English. "'Ah, you mean in this moment, of course, for I perceive that you are.' And then he stopped. He had no wish to appear prying.

But to his regret he saw that he had already given that impression. He had already caused alarm. "'Oh, you mean, sir,' said the girl in a would-be calm voice, "'that you see I am not English. "'Oh, sir, senor, no, I am Spanish.

But for the love of God, do not betray me.' "'But, my dear young lady,' said Hervey soothingly, "'how and to whom should I betray you? You have a perfect right to be Spanish, and being Spanish, to travel in England. Oh, come, now, there's no cause for agitation, except possibly about those shoes of yours.

I will withdraw a little, and you can take them off, and see whether something cannot be done to ease them.' He turned as he spoke, and going a pace or two along the road, looked out over the darkening river. This was an odd encounter.

How can one have been better?' "'Well, now, is that better?' he asked, coming back after a minute or two. The shoes, however, were not yet on again. He could discern them lying in the dusty road. The girl was sitting with her hands in her lap.'

"'Oh, when they are off it is better, yes, but I do not know whether, whether you can get them on again,' finished Hervey with a smile. Did women always have their shoes too tight?" "'If you will allow me.' "'No, no,' cried the girl, evidently affrighted, and as far as he could see, tucking up her

feet under her petticoats. "'No, sir, I will contrive. You see, it is not that they are too small.' "'So, how feminine! Ladies,' he knew, always said that.

"'But that the shape, the English shape.' "'Ah, yes,' said Hervey. "'Of course, you bought these in England. And perhaps that was unwise.' "'How many things are unwise,' responded the girl on a deep, tragic note.

"'That I am here at all is unwise. But, Dios, dime alma, what else could I do?' She stifled an unmistakable sob. "'But I shall soon be gone.' And, bending down, she struggled feverishly with her foot gear, Captain Barrington rather

uncomfortable in this sudden and unexplained rush of emotion. And she evidently too much carried away by it to care whether or know the gentleman who had so considerately turned his back during the doffing of her shoes watched the process of resumption. At last she stood up.

"'Now I will go on, sir. I am now better.' She hobbled a step or two with little ejaculations under her breath and then supplemented bravely. "'If I do not think of them.' "'And if you take my arm again,' suggested Hervey, tendering it.

She took it, leaning a little harder this time, and said, as they started, "'Has supposed I take altogether off my shoes and go without them, as go the peasants in my country?' "'Oh no, madam, you could not possibly do that,' replied Hervey. This road is much too stony.'

They went on a little in silence, till he, having revolved the idea for a moment or two already, continued, "'I have a better plan. My own house is now only half a mile distant, for I live well this side of Stowey. Now, if you would allow me to offer you hospitality for the night.' "'Oh, senor,' exclaimed the Spanish girl, evidently deeply affronted.

Her hand stiffened on his arm. "'Oh, I assure you, madam,' said Hervey hastily, that my housekeeper. My name, by the way, is Barrington, Captain Hervey Barrington of His Majesty's Navy.' But at that the hand was withdrawn altogether. They both stopped.

My sister, too, began Captain Barrington anew, will be. "'Ah, your sister lives with you,' interpolated the unknown, and the hand returning, they took up their march again. Hervey did not think it worth while to explain, but enlarged a little on the pleasure it would give Miss Barrington to receive the foot-sore traveller, and, though he did not say this,

to tease him afterward for his night air-entry. "'So you will accept, will you not, madam?' "'I assure you,' he proceeded with a certain stiffness, that I regard you with all the respect due to a member of your sex, and particularly to one who is, for the moment at least, unprotected.

In order to prove, indeed, that I desire in no way to take advantage of you, I will cause my sister to come down to the garden, if you wish, and there make you known to each other, so that you can satisfy yourself of my intentions. For, indeed, you will never reach Stowey tonight, nor, as I say, is there any inn there quite suitable to your requirements?'

The Spanish girl stood still once more. She clasped both hands to her breast and looked away over the river. Hervey had an uncomfortable suspicion that she was imploring the Virgin for guidance, really quite unnecessarily. When she spoke, the words were charged with feeling.

"'Oh, indeed, you are too kind to an unfortunate, unprotected madre de Dios. It is not for the moment only that I am unprotected. Shall I tell you my poor little story, señor capitán?' "'There's no need unless you wish,' replied Hervey gently. But he was curious all the same.

"'But yes, if you are so noble as to receive me under your roof, I must tell you,' in a few words. Again, I will sit on this kind wall.' She did so, and stooping, tugged off the shoes which were not too tight. "'Oh, señor, I am the wife, the deserted wife, of an Englishman like yourself, an English officer.' "'How is it possible?' said Hervey.

"'How is it possible?' said Hervey, gravely astonished. He sat down on the wall beside her. "'How did he desert you? Where did you meet?' "'The Spaniard made a gesture.

"'Oh, you ask where? Señor, in a terrible place, in Badajoz, in the storm of Badajoz.' "'Oh, good God!' exclaimed Captain Barrington. You were in Badajoz when we took it last year.' "'With my poor father, yes.

He was killed. Me, the soldiers, were dragging away. Your soldiers. They were enraged at the resistance of the French. Me, a Spaniard, your friend.'

"'When he saw me. Oh, señor, he saved me. He loved me. He married me. That is to say.'

"'Yes, I understand,' murmured Hervey rather awkwardly. She made another gesture. "'Oh, but no, señor. I think you do not. It is true that I was not married by the rights of my own church, but of his, for I am married

by the priest, the—what do you call him in your tongue?—the capellan of his regiment.' "'The chaplain. And what was his regiment?' The girl hesitated. "'How the English names are so difficult,' she said, deprecatingly.

"'Oh, try,' said Hervey. She addressed herself visibly to an effort. "'Mi marido. He wasn't what you call the Light Brigade.' "'Ah, yes.

But in what regiment? A brigade is not a regiment. Not,' queried the soldier's wife innocently. "'Was it the rifle regiment? The 95th?'

"'Oh, yes. That is the name.' She resumed feverishly. "'We live in Badajoz a little. Oh, how I am happy.

But he will not take me with him on campaign. He leave me there. For a time he write to me. I find out always where he is. Then he writes no more.

I think he is dead. I write to the colonel. No, Tomas is not dead. He's gone to England. He is sick.

And to me not a word. I wait. No letter. How to tell you the pain I suffer. At last.

I have little money. I sell my jewels. I go on board a vessel. I come in England. I travel to the home of my husband.

Oh, senor, he denies me. He says, no, I was never married to him. I was only a poor girl to amuse him. Vaya, I am to go back to Spain. He is finished with me.'

"'What is the scoundrel's name?' demanded Hervey indignantly. "'No, I shall not tell you that.' She flung out her arms to the night. And though I never see him again,

and though he'd treat me so cruelly, I love him in bad hos.' "'I see,' said Hervey rather dryly, the more so that the passion of the last words had caused an uncomfortable sort of thrill

to pass along his spine. But senora, you are in all probability really married to this man. In fact, I do not see how else it could be if the chaplain of the rifle regiment.

It would be perfectly easy to ascertain.' At that the abandoned wife clutched his arm, but not to welcome the suggestion. "'No, no, if he casts me off it is finished.' No, I go back to Spain.

I leave him free.' "'How but dash it all,' cried Captain Barrington, wishing that she would liberate him at all events. The man himself, the scamp that he is, won't be free.

If by free you mean free to marry someone else. If you are his legal wife, or his legal wife, as I feel sure you must be, you are still his wife, whether you return to Spain or stay in England.

And, by the way,' he added, "'how were you proposing to return to Spain?' The ecstasy of self-sacrifice appeared to have died down as suddenly as it had arisen, and, having already to his relief, relinquished his arm,

the deserted lady said, with a sublime disregard of Bathos. And now I put on my shoes again, and did so.' It was not until she was on her feet, and had once more accepted her escort's arm, that she answered his question.

"'Or to return to Spain I will find a little ship at Stouhi.' "'Oh, indeed you will not,' returned Hervey rather sharply. Who told you such a thing?' "'A no little ship for Spain at Stouhi.' "'Ay te me,' lamented the fair traveller.

And then I come all this painful way for nothing. Alas! how I am unfortunate!' "'We must consider your plans in the morning,' said Hervey hastily, apprehending tears. I can no doubt be of some assistance.

But if you will pardon the enquiry, how did you come to England in the first place? At what port did you land?' "'I've forgotten its name,' replied the girl, then quickly taking herself up.

Or I knew she was lying, and thought Hervey pleased at his perspicacity,' she said. "'No, no, I now remember. At a place called Gosport.' "'Gosport? Then you came in a troop ship.' "'Was that so wrong, Senor Capitan?'

I came as best I could. The passage was offered me. I paid nothing.' Very oddly, there seemed to be a suggestion of laughter in her voice now. Or was it tears fought back?'

The next moment she stumbled and gave a little cry, hanging heavy on his arm for a second. "'A stone.' "'No, Senor, it is nothing. I can go on.

It is perhaps not much farther now.' "'No, fortunately. But I'm afraid that this walk has meant a good deal of suffering for you.' "'No, no,' she murmured. For I found a friend so kind, so sympathetic.

And for the first time the other hand joined its fellow on his arm, and both gave that support an unmistakable pressure.' Now Hervey Barrington had not the slightest desire to receive from this emotional Spanish female any evidence of her warm southern heart in return for his hospitality. Yet, as he could not withdraw his arm, the only measure he could take against such a risk

was to change the conversation. "'When I was in Spain,' he began, and had quite a gratifying success. The joint pressure on his arm relaxed, and the second hand went away again. "'Ah, you've been in Spain,' observed its owner slowly, and almost as if the information were not to her taste.

"'Yes, just before the war,' answered Hervey. I travelled with a Spanish friend in Catalonia in Valencia.' "'How I do not know those parts,' said his companion hastily, as if she were rebutting an accusation, and for the rest of the way became rather silent, except for an occasional tired sigh. Captain Barrington was glad when he could at last announce, as a house loomed up by the side of the

road between them and the river. Here we are at her destination.' End of section 14