Colonel Quaritch, V.C. A tale of country life

Front matter

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. CETEWAVO AND HIS WHITE NEIGHBOURS. DAWN. THE WITCH'S HEAD. king Solomon's mines. SHE. JESS. ALLAN QUATERMAIN. MR. MEESOX'S WILL. MAIWA'S REVENGE. A TALE OF COUNTRY LIFE. Wi H. RIDER HAGGARD. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON : LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO. 1888. AU rights reserved. TRIXTED BY RELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INK FIELDS. W.C. ; AND MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-OX-THAMES. Pec-tcafe THIS TALE OF COUNTRY LIFE TO MY FRIEND AND FELLOW - SPORTSMAN, CHARLES J. LONGMAN. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. — Harold takes the News .... i II. —Ida recants ■ 18 III. — George prophesies again. ... 34 IV.— The Squire speaks his Mind . . 53 V.— George's diplomatic Errand 6S VI. — The Sword of Damocles ... 84 VII. — How the Game ended .... 103 VIII.— Sister Agnes 119 IX.— Colonel Quaritch expresses his Views 136 X. — The Colonel goes to Sleep . . 155 XI. — But not to Bed 168 XII. — How the Night went .... 183 XIII. — Ida goes to meet her Fate . . . 212 XIV. — George is seen to laugh . . . 226 XV. — Christmas Chimes 248 Conclusion. — Good-bye A TALE OF COUNTRY LIFE.

Chapter I. Harold Takes The News

Mr. Quest and Harold bore the bleeding man — whether he was senseless or dead they knew not — into the house and laid him on the sofa. Then, having despatched a servant to seek a second doctor in case the one already gone for was out, they set to work to cut the clothes from his neck and arm, and do what they could, and that was little enough, towards staunch ing the bleeding. It soon, however, be came evident that Cossey had only got the outside portion of the charge of No. 7, that is to say, he had been struck vol. III. by about a hundred pellets out of the three or four hundred which would go to the ordinary ounce and an eighth. Had he received the whole charge he must, at that distance, have been instantly killed. As it was, the point of the shoulder was riddled, and so to a somewhat smaller extent was the back of his neck and the region of the right ear.

One or two out side pellets had also struck the head higher up, and the skin and muscles along the back were torn by the passage of shot. " By Jove ! " said Mr. Quest, " I think he is done for." The Colonel nodded. He had some experience of shot wounds, and the present was not of a nature to encourage hope of the patient's survival. " How did it happen ? " asked Mr. Quest presently, as he mopped up the streaming blood with a sponge. " It was an accident," groaned the Colonel. " Your wife was looking at my new gun. I told her it was loaded, and that she must be careful, and I thought she had put it down. The next thing that I heard was the report. It is all my cursed fault for leaving the cartridges in." " Ah," said Mr. Quest. " She always thought she understood guns. It is a shock ing accident."

Just then one of the doctors, followed by Belle Quest, ran up the lawn carrying a box of instruments, and in another minute was at work. He was a quick and skil ful surgeon, and having announced that the patient was not dead, at once began to tie one of the smaller arteries in the throat, which had been pierced, and through which Edward Cossey was rapidly bleeding to death. By the time that this was done the other doctor, an older man, put in an appearance, and together they made a rapid examination of the injuries. Belle stood by holding a basin of 34-2 water. She did not speak, and on her face was that same fixed look of horror which Harold had observed after the discharge of the gun When the examination was finished the two doctors whispered together for a few seconds. "Will he live?" asked Mr. Quest.

"We cannot say," answered the older doctor. "We do not think it likely that he will. It depends upon the extent of his injuries, and whether or no they have extended to the spine. If he does live he will probably be paralysed to some extent, and must certainly lose the hearing of the right ear." When she heard this Belle sank down upon a chair overwhelmed. Then the two doctors, assisted by Harold, set to work to carry Edward Cossey into another room which had been rapidly pre pared, leaving Mr. Quest alone with his wife. He came, stood in front of her, looked her in the face, and then laughed. " Upon my word," he said, " we men are bad enough, but you women beat us in wickedness." ' What do you mean ? " she said faintly. " I mean that you are a murderess, Belle," he said solemnly. " And you are a bungler, too.

You could not hold the gun straight." I deny it," she said, "the gun went off— " Yes," he said, " you are wise to make no admissions ; they might be used in evidence against you. Let me counsel you to make no admissions. But now look here. I suppose the man will have to lie in this house until he recovers or dies, and that you will help to nurse him. Well, I will, have none of your murderous work going on here. Do you hear me ? You are not to complete at leisure what you have begun in haste." " What do you take me for ? " she asked, with some return of spirit; "do you think that I would injure a wounded man r " I do not know," he answered with a shrug, "and as for what I take you for, I take you for a woman whose passion has made her mad," and he turned and left the room. When they had carried Edward Cossey, dead or alive — and he looked more like death than life — up to the room prepared for him, seeing that he could be of no further use, the Colonel left the house with a view of going to the Castle.

On his way out he looked into the drawing-room and there was Mrs. Quest, still sitting on the chair and gazing blankly before her. Pitying her he entered. " Come, cheer up, Mrs. Quest," he said kindly, "they hope that he will live." She made no answer. " It is an awful accident, but I am almost as culpable as you, for I left the cartridges in the gun. Anyhow, God's will be done." " God's will ! " she said, looking up, and then once more relapsed into silence. He turned to go, when suddenly she rose and caught him by the arm. "Will he die?" she said almost fiercely. " Tell me what you think — not what the doctors say ; you have seen many wounded men and know better than they do. Tell me the truth." " I cannot say," he answered, shaking his head. Apparently she interpreted his answer in the affirmative.

At any rate she covered her face with her hands. " What would you do, Colonel Quaritch, if you had killed the only thing you loved in the whole world ? " . she asked dreamily. " Oh, what am I saying ? — ■ I am off my head. Leave me — go and tell Ida; it will be good news for Ida." Accordingly he started for the Castle, having first picked up his gun on the spot where it had fallen from the hands of Mrs. Quest. And then it was that for the first time the extraordinary importance of this dread ful accident in its bearing upon his own affairs flashed upon his mind. If Cossey died he could not marry Ida, that was clear. This was what Mrs. Quest must have meant when she said that it would be good news for Ida. But how did she know anything about Ida's engagement to Edward Cossey ? And, by Jove ! what did the woman mean when she asked what he would do if he had killed the only thing he loved in the world ?

Cossey must be the "only thing she loved," and now he thought of it, when she believed that he was dead she called him " Edward, Edward." Harold Quaritch was as simple and un suspicious a man as it would be easy to find, but he was no fool. He had moved about the world and on various occasions come in contact with cases of this sort, as most other men have done. He knew that when a woman, in a moment of distress, calls a man by his Christian name it is be cause she is in the habit of thinking of him and speaking to him by that name. Not that there was much in that by itself, but in public she called him " Mr. Cossey." "Edward" clearly then was the "only thing she loved," and Edward was secretly en gaged to Ida, and Mrs. Quest knew it. Now when a man who is not her husband has the fortune, or rather the misfortune, to be the only thing a married woman ever loved, and when that married woman is aware of the fact of his devotion and en gagement to somebody else, it is obvious, he reflected, that in nine cases out of ten the knowledge will excite strong feelings in her breast, feelings indeed which in some natures would amount almost to madness.

W'hen he had first seen Mrs. Quest that afternoon she and Cossey were alone to gether, and he had noticed something un usual about her, something unnatural and intense. Indeed, he remembered he had told her that she looked like the Tragic Muse. Could it be that the look was the look of a woman maddened by insult and jealousy, who was meditating some fearful crime ? How did that gun go off? He did not see it, and he thanked heaven that he did not, for we are not always so anxious to bringour fellow-creatures to justice as we might be, especially when they happen to be young and lovely women. How did it go off? She understood guns ; he could see that from the way she handled it. Was it likely that it exploded of itself, or owing to an accidental touch of the trigger? It was possible, but not likely.

Still, such things have been known to happen, and it would be very difficult to prove that it had not happened in this case. If it should be an attempted murder it was very cleverly managed, because nobody could prove that it was not accidental. But could it be that this soft, beautiful, baby faced woman had on the spur of the mo ment taken advantage of his loaded gun to wreak her jealousy and her wrongs upon her faithless lover ? Well, the face is no mirror of the quality of the soul within, and it was possible. Further than that it did not seem to him to be his business to inquire. By this time he had reached the Castle. The Squire had gone out but Ida was in, and he was shown into the drawing-room while the servant went to seek her. Presently he heard her dress rustle upon the stairs, and the sound of it sent the blood to his heart, for where is the music that is more sweet than the rustling of the dress of the woman whom we love ?

" Why, what is the matter ? " she said, noticing the disturbed expression on his face. "Well," he said, "there has been an accident — a very bad accident." Who?" she said. "Not my father? No, no ; Mr. Cossey." " Oh," she said, with a sigh of relief. "Why did you frighten me so?" The Colonel smiled grimly at this un conscious exhibition of the relative state of her affections. "What has happened to him?" asked Ida, this time with a suitable expression of concern. He has been accidentally shot. Who by?" Mrs. Quest." " Then she did it on purpose — I mean is he dead ? " " No, but I believe that he will die." They looked at one another, and each read in the eyes of the other the thought which passed through their brains. If Edward Cossey died they would be free to marry. So clearly did they read it that Ida actually interpreted it in words.

"You must not think that," she said, "it is very wrong. " It is wrong," answered the Colonel, apparently in no way surprised at her interpretation of his thoughts, " but unfor tunately human nature is human nature." Then he went on to tell her all about it. Ida made no comment, that is after those first words, " she did it on purpose," which burst from her in her astonishment. She felt, and he felt too, that the question as to how that gun went off was one which was best left uninquired into by them. No doubt if the man died there would be an inquest, and the whole matter would be investigated. Meanwhile one thing was certain, Edward Cossey, whom she was engaged to, was shot and likely to die. Presently, while they were still talking, the Squire came in from his walk. To him also the story was told, and to judge from the expression of his face he thought it grave enough.

If Edward Cossey died the mortgages over the Honham property would, as he believed, pass to his heir, who, unless he had made a will. which was not probable, would be his father, old Mr. Cossey, the banker, from whom Mr. de la Molle well knew he had little mercy to expect. This was serious enough, and still more serious was it that all the bright prospects in which he had for some days been basking of the re establishment of his family upon a securer basis than it had occupied for genera tions would vanish like a vision. He was not more worldly-minded than are other men, but he did fondly cherish a natural desire to see the family fortunes once more in the ascendant. The projected marriage between his daughter and Edward Cossey would have brought this about most fully, and however much he might in his secret heart distrust the man himself, and doubt whether the match was really acceptable to Ida, he could not view its collapse with in difference.

While they were still talking the dressing-bell rang, and Harold rose to go. " Stop and dine, won't you, Quaritch ? " said the Squire. Harold hesitated and looked at Ida. She made no movement, but her eyes said " stay," and he sighed and yielded. Dinner was rather a melancholy feast, for the Squire was preoccupied with his own thoughts, and Ida had not much to say. So far as the Colonel was concerned, the recollection of the tragedy he had witnessed that afternoon, and of all the dreadful details with which it was accompanied, was not conducive to appetite. As soon as dinner was over the Squire announced that he should walk into Bois ingham to inquire how the wounded man was getting on. Shortly afterwards he started, leaving his daughter and Harold alone. They went into the drawing-room and talked about indifferent things.

No word of love passed between them ; no word, even, that could bear an affectionate signi ficance, and yet every sentence which passed their lips carried a message with it, and was as heavy with unuttered tender ness as a laden bee with honey. For they loved each other dearly, and deep love is a thing that can hardly be concealed by lovers from each other. It was happiness for him merely to sit beside her and hear her speak, to watch the changes of her face and the lamplight playing upon her hair, and it was happiness for her to know that he was sitting there and watching. For the most beautiful as pect of true affection is its accompanvino sense of perfect companionship and rest. It is a sense which nothing else in this life can give, and, like a lifting cloud, reveals the white and distant peaks of that un broken peace which we cannot hope to win in our stormy journey through the world.

And so the evening wore away till at last they heard the Squire's loud voice talking to somebody outside. Presently he came in. "How is he?" asked Harold. "Will he live ? " " They cannot say," was the answer. " But two great doctors have been tele graphed for from London, and will be down to-morrow." -*H»#~ 35 VOL.

Chapter II. Ida Recants

The two great doctors came, and the two great doctors pocketed their hundred guinea fees and went, but neither the one nor the other, nor eke the twain, would commit themselves to a fixed opinion as to Edward Cossey's chances of life or death. How ever, one of them picked out a number of shot from the wounded man, and a number more he left in because he could not pick them out. Then they both agreed that the treatment of their local brethren was all that could be desired, and so far as they were concerned there was an end of it. A week had passed, and Edward Cossey, nursed night and day by Belle Quest, still hovered between life and death. It was a Thursday, and Harold had walked up to the Castle to give the Squire the latest news of the wounded man. Whilst he was in the vestibule saying what he had to say to Mr. de la Molle and Ida, a man rung the bell, whom he recognised as one of Mr. Quest's clerks.

He was shown in, and handed the Squire a fully addressed brief envelope, which, he said, he had been told to deliver by Mr. Quest, and adding that there was no answer bowed himself out. As soon as he had gone the envelope was opened by Mr. de la Molle, who took from it two legal-looking documents which he began to read. Suddenly the first dropped from his hand, and with an ex clamation he snatched at the second. "What is it, father?" asked Ida. " What is it ? Why it's just this. Edward Cossey has transferred the mortgages over this property to Quest, the lawyer, and Quest, has served a notice on me calling 35—2 in the money," and he began to walk up and down the room in a state of great agitation. " I don't quite understand," said Ida, her breast heaving, and a curious light shining in her eyes.

" Don't you ? " said her father, " then perhaps you will read that," and he pushed the papers to her. As he did so another letter which he had not observed fell out oi them. At this point Harold rose to go. " Don't go, Quaritch, don't go," said the Squire. " I shall be glad of your advice, and I am sure that what you hear will not go any further." At the same time Ida motioned him to stay, and though somewhat unwillingly he did so. " Dear Sir," began the Squire, reading the letter aloud, — " Inclosed you will find the usual formal notices calling in the sum of thirty thousand pounds recently advanced upon mortgage of the Honham Castle Estates by Edward Cossey, Esq. These mortgages have passed into my possession for value received, and it is now my desire to realise them. I most deeply regret being forced to press an old client, but my circumstances are such that I am obliged so to do.

If I can in any way facilitate your efforts to raise the sum I shall be very glad. But in the event of the money not being forthcoming at the end of the six months' notice the ordinary steps will be taken to realise by foreclosure. " I am, dear sir, yours truly, "W. Quest. "James de la Molle, Esq., J.P., D.L." " I see now," said Ida. " Mr. Cossey has no further hold on the mortgages or on the property." " That's it," said the Squire ; " he has transferred them to that rascally lawyer. And yet he told me — I can't understand it, I really can't." At this point the Colonel insisted upon leaving, saying he would call in again that evening to see if he could be of any assistance. When he was gone Ida spoke in a cold, determined voice : " Mr. Cossey told me that when we married he would put those mortgages in the fire.

It now seems that the mortgages were not his to dispose of, or else that he has since transferred them to Mr. Quest without informing us." " Yes, I suppose so," said the Squire. " Very well," said Ida. " And now, father, I will tell you something. I en gaged myself — or, to be more accurate, I promised to engage myself — to Edward Cossey on the condition that he would take up these mortgages when Cossey and Son were threatening to foreclose, or whatever it is called." " Good heavens ! " said her astonished father, " what an idea ! " "I did it," went on Ida, "and he took up the mortgages, and in due course he claimed my promise, and I became engaged to marry him, though that engagement was repugnant to me. You will see that having persuaded him to advance the money I could not refuse to carry out my share of the bargain."

" Well," said the Squire, " this is all new to me." "Yes," she answered, "and I should never have told you of it had it not been for this sudden change in the position of affairs. What I did, I did to save our family from ruin. But now it seems that Mr. Cossey has played us false, and that we are to be ruined after all. Therefore, the condition upon which I promised to marry him has not been carried out, and my promise falls to the ground." " You mean that supposing he lives, you will not marry Edward Cossey." " Yes, I do mean it. The Squire thought for a minute. " This is a very serious step, Ida," he said. " I don't mean that I think that the man has behaved well — but still he may have given up the mortgages to Quest under pressure of some sort and might be willing to find the money to meet them."

" I do not care if he finds the money ten times over," said Ida, " I will not marry him. He has not kept to the letter of his bond and I will not keep to mine." " It is all very well, Ida," said the Squire, " and of course nobody can force you into a distasteful marriage, but I wish to point out one thing. You have your family to think of as well as your self. I tell you frankly that I do not believe that as times are it will be possible to raise thirty thousand pounds to pay off the charges unless it is by the help of Edward Cossey. So if he lives — and as he has lasted so long I expect that he will live — and you refuse to go on with your engagement to him we shall be sold up, that is all ; for this man Quest, con found him, will show us no mercy." " I know it, father," answered Ida, " but I cannot and will not marry him, and I do not think you can expect me to do so.

I became engaged, or rather promised to become engaged to him, because I thouoht that one woman had no right to put her own happiness before the welfare of an old family like ours, and I would have carried out that engagement at any cost. But since then, to tell you the truth," and she blushed deeply, " not only have I learned to dislike him a great deal more, but I have come to care for some one else who also cares for me, and who therefore has a right to be considered. Think, father, what it means to a woman to sell herself into bodily and mental bondage — when she cares for another man." " Well, well," said her father with some irritation, "lam no authority upon matters of sentiment ; they are not in my line and I know that women have their prejudices. Still you can't expect me to look at the matter in quite the same light as you do.

And who is the gentleman ? Colonel Ouaritch ? " She nodded her head. "Oh," said the Squire, "I have nothing to say against Ouaritch, indeed I like the man, but I suppose that if he has .£600 a year, it is every sixpence he can count on." " I had rather marry him upon six hundred a year than Edward Cossey upon sixty thousand." " Ah, yes, I have heard young women talk like that before, though perhaps they think differently afterwards. Of course I have no right to obtrude myself, but when you are comfortably married, what is going to become of Honham I should like to know, and incidentally of me ? " I don't know, father, dear," she answered, her eyes filling with tears ; "we must trust to Providence, I suppose. I know you think me very selfish," she went on, catching him by the arm, " but, oh, father ! there are things that are worse than death to women, or, at least, to some women.

I almost think that I Would rather die than marry Edward Cossey, though I should have gone through with it if he had kept his word." " No, no," said her father. " I can't wonder at it, and certainly I do not ask you to marry a man whom you dislike. But still it is hard upon me to have all this trouble at my age, and the old place coming to the hammer too. It is enough to make a man wish that his worries were over altogether. However, we must take things as we find them, and we find them pretty rough. Quaritch said he was coming back this evening, didn't he ? I suppose there will not be any public engagement at present, will there ? And look here, Ida, I don't want him to come talking to me about it. I have got enough things of my own to think of without bothering my head with your love affairs.

Pray let the matter be for the present. And now I am going out to see that fellow George, who hasn't been here since he came back from London, and a nice bit of news it will be that I shall have to tell him." When her father had gone Ida did a thing she had not done for some time — she wept a little. All her fine intentions of self-denial had broken down, and she felt humiliated at the fact. She had intended to sacrifice herself upon the altar of her duty and to make herself the wedded wife of a man whom she disliked, and now on the first opportunity she had thrown up the contract on a quibble — a point of law as it were. Nature had been too strong for her, as it often is for people with deep feelings ; she could not do it, no, not to save Honham from the hammer. When she had promised that she would engage herself to Edward Cossey she had not been in love with Colonel Quaritch ; now she was, and the difference between the two states is considerable.

Still the fall humiliated her pride, and what is more she felt that her father was disappointed in her. Of course she could not expect him at his age to enter into her private feelings, for when looked at through the mist of years sen timent appears more or less foolish. She knew very well that age often strips men of those finer sympathies and sensibilities which clothe them in youth, much as the winter frost and wind strip the delicate foliage from the trees. And to such the music of the world is dead. Love has vanished with the summer dews, and in its place are cutting blasts and snows and sere memories rustling like fallen leaves about the feet. As we grow old we are too apt to grow away from beauty and what is high and pure, our hearts harden by contact with the hard world. We examine love and find, or believe we find, that it is nought but a variety of passion ; friendship, and think it self-interest ; religion, and name it superstition.

The facts of life alone remain clear and desirable. We know that money means power, and we turn our face to Mammon, and if he smiles upon us we are content to let our finer visions go where our youth has gone. " Trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home." So says the poet, but alas ! the clouds soon melt into the grey air of the world, and some of us, before our course is finished, forget that they ever were. And yet which is the shadow of the truth — • those dreams, and hopes, and aspirations of our younger life, or the corruption with which the world cakes our souls ? Ida knew that she could not expect her father to sympathise with her ; she knew that to his judgment, circumstances being the same, and both suitors being equally sound in wind and limb, the choice of one of them should, to a large extent, be a matter to be decided by the exterior considerations of wealth and general convenience.