He waded ashore to find himself faced by a girl in whose face concern struggled with amusement. He lifted a dripping hand and grinned.
‘Silly exhibition, wasn’t it? All the fault of Mackenzie! Idiotic brute of a dog, not to remember my game leg!’
‘You’re horribly wet,’ the girl said, ‘but it was sporting of you to try that crossing. What about dry clothes?’
‘Oh, no trouble about that. I’ve only to get up to Crask.’
‘You’re Sir Archibald Roylance, aren’t you? I’m Janet Raden. I’ve been with papa to call on you, but you’re never at home.’
Sir Archie, having now got the water out of his eyes and hair, was able to regard his interlocutor. He saw a slight girl with what seemed to him astonishingly bright hair and very blue and candid eyes. She appeared to be anxious about his dry clothes, for she led the way up the bank at a great pace, while he limped behind her. Suddenly she noticed the limp.
‘Oh, please forgive me, I forgot about your leg. You had another smash, hadn’t you, besides the one in the war – steeplechasing, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, but it didn’t signify. I’m all right again and get about anywhere, but I’m a bit slower on the wing, you know.’
‘You’re keen about horses?’
‘Love ’em.’
‘So do I. Agatha – that’s my sister – doesn’t care a bit about them. She would like to live all the year at Glenraden, but – I’m ashamed to say it – I would rather have a foggy November in Warwickshire than August in Scotland. I simply dream of hunting.’
The ardent eyes and the young grace of the girl seemed marvellous things to Sir Archie. ‘I expect you go uncommon well,’ he murmured.
‘No, only moderate. I only get scratch mounts. You see I stay with my Aunt Barbara, and she’s too old to hunt, and has nothing in her stables but camels. But this year …’ She broke off as she caught sight of the pools forming round Sir Archie’s boots. ‘I mustn’t keep you here talking. You be off home at once.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m wet for days on end when I’m watchin’ birds in the spring. You were sayin’ about this year?’
Her answer was a surprising question. ‘Do you know anybody called John Macnab?’
Sir Archibald Roylance was a resourceful mountebank and did not hesitate.
‘Yes. The distiller, you mean? Dhuniewassel Whisky? I’ve seen his advertisements – “They drink Dhuniewassel, In cottage and castle—” That chap?’
‘No, no, somebody quite different. Listen, please, if you’re not too wet, for I want you to help me. Papa has had the most extraordinary letter from somebody called John Macnab, saying he means to kill a stag in our forest between certain dates, and daring us to prevent him. He is going to hand over the beast to us if he gets it and pay fifty pounds, but if he fails he is to pay a hundred pounds. Did you ever hear of such a thing?’
‘Some infernal swindler,’ said Archie darkly.
‘No. He can’t be. You see the fifty pounds arrived this morning.’
‘God bless my soul!’
‘Yes. In Bank of England notes, posted from London. Papa at first wanted to tell him to go to – well, where Papa tells people he doesn’t like to go. But I thought the offer so sporting that I persuaded him to take up the challenge. Indeed, I wrote the reply myself. Mr Macnab said that the money was to go to a charity, so Agatha is having the fifty pounds for her native weaving and dyeing – she’s frightfully keen about that. But if we win the other fifty pounds papa says the best charity he can think of is to prevent me breaking my neck on hirelings, and I’m to have it to buy a hunter. So I’m very anxious to find out about Mr John Macnab.’
‘Probably some rich Colonial who hasn’t learned manners.’
‘I don’t think so. His manners are very good, to judge by his letter. I think he is a gentleman, but perhaps a little mad. We simply must beat him, for I’ve got to have that fifty pounds. And – and I want you to help me.’
‘Oh, well, you know – I mean to say – I’m not much of a fellow …’
‘You’re very clever, and you’ve done all kinds of things. I feel that if you advised us we should win easily, for I’m sure you had far harder jobs in the war.’
To have a pretty young woman lauding his abilities and appealing with melting eyes for his aid was a new experience in Sir Archie’s life. It was so delectable an experience that he almost forgot its awful complications. When he remembered them he flushed and stammered.
‘Really, I’d love to, but I wouldn’t be any earthly good. I’m an old crock, you see. But you needn’t worry – your Glenraden gillies will make short work of this bandit … By Jove, I hope you get your hunter, Miss Raden. You’ve got to have it somehow. Tell you what, if I’ve any bright idea I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you so much. And may I consult you if I’m in difficulties?’
‘Yes, of course. I mean to say, No. Hang it, I don’t know, for I don’t like interferin’ with your father’s challenge.’
‘That means you will. Now, you mustn’t wait another moment. Good-bye. Will you come over to lunch at Glenraden?’
Then she broke off and stared at him. ‘I forgot. Haven’t you smallpox?’
‘What! Smallpox? Oh, I see! Has old Mother Claybody been putting that about?’
‘She came to tea yesterday twittering with terror, and warned us all not to go within a mile of Crask.’
Sir Archie laughed somewhat hollowly. ‘I had a bad toothache and my head tied up, and I daresay I said something silly, but I never thought she would take it for gospel. You see for yourself that I’ve nothing the matter with me.’
‘You’ll have pneumonia the matter with you, unless you hurry home. Good-bye. We’ll expect you to lunch the day after to-morrow.’ And with a wave of her hand she was gone.
The extraordinary fact was that Sir Archie was not depressed by the new tangle which encumbered him. On the contrary, he was in the best of spirits. He hobbled gaily up the by-road to Crask, listened to Leithen, when he met him, with less than half an ear, and was happy with his own thoughts. I am at a loss to know how to describe the first shattering impact of youth and beauty on a susceptible mind. The old plan was to borrow the language of the world’s poetry, the new seems to be to have recourse to the difficult jargon of psychologists and physicians; but neither, I fear, would suit Sir Archie’s case. He did not think of nymphs and goddesses or of linnets in spring; still less did he plunge into the depths of a subconscious self which he was not aware of possessing. The unromantic epithet which rose to his lips was ‘jolly.’ This was for certain the jolliest girl he had ever met – regular young sportswoman and amazingly good-lookin’, and he was dashed if she wouldn’t get her hunter. For a delirious ten minutes, which carried him to the edge of the Crask lawn, he pictured his resourcefulness placed at her service, her triumphant success, and her bright-eyed gratitude.
Then he suddenly remembered that alliance with Miss Janet Raden was treachery to his three guests. The aid she had asked for could only be given at the expense of John Macnab. He was in the miserable position of having a leg in both camps, of having unhappily received the confidences of both sides, and whatever he did he must make a mess of it. He could not desert his friends, so he must fail the lady; wherefore there could be no luncheon for him, the day after to-morrow, since another five minutes’ talk with her would entangle him beyond hope. There