Starvecrow Farm Read online

  CHAPTER XXV

  PRISON EXPERIENCES

  When Henrietta rose on the second morning of her imprisonment, andopened her door and looked out, she met with an unpleasant surprise.Snow had fallen in the night, and lay almost an inch deep in the yard.The sheet of dazzling white cast the dingy spiked wall and the meancell-doors into grey relief. But it was not this contrast, nor thememory of childish winters with their pleasures--though that memorytook her by the throat and promised to choke her--that filled her withimmediate dismay. It was the difficulty of performing the prisonduties, of going beyond her door, and refilling her water-pitcher atthe pump. To cross the yard in sandaled shoes--such as she and thegirls of that day wore--was to spoil her shoes and wet her feet. Yetshe could not live without water; the more as she had an instinctivefear of losing, under the pressure of hardship, those refinements inwhich she had been bred. At length she was about to venture out at nomatter what cost, when the door of the yard opened, and the jailor'swife came stumbling through the snow on a pair of pattens. She carrieda second pair in her hand, and she seemed to be in anything but apleasant humour.

  "Here's a mess!" she said, throwing down the pattens and looking abouther with disgust. "By rights, you should set to work to clear thisaway, before it's running all of a thaw into your room. But I dare sayit will wait till midday--it don't get much sun here--and my good manwill come and do it. Anyways, there are some pattens, so that you canget about--there's as good as you have gone on pattens before now! Ay,and mopped the floor in them! And by-and-by my girl will bring yousome fire 'gainst you're ready for your breakfast."

  "I'm ready whenever the breakfast is ready," Henrietta answered, ascheerfully as she could. She was shivering with cold.

  "Ah, well, ah, well, my lass!" the woman answered snappishly, "there'sworse troubles in the world than waiting for your breakfast. For theLord's sake, don't you get complaining."

  "I wasn't complaining, indeed!" Henrietta said.

  "Think of the doing we've had this night!"

  "I heard," the girl answered. And an involuntary shudder escaped her."It was dreadful! dreadful!"

  "You'd ha' thought so," ungraciously, "if you had had to deal with thelad yourself! Never was such a Jack o' Bedlam! I wonder all our headsaren't broke."

  "Is he often like that?" Henrietta asked.

  For she had lain awake many hours of the night, trembling and tryingto close her ears against the ravings of a madman; who was confined inthe next yard, and who had suffered an access of mania during thenight. The prisons of that day served also for madhouses.

  "No, but once in the month or so," the jailor's wife answered. "Andoften enough, drat him! Doctor says he'll go off in one of theseBedlam fits, and the sooner the better, I say! But I'm wasting my timeand catching my death, gossipping with you! Anyway, don't youcomplain, young woman," severely. "There's worse off than you!" Andshe clattered abruptly away, and Henrietta was left to patten her roadto the pump and back, and afterwards to finish her toilette in whatshivering comfort she might.

  For a prisoner, she might not have much of which to complain. Butthough that was not the day of bedroom fires, or rubber water-bottles,and luxury stopped at the warming-pan, or the heated brick, there aredegrees of misery, and this degree was new to her.

  However, the woman was better than her word, for in a short time herchild appeared, painfully bearing at arm's length a shovelful of liveembers. And the fire put a new face on things. Breakfast sent in fromoutside followed, and was drawn out to the utmost for the sake of theemployment which it afforded. For time hung heavy on the girl's hands.She had long exhausted the _Kendal Chronicle_; and a volume of"Sermons for Persons under Sentence of Death"--the property of thegaol--she had steadfastly refused. Other reading there was none, andshe was rather gratified than troubled when she espied a thin trickleof water stealing under the door. The snow in the yard was melting;and it was soon made plain to her that if she did not wish to beflooded she must act for herself.

  The task was not very congenial to a girl gently bred, and who had allher life associated such work with Doll and a mop. But on her firstentrance into the gaol she had resolved to do, as the lesser of twoevils, whatever she should be told to do. And the thing might havebeen worse, for there was no one to see her at work. She kilted up herskirt and donned the pattens, put on her hood, and taking a broom fromthe corner of the yard began to sweep vigorously, first removing thesnow from the flags before her door, and then, as the space she hadcleared grew wider, gathering the snow into a heap at the lower end ofthe yard.

  She was soon warm and in the full enjoyment of action. But in no longtime, as was natural, she tired, and paused to rest and look abouther, supporting herself by the broom-handle. A robin alighted on aspike on the top of the wall, and flirting its tail, eyed her in afriendly way, with its head on one side. Then it flew away--it couldfly away! And at the thought,

  "What," she wondered, "would come of it all? What would be the end forher? And had they found the boy?"

  Already it seemed to her that she had lain a week, a month in thegaol. The people outside must have forgotten her. Would she beforgotten? Would they leave her there?

  But she would not give way to such thoughts, and she set to work againwith new energy. Swish! swish! Her hands were growing sore, but shehad nearly finished the task. She looked complacently at the widespace she had cleared, and stooped to pin up one side of her gownwhich had slipped down. Then, swish! swish! with renewed vigour,unconscious that the noise of her sweeping drowned the grating of thekey in the lock. So that she was not aware until a voice struck herear, that she was no longer alone.

  Then she wheeled about so sharply that, unused to pattens, shestumbled and all but fell. The accident added to her vexation. Herface turned red as a beet. For inside the door of the yard,contemplating her with a smile at once familiar and unpleasant, stoodMr. Hornyold.

  "Dear, dear," he said, as she glowered at him resentfully, ashamed atonce of her short skirts and the task that compelled them. "Theyshouldn't have put you to this! Though I'm sure a prettier sight you'dgo far to see! But your hands are infinitely too white and soft, mydear--much too white and pretty to be spoiled by broom-handles! I mustspeak to Mother Weighton about it."

  "Perhaps if you would kindly go out a moment," she said with spirit,"it were better. I could then put myself in order."

  "Not for the world!" Mr. Hornyold retorted, with something between aleer and a wink. "You're very well as you are!" with a look at herankles. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, I'm sure, but the contrary.I'm told that Lady Jersey at Almack's shows more, and with a hundredto see! So you need not mind. And you could not look nicer if you'ddone it on purpose."

  With a jerk she disengaged her shoes from the pattens, dropped thebroom, and made for the door of her room, with such dignity as herkilted skirt left her. But before she reached it:

  "Steady, my lady," said Mr. Hornyold in a tone no longer wheedling,but harsh and peremptory, "you're forgetting! You are in gaol, andyou'll be pleased to stop when you're told, and do as you're told!Don't you be in such a hurry, my dear. I am here to learn if you haveany complaints."

  "Only of your presence!" she cried, her face burning. "If you havecome here only to insult me, I have heard enough."

  And having gained her cell in spite of him, she tried to slam the doorin his face.

  But he had had time to approach, and he set the handle of his whipbetween door and jamb, and stopped her.

  "I'm not come for that, I tell you, you pretty spitfire," he said;"I've come to hear if you have any complaints of your treatment here."

  "I have not!" she cried.

  "Come, come," he rejoined, checking her with a grin, "you must notanswer the Visiting Justice in that tone. Say, 'I have none, sir, Ithank you kindly,'--that's the proper form, my dear. You'll knowbetter another time. Or"--smiling more broadly as he read the angryrefusal in her eyes--"we shall have to put you to
beat hemp. And thatwere a pity. Those pretty hands would soon lose their softness, andthose dainty wrists that are not much bigger than my thumbs would besadly spoiled. But we won't do that," indulgently. "We are never hardon pretty girls as long as they behave themselves."

  She looked round wildly, but there was no escape. She could retreat nofarther. The man filled the doorway; the room lay open to his insolenteyes, and he did not spare to look.

  "Neat as a pin!" he said complacently. "Just as it should be. A placefor everything, and everything in its place. I've nothing but praisefor it. I never thought that it would ever be my lot to commend MissDamer for the neatness of her chamber! But--good Lord!" with surprise,"what's the matter with your wrist, my girl?"

  "Nothing," she said, the angry scarlet of her cheek turning a shadedeeper.

  "Nothing? Oh, but there is!" he returned peremptorily.

  "Nothing!" she repeated fiercely. "Nothing! It's nothing thatmatters!"

  Oh, how she hated the man! How she loathed his red, insolent grin!Would he never leave her? Was she to be exposed, day by day, and hourby hour, to this horror?

  He eyed her shrewdly.

  "You haven't been turning stubborn?" he said, "have you? And they'vehad to handle you already? And bring you to your senses? And so theyhave set you to brooming? But Bishop," with a frown, "gave me nonotion of that. He said you came like a lamb."

  "It's not that!" she cried. "It's nothing." It was not only that shewas ashamed of the mark on her arm, and shrank from showing it. Buthis leering, insolent face terrified her. Though he was not tipsy, hehad spent the small hours at a club; and the old port still hummed inhis brain. "It's not that," she repeated firmly, and more quietly,hoping to get rid of him.

  "Here," he answered, "let me look at it."

  "No!"

  "Pooh, nonsense!" he replied, pressing his advantage, and entering thecell. "Nonsense, girl, let me look at it." He stepped nearer, andperemptorily held out his hand. He could touch her. She could feel hishot breath on her cheek. "There's no room here for airs and tempers,"he continued. "How, if I don't see it, am I to know that they have notbeen ill-treating you? Show me your wrist, girl."

  But she recoiled from him into the farthest corner, holding her armsbehind her. Her face was a picture of passionate defiance.

  "Don't touch me!" she cried. "Don't come near me!"

  "You've no right to touch me. They have not hurt my wrist. I tell youit is nothing. And if you lay a finger on me I will scream!"

  "Then," he said coolly, "they'll put you in a strait waistcoat, mylass, like the madman next door. That's all! You're mighty particular,but you forget where you are."

  "You forget that I am a gentlewoman!" she cried. She could not retreatfarther, but she looked at him as if she could have killed him. "Standback, sir, I say!" she continued fiercely. "If you do not----"

  "What will you do?" he asked. He enjoyed the situation, but he was notsure how far it would be prudent to push it. If he could contrive tosurprise her wrist it would be odd if he could not snatch a kiss; andit was his experience--in his parish--that once fairly kissed, youngwomen came off the high horse, and proved amenable. "What'll you do,"he continued facetiously, "you silly little prude?"

  "Do?" she panted.

  "Ay, Miss Dainty Damer, what'll you do?" with a feigned movement as ifto seize her. "You're not on the highway now, you know! Nor free onbail! Nor is there a parson here!"

  There he stopped--a faint, faint sound had fallen on his ear. Helooked behind him, and stepped back as if a string drew him. And hisface changed marvellously. In the doorway stood, hat in hand, the lastperson in the world he wished to see there--Captain Clyne.

  Clyne did not utter a syllable, but he beckoned to the other to comeout to him. And, with a chap-fallen look and a brick-red face,Hornyold complied, and went out. Clyne closed the door on thegirl--that she might not hear. And the two men alone in the yardconfronted one another, Clyne's face was dark.

  "I overheard your last words, Mr. Hornyold," he said in a voice lowbut stern. "And you are mistaken. There is a parson here--who hasforgotten that he is a gentleman. It is well for him, very well, thathaving forgotten that fact he remains a parson."

  Hornyold tried to bluster, tried to face the other down and save thesituation. "I don't understand you!" he said. "What does this mean?"He was the taller man and the bigger, but Clyne's air of contemptuousmastery made him appear the smaller. "I don't understand you," herepeated. "The young lady--I merely came to visit her."

  "The less," Clyne retorted, cutting him short, "said about her thebetter! I understand perfectly, sir," with severity, "if you do not!Perfectly. And I desire you to understand that it is your cloth onlythat protects you from the punishment you deserve!"

  "That's easy said!" Hornyold answered with a poor attempt at defiance."Easy! What! Are we to have all this fuss about a chit that----"

  "Silence, sir!" And Clyne's voice rang so loud that the other not onlyobeyed but stepped back, as if he feared a blow. "Silence, sir! I knowyou well enough, and your past, to know that you cannot afford ascandal. And you know me! I advise you, therefore, when you havepassed that door"--he pointed to the door leading to the prison lodge,"to keep a still tongue, and to treat this lady's name with respect.If not for the sake of your own character, for the sake, at any rate,of your ill-earned stipends."

  "Fine words!" Hornyold muttered, with a sneer of bravado.

  "I will make them good," Clyne answered. And the look and the tonewere such that the other, high as he wished to carry it, thoughtdiscretion the better part. He turned, still sneering, on his heel,and cutting the air with his whip made his way with what dignity hemight to the door. He hesitated an instant and then disappeared,raging inwardly.

  The moment he was gone Clyne's face relaxed. He passed his hand overhis brow as if to recall his thoughts, and he sighed deeply. Thenturning he went slowly to Henrietta's door and tapped on it. The girlopened. "May I speak to you?" he said.

  She did not answer, but she stepped out. She had recovered herself-control--quickly and completely, as women do; and her face toldnothing. Whatever she thought of his intervention and of the manner inwhich he had routed Hornyold, she made no sign. She waited for him tospeak. Yet she was aware not only of his downcast carriage, but of thechange which sleepless nights and days of unutterable suspense hadwrought in his face. His features were thinner and sharper, histemples more hollow: and there was a listening, hungry look in hiseyes which did not quit them even when he dealt with other things thanhis loss.

  "I have brought an order for your release," he said without an attemptat preface. "I have given bail for your appearance when needed. Youare free to go. You have not to thank me, however, but Mr. Sutton, whodiscovered the letter that was written to you----"

  She interrupted him by an exclamation.

  "The letter," he continued mechanically, "that was written to youmaking an appointment."

  "Impossible!" she cried. "I destroyed it."

  "He put it together again," he answered in the same tone. "I--we areall indebted to him. Deeply indebted to him! I don't know that thereis anything more to be said," he continued dully, "except that I havecome to take you back. I was coming last evening, but the snowprevented me."

  "And that is all--you have to say?"

  He raised his eyes to hers with so much sadness in their depths, withsuch utter dejection in his looks, that in spite of all her efforts tokeep it alive, her anger drooped. "Except that I am sorry," he said."I am sorry. We have treated you--badly amongst us."

  "You!" she said vindictively.

  "I, if you like. Yes, I. It is true."

  She called up the remembrance of the severity with which he had judgedher and the violence of which her wrist still wore the traces. Shepictured the disgrace of the prison and her fears, the nights ofapprehension and the days of loneliness, ay, and the insolence of thewretch who had just left her--she owed all to him! All! And yet shecould not keep her anger hot. She tried. She t
ried to show himsomething of what she felt. "You!" she repeated. "And now you think,"bitterly, "that I shall bear to go back to the place from which yousent me? Sent me in open disgrace--in that man's charge--with no womanwith me?"

  "God help me!" he said. "I know not what to think or do! I thoughtthat if I took you back myself, that would perhaps be best for all."

  She was silent a moment, and then, "I have been very, very unhappy,"she said in a different tone. And even while she said it she wonderedwhy she complained to him, instead of accusing him, and blaming him.

  "I believe it," he said slowly. "We have wronged one another. Let itstand at that."

  "You believe, you do believe now," she said, "that I had no hand instealing him?"

  "I do."

  "And knew naught of it," she insisted earnestly, "before or after?"

  "I do."

  "I would have cut off my hand first!" she said.

  "I believe it," he answered sorrowfully.

  Then they were both silent. And she wondered at herself. Why did shenot hate him? Why did she not pour out on him the vials of herindignation? He had treated her badly, always badly. The wrong whichshe had done him in the first place, he had avenged by a gross insultto her womanhood. Then not satisfied with that, he had been quick tobelieve the worst of her. He had been violent to her, he had bulliedher: and when he found that she was not to be wrung to compliance withhis orders, he had degraded her to a public prison as if she had beenthe worst of her sex--instead of his kith and kin. Even now when hiseyes were open to his injustice, even now when he acknowledged that heowed amends, he came to her with a few poor words, meagre, scantywords, a miserable "I am sorry, you are free." And that was all. Thatwas all!

  And yet her rage drooped cold, her spirit seemed dead. The scathingreproaches, the fierce truths which had bubbled to her lips as she layfeverish on her prison-bed, the hot tears which had scalded her eyes,now that she might give them vent, now that he might be wounded bythem and made to see his miserableness--were not! She stood mute andpale, wondering at the change, wondering at her mildness. And when hesaid meekly, "The chaise is ready, will you make your preparations?"she went to do his bidding as if she had done nothing but obey him allher life.