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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
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RGL e-Book Cover
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WITH a swish of skirts and a twinkle of neat tan shoes, Aline Nisbet came scurrying round the corner of the hotel. She brushed through the narrow belt of shrubbery and making straight for the seats under the sycamore by the corner of the croquet ground, flung herself panting into a hammock-chair beside Mrs. Halford.
The latter, a good-looking woman of thirty, glanced up from her novel.
"My dear Aline, will you never grow up?" she asked with a smile. She was Aline's half-sister and chaperone for the time being, and the two were the best of friends.
"It was the Oaf, Freda," said Aline, smoothing the hair back from her eyes with two exceedingly pretty hands. "He was coming out with his rod, and I saw in his face that he meant to ask me to go fishing. And I couldn't. I really couldn't."
"Poor Mr. Oakley! Aline, you do treat him shockingly."
"I don't. I can't stand a man who follows me around like a big dog, and never says a word. That last afternoon's fishing was a perfect nightmare. I started a dozen subjects one after another, and never got a word out of him."
"He'll talk about fishing."
"Oh, fishing!" with huge contempt. "Freda, the man thinks fish, lives fish. I wonder he doesn't grow fins."
"He catches fish," suggested the other slyly.
"I know. It's the only thing he can do."
"I'm not so sure about that. He's a good shot, I believe, and they say he manages that farm of his uncommonly well."
"He would," said Aline, tilting her pretty nose with a scornful air. "That's just what he is. A great big, clod-hopping farmer, with fists like legs of mutton, and about as much brains as a sheep."
"You are a little hard on him, Aline," said Mrs. Halford more seriously. "I don't think he's a fool by any means. But he's desperately shy, and that always puts a man at a disadvantage, particularly when he is with a girl he admires."
"Then I wish he'd choose someone else he admires besides me," remarked Aline. "It's too much of a joke to have a great bear like that after you all day. I must say I prefer someone who can make a joke and take one."
"Like Mr. Bellinger," repeated Mrs. Halford.
"Like Mr. Bellinger," repeated Aline defiantly, "he's got decent manners, at any rate, and knows how to dance and how to talk, and—oh, lots of things."
"How to flirt, for instance," was the dry rejoinder.
"Flirt if you like. What's the use of a man who can't flirt, especially in a forsaken place like this?"
"He is certainly a very pleasant and agreeable person," admitted Mrs. Halford. "But I should keep him within bounds if I were you, Aline dear."
"What do you mean, Freda?" exclaimed the girl, with an attempt at dignity, but, all the same, a warm flush dyed her cheeks. "Surely you don't think I take him seriously."
"You may not, but I'm not at all sure that he doesn't. To put it plainly, dear, it's my private opinion that you and your twelve hundred a year form a very strong attraction in the eyes of Mr. Bellinger."
Aline's cheeks were scarlet. "That's horrid of you, Freda! Fortune-hunting's the last thing I'd accuse him of. Why, he's quite well off himself."
A faint look of dismay crept into Mrs. Halford's eyes. Freda's words made her feel that her charge was thinking more of this new acquaintance than she had imagined.
They had only met Mr. Bellinger ten days before, when they had first arrived at the Greyhound Inn, the little Dartmoor Hotel where they had come for a rest after the fatigue of the London season. And although he was extremely good looking, perfectly dressed and had the air of a man who moved in good society, they knew nothing about him, and in her secret heart Mrs. Halford did not like him. Why, she could hardly have said, but there the feeling was.
However, she was much too wise to run him down to Aline, so she only said mildly "I daresay you're right, dear. And talk of angels, here's the gentleman himself!"
"Ah! I thought I might find you here," came an eager voice, and round the bend of the path appeared a well set-up man, with features which were almost too good, the only weak one, the mouth, being hidden by a heavy moustache. He wore a well-cut suit of dark flannel, and on his head a light felt hat which became him admirably. He may have looked a little too like a tailor's fashion plate, but from top to toe he was the perfection of smartness.
"I've got a plan," he continued, as he came up, "a plan which only wants your consent, dear ladies, to become a charming fact. I have secured the hotel waggonette, and I suggest that we should take a tea basket, drive down the river as far as Trenworthy, and picnic in that pretty wood there."
Aline sprang up, clapping her hands. "That will be perfectly delightful, Mr. Bellinger," she exclaimed. "Won't it, Freda?"
Mrs. Halford had no alternative but to agree, which she did as gracefully as she did most things. Aline flew to see about the basket, and in less than a quarter of an hour the pair of sturdy hotel cobs were travelling along the hilly moorland road.
It was a lovely summer afternoon, the air so clear that they could distinctly see the hills above Torquay in one direction, and in the other the line of prim, grey buildings along the face of Hisworthy Tor, which make up the great convict prison of Princetown.
The road ran parallel with the river, which foamed over the great boulders in the valley below, and as they drove along Aline caught sight of a solitary figure knee-deep in the water and casting across a pool.
"Why that's the Oaf!" she exclaimed.
"The Oaf!" repeated Bellinger, puzzled. "Ah I see—Oakley!" He burst out laughing. "What a capital name, Miss Nisbet! Hits him off to a T."
"Do you think so," said Mrs. Halford sharply. "If oafishness consists in putting a line like that across the pool, how do you describe your own fishing, Mr. Bellinger?"
"Oh, I don't pretend to fish, Mrs. Halford," replied Bellinger airily, and cleverly changed the subject.
Another mile, and they turned to the right down the hill. The carriage dropped them at a stile leading into a wood, which ran for some distance along the riverside. Bellinger took the tea-basket, and led the way along a rough path into a charming glade among the trees.
"Here we are," he said, laying down the basket beside a flat lichen-clad boulder. "Now, if you ladies will get the things out, I'll fill the kettle."
He took the kettle and disappeared among the trees, while the ladies laid a cloth on the big stone and set out the bread and butter, cakes, strawberries, and Devonshire cream, which they unpacked from the basket.
"Aline," said Mrs. Halford, as she spooned the tea into the tea pot, "I don't think it was quite nice to talk of Mr. Oakley before Mr. Bellinger by that ridiculous nickname."
"I'm sorry," said Aline repentantly. "I forgot. But why are you suddenly sticking up for Mr. Oakley, Freda? You were cross enough the other evening when he trod on your skirt and ripped all the gathers out of it."
"My dear. I know he's shockingly clumsy. But I don't mind telling you that I prefer him to Mr. Bellinger."
Aline laughed. "Do you mean to say that you'd rather be tramping through those bogs along the river bank watching your expert fish than sitting here in the shade, just going to enjoy an excellent tea?"
"You know I don't. But all the same, I don't like to see you blind to Mr. Oakley's many excellent qualities. After all, he's twice the man that Mr. Bellinger is."
"I'm not so sure about that," replied Aline. "It doesn't follow that because a man can't fish he's a duffer all round. But, talking of Mr. Bellinger, where is he? He ought to have been back with that water long ago."
"Perhaps he has fallen in," suggested Mrs. Halford with a laugh.
"Then we'd better go and pull him out," said Aline. "Come along, Freda." And suiting the action to the word, she jumped up and started across the glade towards the river.
The bushes were thick, and it was not easy to force a way through them. Aline had pushed between two thick clumps of hazel, and was holding the branches aside for her sister, when, above the low murmur of the river, a voice came distinctly to her ears. A deep, hoarse voice. "It's no good, mister. I've got to have the lot. Off with 'em, now."
Aline dropped the branch like a hot potato and spun round. A little way in front was a small, open space some eight or ten yards away. Bushes surrounded it like a wall on three sides, on the fourth was the river, running deep and swift, with a high bank on the far side. Floored with soft turf, it was the most beautiful dell imaginable.
But Aline had no eyes for the natural beauties of the spot. Its occupants claimed all her attention. One man was Bellinger, the other a squat broad-shouldered gentleman in a drab costume plentifully bestrewn with black, broad arrows.
With his close-cropped hair, small eyes, and heavy, stubbly jaw, he presented such a vivid resemblance to the convict of melodrama that Aline had not the least difficulty in identifying him as an escapee from Princetown.
He was standing over Mr. Bellinger, who, with a face as white as paper, was kneeling on the ground in an attitude highly suggestive of saying his prayers. The kettle lay on the grass beside him.
"Off with 'em now," repeated the convict. "An' look slippy about it. I ain't got no time to waste."
"Don't be so unreasonable. I can't give you my clothes," replied Bellinger in a voice which fairly quivered with terror. "You shall have all my money if you'll only go away."
"I'll have that too," said the convict coolly. But it's your duds I wants. Now, then, off with them, or by—" and there followed a quite unprintable promise of what would happen to Mr. Bellinger if he did not instantly obey orders.
Aline after the first start, had forgotten to be frightened. She was too intensely interested in the spectacle before her to think of any possible danger to herself.
She saw Bellinger slowly and reluctantly pull off his exquisitely-cut coat and still more unwillingly remove his waistcoat displaying a tasteful flannel shirt and beautifully embroidered braces. Then he stopped again. "Can't you do with those?" he asked imploringly.
"Stow your chinwagging an' hand over the duds or s'welp me Bob I'll shove it across you," replied the convict so truculently that Bellinger convulsively tore off his collar and tie and stripped the braces from his shoulders.
"I think its about time we retired," came Freda Halford's cool voice from over Aline's shoulder, and taking the girl's arm she was drawing her away, when the bushes parted by the waterside, and a man with a creel on his back and a rod in his hand pushed his way into the dell.
"Mr. Oakley!" breathed Freda, and both she and her sister stooped and waited breathlessly for what would happen.
Oakley, who of course could not see them, stood stock still for a moment, staring at the partly disrobed figure kneeling on the grass, and the convict standing over him. Then he quietly laid down his rod and unstrapped his creel. "What's the matter, Bellinger?" he asked in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.
The convict, who, having his back to the newcomer, had not seen him, was round in one jump, and uttering a hoarse roar of rage charged Oakley like a bull.
Oakley stood stock still till the man was almost within arm's reach, then, flinging up his right arm to guard his face, he stooped and, with quickness that Aline could never have believed him capable of, caught the burly convict round the waist.
For a few seconds there was a desperate struggle. The convict, who, at any rate, did not lack pluck, did all he knew to get a grip on the other, but from Oakley's position was unable to. Suddenly Oakley closed, and both his arms tightened around the man's body. Then, with an amazing exhibition of strength, he swung the fellow clean off his feet and literally flung him away. The convict lit on the extreme edge of the bank, rebounding like a great ball, and with a tremendous splash, vanished in the swiftly running stream.
Next moment there came a loud shout, and two warders dashed into the open space.
"Seen anything of our chap, sir?" exclaimed the first breathlessly.
"You'll find him in the river," said Oakley with a smile. "Fish him out and take him back before he does any more damage."
As the warders ran to the bank Oakley turned to Bellinger. "Hope the fellow didn't hurt you," he said, drily.
"He caught me a blow on the head, and half stunned me," exclaimed Bellinger shamefacedly, as he hurriedly pulled on his coat and waistcoat.
"Did he, by Jove? Let's have a look at it."
"No, no," said Bellinger. "I'm all right. Perhaps you'd kindly go and tell the ladies what's happened. They're back in the wood there. But—er—I say, you needn't mention that the brute was bagging my clothes."
"That's quite unnecessary, Mr. Bellinger," said Aline, suddenly stepping out of her hiding place. "We have been witnesses of your generosity. Mr. Oakley, will you come and help us boil our kettle while Mr. Bellinger completes his toilet."
She walked off and Oakley followed.
There was a sly twinkle in Freda Halford's eyes as she watched them. "If it comes off," she said to herself, "Mr. Oakley ought to ask that convict to be his best man."
It did come off, but Oakley did not adopt the suggestion.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.