'That old hag of a housekeeper has turned rusty,' Pomeroy answered. 'She has got it into her head something is going to be done to the girl. I sounded her and I cannot trust her. I could send her packing, but Jarvey is not much better, and talks when he is drunk. The girl must be got from here.'
Mr. Thomasson raised his eyebrows scornfully.
'You need not sneer, you fool!' Pomeroy cried with a little spirt of rage.' 'Tis no harder than to get her here.'
'Where will you take her?'
'To Tamplin's farm by the river. There, you are no wiser, but you may trust me. I can hang the man, and the woman is no better. They have done this sort of thing before. Once get her there, and, sink me! she'll be glad to see the parson!'
The tutor shuddered. The water was growing very deep. 'I'll have no part in it!' he said hoarsely. 'No part in it, so help me God!'
'There's no part for you!' Mr. Pomeroy answered with grim patience. 'Your part is to thwart me.'
Mr. Thomasson, half risen from his chair, sat down again. 'What do you mean?' he muttered.
'You are her friend. Your part is to help her to escape. You're to sneak to her room to-morrow, and tell her that you'll steal the key when I'm drunk after dinner. You'll bid her be ready at eleven, and you'll let her out, and have a chaise waiting at the end of the avenue. The chaise will be there, you'll put her in, you'll go back to the house. I suppose you see it now?'
The tutor stared in wonder. 'She'll get away,' he said.
'Half a mile,' Mr. Pomeroy answered drily, as he filled his glass.' Then I shall stop the chaise--with a pistol if you like, jump in--a merry surprise for the nymph; and before twelve we shall be at Tamplin's. And you'll be free of it.'
Mr. Thomasson pondered, his face flushed, his eyes moist. 'I think you are the devil!' he said at last.
'Is it a bargain? And see here. His lordship has gone silly on the girl. You can tell him before he leaves what you are going to do. He'll leave easy, and you'll have an evidence--of your good intentions!' Mr. Pomeroy added with a chuckle. 'Is it a bargain?'
'I'll not do it!' Mr. Thomasson cried faintly. 'I'll not do it!'
But he sat down again, their heads came together across the table; they talked long in low voices. Presently Mr. Pomeroy fetched pen and paper from a table in one of the windows; where they lay along with one or two odd volumes of Crebillon, a tattered Hoyle on whist, and Foote's jest book. A note was written and handed over, and the two rose.
Mr. Thomasson would have liked to say a word before they parted as to no violence being contemplated or used; something smug and fair-seeming that would go to show that his right hand did not understand what his left was doing. But even his impudence was unequal to the task, and with a shamefaced good-night he secured the memorandum in his pocket-book and sneaked up to bed.
He had every opportunity of carrying out Pomeroy's suggestion to make Lord Almeric his confidant. For when he entered the chamber which they shared, he found his lordship awake, tossing and turning in the shade of the green moreen curtains; in a pitiable state between chagrin and rage. But the tutor's nerve failed him. He had few scruples--it was not that; but he was weary and sick at heart, and for that night he felt that he had done enough. So to all my lord's inquiries he answered as sleepily as consisted with respect, until the effect which he did not wish to produce was produced. The young rou's suspicions were aroused, and on a sudden he sat up in bed, his nightcap quivering on his head.
'Tommy!' he cried feverishly. 'What is afoot downstairs? Now, do you tell me the truth.'
'Nothing,' Mr. Thomasson answered soothingly.
'Because--well, she's played it uncommon low on me, uncommon low she's played it,' my lord complained pathetically; 'but fair is fair, and willing's willing! And I'll not see her hurt. Pom's none too nice, I know, but he's got to understand that. I'm none of your Methodists, Tommy, as you are aware, no one more so! But, s'help me! no one shall lay a hand on her against her will!'
'My dear lord, no one is going to!' the tutor answered, quaking in his bed.
'That is understood, is it? Because it had better be!' the little lord continued with unusual vigour. 'I vow I have no cause to stand up for her. She's a d--d saucy baggage, and has treated me with--with d--d disrespect. But, oh Lord! Tommy, I'd have been a good husband to her. I would indeed. And been kind to her. And now--she's made a fool of me! She's made a fool of me!'
And my lord took off his nightcap, and wiped his eyes with it.
CHAPTER XXX
A GREEK GIFT
Julia, left alone, and locked in the room, passed such a night as a girl instructed in the world's ways might have been expected to pass in her position, and after the rough treatment of the afternoon. The room grew dark, the dismal garden and weedy pool that closed the prospect faded from sight; and still as she crouched by the barred window, or listened breathless at the door, all that part of the house lay silent. Not a sound of life came to the ear.
By turns she resented and welcomed this. At one time, pacing the floor in a fit of rage and indignation, she was ready to dash herself against the door, or scream and scream and scream until some one came to her. At another the recollection of Pomeroy's sneering smile, of his insolent grasp, revived to chill and terrify her; and she hid in the darkest corner, hugged the solitude, and, scarcely daring to breathe, prayed that the silence might endure for ever.
But the hours in the dark room were long and cold; and at times the fever of rage and fear left her in the chill. Of this came another phase through which she passed, as the night wore on and nothing happened. Her thoughts reverted to him who should have been her protector, but had become her betrayer--and by his treachery had plunged her into this misery; and on a sudden a doubt of his guilt flashed into her mind and blinded her by its brilliance. Had she done him an injustice? Had the abduction been, after all, concerted not by him but by Mr. Thomasson and his confederates? The setting down near Pomeroy's gate, the reception at his house, the rough, hasty suit paid to her--were these all parts of a drama cunningly arranged to mystify her? And was he innocent? Was _he_ still her lover, true, faithful, almost her husband?
If she could think so! She rose, and softly walked the floor in the darkness, tears raining down her face. Oh, if she could be sure of it! At the thought, the thought only, she glowed from head to foot with happy shame. And fear? If this were so, if his love were still hers, and hers the only fault--of doubting him, she feared nothing! Nothing! She felt her way to a tray in the corner where her last meal remained untasted, and ate and drank humbly, and for him. She might need her strength.
She had finished, and was groping her return to the window-seat, when a faint rustle as of some one moving on the other side of the door caught her ear. She had fancied herself brave enough an instant before, but in the darkness a great horror of fear came on her. She stood rooted to the spot; and heard the noise again. It was followed by the sound of a hand passed stealthily over the panels; a hand seeking, as she thought, for the key; and she could have shrieked in her helplessness. But while she stood, her face turned to stone, came instant relief, A voice, subdued in fear, whispered, 'Hist, ma'am, hist! Are you asleep?'
She could have fallen on her knees in her thankfulness. 'No! no!' she cried eagerly. 'Who is it?'
'It is me--Olney!' was the answer. 'Keep a heart, ma'am! They are gone to bed. You are quite safe.'
'Can you let me out?' Julia cried. 'Oh, let me out!'
'Let you out?'
'Yes, yes! Let me out? Please let me out.'
'God forbid, ma'am!' was the horrified answer. 'He'd kill me. And he has the key. But--'
'Yes?