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Chapter XII

The visit of the Honourable Mr Platter to Dovecot had not been without some results in that quarter also; he had repaid the Wyldes for their lavish hospitality by endorsing a bill.

With this bit of paper in hand the commodore had immediately made off to town in high glee, to stave off some of his most troublesome creditors.

Mrs Wylde was left at home to chew the cud of reflection, or to amuse herself in the usual way with a little sentimental passage-of-arms.

On the present occasion she employed her distinguished talents in what she was pleased to call ‘a good cause’.

A nephew of her friend Mrs Dearie had lately arrived in the colony with a view to settle, and as a preliminary to that desirable process had fallen in love and taken it into his weak head to get married. Moreover, as it is by no means uncommon in such cases, the object of his youthful attachment was entirely without a settlement.

She was a plain girl, but sensible and high-spirited, and would have made the young man an excellent wife had there been sufficient means for them to marry on. Notwithstanding this unfortunate difficulty the young couple had entered into a formal engagement, but the prudent aunt was very much opposed to the match, and resolved to leave no means untried of breaking it off.

Now Major Dearie was a heavy man—ponderous and discursive; he was given to science and beer, but not in equal proportions, for he was generally considered deficient in the first and frequently overcharged with the latter. He was not ‘a lady's man’, or much given to dally with the fair, nevertheless he affected a clumsy sort of gallantry towards Mrs Wylde, and was consequently enrolled among the army of her admirers. She considered him ‘distinguished’ on account of his enormous red beard, and she was flattered by his attentions.

Mrs Dearie was a sharp-visaged little woman, ferrety, mercenary, and practically-minded; she indulged her husband to the extent of enduring his lady friends, and she remained on visiting terms with the Wyldes after most of her neighbours had cut them.

Mrs Dearie fully recognised Mrs Wylde's abilities, and she well knew that in all love-matters, or in questions of match-making, or page 132 especially match-breaking, the commodore's wife stood famed and pre-eminent.

With a view of obtaining advice and assistance in this emergency, Mrs Dearie called upon Mrs Wylde and confided to the latter all her troubles. The Siren, who was in a fit of the dumps, quite brightened at the prospect of a little ‘diversion’ in the course of true love.

‘Leave it all to me,’ she exclaimed, gaily, ‘and I will send them all to the right-about. Invite the loving couple to your place for a few days; I will be there, and play the part of a buffer.’

‘A buffer!’ said Mrs Dearie. ‘Why, what is that?’

‘You will see,’ replied the other, with an insidious smile; ‘only don't be shocked; the end must justify the means.’

So the plan was laid, and the fiancée, Miss Prim, arrived in due course at the Dearies', where the amorous nephew was waiting to meet her, and where she was received with all the honours due to a niece-in-law elect.

They were a rather spoony couple, and they seemed very happy together; the young lady, indeed, was becomingly reserved and inclined to be exacting, but she had evidently given her heart, and there was a good deal of hand squeezing and longing looks, with an occasional decorous kiss in the shade of the verandah. Mrs Wylde then smilingly came upon the scene.

‘Poor dears!’ she remarked to her friend, after the first tour of observation, ‘I feel sorry for them, for they are clearly much smitten. There will be a deuce of a flare up, but it can't be helped at the call of duty. After all, they will both be thankful to me some day.’

She remained very quiet for the first day or two, and managed to ingratiate herself with all the company. She even took the fiancée under her wing, and plied her with compliments and congratulations.

Then she became more than usually attractive, and managed to make herself specially agreeable and conspicuous. The gentlemen were delighted and profuse in their attentions; the ladies praised her, but were less demonstrative in their applause.

‘She is the life of the party,’ exclaimed the major, stroking his magnificent beard.

‘So clever, so appreciative, so spirituelle—so different from most ladies!’ muttered the nephew. ‘Quite an acquisition, no doubt,’ observed Mrs Dearie, demurely.

‘I think her very nice,’ added Miss Prim; ‘but rather fond of admiration for a married woman, don't you think?’

The Siren was in her element, but her object was not to attract universal adulation, and she soon began to devote her attentions to page 133 the nephew; she smiled on all comers, but she beamed for him alone. At dinner she sat beside him, and was so lively and engaging that the fascinated young man could hardly find time to turn a glance to the object of his heart, who affected silence and looked glum.

During the evening Mrs Wylde would preside at the piano, and discourse sweet music thereon, while inviting others to join—who dared not. The nephew, who had about as much voice as a crow, was induced to sing. She played his accompaniments, looked up admiringly in his face, and encouraged him with flattering praise. Thus emulated the young man continued to perform with evident satisfaction to himself, to the derision of the company, and the intense disgust of Miss Prim, who took refuge in a far corner and showed clearly her displeasure.

No doubt the offended maiden took an early opportunity of communicating her sentiments to her intended, by whom they were deeply resented.

He was hurt in his sorest part—his vanity.

Thus there arose a lover's quarrel; a mere flash in the pan, which would have quickly subsided, if artful hands had not fanned it into a flame.

Mrs Wylde returned to the attack and to the piano, the nephew bawled more discordantly than ever, the audience rang forth mocking applause, and the young lady was roused to exasperation.

Poor Miss Prim cried herself to sleep that night, and got up next morning with red eyes, but a defiant look in them.

Yet she could easily have been pacified even then, and her lover would willingly have pacified her, had he been allowed the chance, but his female guardians took care that no such opportunity should be afforded.

Mrs Wylde attached herself closely to him, while Mrs Dearie took charge of the other one. The following day, they all went out for a ride. Mrs Wylde and the nephew had nettlesome horses given to them, while the lady of the house and Miss Prim had to be satisfied with a couple of old mounts that were eminently safe but slow. This to the young lady, who was an excellent horsewoman, was a source of bitter annoyance. Mrs Wylde soon took the lead, and dashing off at a gallop cried out to the youthful cavalier to follow her; they quickly disappeared from view, and the other ladies, with the ponderous major as an escort, were left to bring up the rear at a snail's pace.

Mrs Dearie could not abstain from commenting on the strange and reprehensible conduct of her nephew with that fast woman, and page 134 sympathising with her young friend concerning the marked neglect she was receiving.

‘If he behaves like this before marriage, my dear,’ she said, ‘what have you to expect after?’

Miss Prim took it all in, her heart misgave her, her feelings were lacerated, she bled inwardly; but although of a warm temperament, she was reserved and resolute, and she said nothing.

That evening several friends dropped in, and an impromptu dance was got up for the occasion. Mrs Wylde was in great form, and the centre of attraction, but she reserved all her blandishments for the nephew. She entirely monopolised him, and succeeded in quite turning his weak head. She insisted upon his dancing the first waltz with her, she hung about his neck, gazed seductively into his eyes, and ended by linking her arm lovingly in his and dragging him off for a moonlight walk in the garden. Everybody affected to be amused or scandalised; the gentlemen exchanged knowing winks, and the ladies cast pitying side glances at Miss Prim, who sat in a corner, alone and neglected, outwardly calm and self-possessed, although inwardly boiling over with shame and indignation.

But the strain was too much for the poor girl to bear, for when, at a later hour in the evening, the contrite lover nervously approached her, with a view of making some amends, and asked her to dance, the long pent-up explosion burst at last with terrific force. She bounded from her seat, boxed his ears, tore his hair, and then went off into a fit of hysterics, and had to be carried out of the room. There was, of course, a great to-do, and the party broke up in considerable excitement, the guests taking with them to their respective homes sufficient topic of conversation to keep all the tongues in the neighbourhood clacking for a week.

The following morning, at an early hour, Miss Prim insisted upon taking her departure, and the engagement was irrevocably broken off. Then ‘the buffer’, having successfully accomplished her task and received the thanks and congratulations of the aunt, returned in triumph to Dovecot.

• • • • •

The result of this cruel episode may be related in a very few words. The nephew never forgave his relations; he left their house and the district, and ceased to correspond with them. Shortly afterwards he came into some money, which would have been sufficient to have started him successfully in life; but being crossed in his affections, unsettled in mind, and wanting in ballast, he drifted from the right page 135 course, and started the old game of ‘knocking about’, until he had dissipated his small capital and become a ‘ne'er-do-well’, such as were only too frequently met with in the early days of the Colony.

Miss Prim accepted a situation as governess on an ‘up-country’ station, where she became greatly beloved and appreciated, and especially commended for the evenness of her temper, which, after that one unfortunate outburst, was always kept severely under control. According to report she received several eligible offers of marriage, but refused them all. Her one little love-idyl in life had been spoilt, and she never tried another.

• • • • •

Mrs Wylde's scamp of a brother had not come off without a share in the spoils, for he had succeeded in selling the Honourable Mr Platter a horse for the good round sum of forty pounds. The animal was of showy aspect, but unfortunately foundered—a circumstance which among other information had not been pointed out to the purchaser, otherwise it might have made a considerable difference in the price; while Mr Prowler, who was present and well acquainted with the fact, had preserved a discreet silence, on the principle of never meddling in matters that did not directly concern him.

Tom Muster was delighted with his bargain, and considered that it entitled him to a little relaxation. He accordingly went home, and feeling well satisfied with himself and well disposed to others, confided his stroke of good fortune to his wife, and proposed that she should accompany him to the township to afford themselves a treat and make a few necessary purchases.

‘Never mind, old girl!’ he said, as he patted her pale cheek, ‘I know that I have often behaved badly to you, but I mean to reform—really I do. When I made this bit of money my first thought was for you, and the first thing I am going to do is to buy you that long-promised dress—then we will lay in a stock of provisions. Forty pounds doesn't come every day, lass, so let's make ourselves happy while it lasts.’

Thereupon he saddled the old mare, and after assisting his wife to mount, escorted her very decorously to Sunnydowns. He was in one of his ‘proper’ moods, having been for several days on enforced good behaviour and the ‘temperance tack’. He looked his best, clean and tidy, and reclaimed from besotted indulgence.

The unfortunate partner of his degradation, as she rode quietly by his side, felt cheered and consoled by the sight; she surveyed with a thrill of admiration the handsome and manly figure who had once been to dear to her, and to whom, in spite of herself, she still felt attached in the midst of all her wretchedness. He seemed to her then page 136 as he had seemed many years ago, when they had been young and prosperous together, and the world had smiled upon them, and she had felt proud to be seen by his side.

Things had sadly altered since those days, and often she had given herself up to despair, or sunk into dreary apathy; but a gleam of hope still lingered in her breast, and on occasions like the present one, when the sun shone brightly, the heavens were clear above, the downs resplendent in their golden garb, and the breeze full of life and freshness, her crushed nature would reassert itself, expand to the surrounding glow, and even chirp forth some little note of cheerfulness and sympathy.

‘Oh, Tom!’ she exclaimed, as she laid her hand gently on his arm, ‘oh, Tom! how happy we might be!’ and then her heart suddenly misgave her, and the colour left her cheek, for her eye caught sight in the distance of that dreaded outline of the public-house, whither she knew her husband would inevitably wend his way and meet his ruin. With a shudder she removed her hand.

Tom was touched.

‘My poor little woman!’ he muttered, with more tenderness than she had heard from him for many a long day, ‘cheer up, it will all be well. Only give me the opportunity to reform and to retrieve my position, and I can and will do it. Look how steady I have kept myself during the whole week, and how cleverly I have transacted this business. The Wyldes owe me a debt of gratitude for bringing Platter to them—a perfect godsend. And now I am going to be careful with this hard-earned money. I mean to turn it to good account; but you shall have your dress my Susy; I promised it to you long ago, and you shall have it first, if everything else goes begging for it.’

And then his eye also caught sight of the public-house, and he became serious and silent and quickened his pace.

On arrival at Sunnydowns, they alighted at the door of one of the large general stores, where perquisites of every imaginable description were for sale, and they tied up their horses to the posts by the footpath. Tom Muster accompanied his wife inside the shop, and promised to remain with her during the process of selection and purchase. But the process appeared to be lengthy and tedious, and after a while he made his escape to transact, so he said, a little necessary business of his own, promising to return again in the course of a quarter of an hour.

Mrs Muster soon finished her shopping, and then turned anxiously to look for her husband; but he was nowhere to be seen.

The hours passed wearily by, the morning elapsed and a dreary page 137 afternoon followed, and the sad little woman, in her plain dress, with her pale face and silent, dejected looks, sat still in the busy store, with her parcels tied up in a bundle beside her.

She well knew where he was, but she durst not mention it or endeavour to seek for him. The shopmen, whilst bustling about, eyed her compassionately and left her undisturbed. Troops of customers passed in and out and attended to their various business at the counter by her side; many cast inquiring glances at her, and wondered what she was doing there so sad and lonely, while others who recognised her, and were acquainted with the terrible affliction of her life, were not slow at realising her position, but they passed on and said nothing.

At last a genial old squatter—an old acquaintance—chanced to come upon the scene, and, having found out the cause of her trouble, went in search of her husband, and after a long while, brought him back to her.

But how changed! In those few hours an altered man. His face flushed crimson—it seemed on fire—lowering, debauched; his eyes glaring darkly, lips protruding with brutish sensuality, a husky voice, and staggering gait. He tried to stammer forth some incoherent excuse for his long absence, and smiled with hideous inanity on those present, but meeting with no response or encouragement, he became glum and morose and desirous of departing.

With the friendly assistance of the old squatter, the parcels were tied to the saddles. Mrs Muster was assisted to mount, and a start effected; but before leaving the township Muster insisted on obtaining a couple of bottles of brandy to take home with him, and he gave them, wrapped up in paper, to his wife, with instructions to be particularly careful of that precious charge. Then he scrambled on to his horse, and the two started homewards at a rapid pace.

They rode side by side in silence. Tom, inflamed with drink, was surly and taciturn; his wife seemed crushed with anxiety and sorrow. She said nothing, and obeyed him mechanically.

She had resumed the outward look of vacant apathy which was common to her, but she was tortured inwardly with dismal forebodings, while the parcel she carried before her, containing the poisonous fluid, seemed to scorch the hands that held it.

As they approached the squalid hut that made their home, or, rather, their present place of refuge, the unfortunate woman could no longer restrain her pent-up feeling—they broke forth in a long, low wail of anguish.

‘Why, what's up, Susy?’ exclaimed Tom, in a hoarse voice, and looking angrily at her. ‘Don't start the waterworks, or I'll clear out page 138 and leave you to it. I can't stand to be snivelled at. I've had a drop. I know; you can't do any business without it; and I kept you waiting a bit, for I couldn't get away no sooner. But it's all right. I told you I was going to give it up, and I will do so. No more sprees for me. So cheer up, old girl! Let's be happy while we can.’

‘And what are these for?’ she almost shrieked, holding up the bottles with both hands.

To be taken medicinally; blurted out the other, with a fiendish laugh. ‘One ought always to keep a supply of spirits in the house. Ain't you troubled with spasms at times, my dear, and glad of your drops? You shall help me to drink them.’

She turned upon him such a look of withering scorn that, callous and besotted as he was, he winced under it.

‘That is how I will help you,’ she cried aloud, as she flung the bottles from her, and the horses shied at the crashing glass in front of them.

For a moment Tom Muster remained paralysed with horror and amazement, then he broke out with a loud yell of execration, and, roused to fury, struck his spurs into his horse and rode straight at her. She fled from him with cries of alarm and urging her horse to a gallop. But he overtook her, his arm raised to strike. And as they tore furiously down the steep bank that led to their hut in the river bed, she cramped to the pommels of the saddle, and shrieking wildly for help, he beat her savagely with his riding-whip, and kept lashing her until, the horse stopping suddenly at the cottage gate, she was thrown, and fell heavily to the ground.

That fall recalled the ruffian to his senses. He leaped quickly from his horse and staggered towards her, with blanched cheeks and trembling hands. A cry of terror and remorse escaped him as he bent over the prostrate and insensible form, and the shock to his feelings sobered him for the moment. He raised her in his arms and carried her into the hut, then laid her gently on the bed, and gave way to violent demonstrations of grief, shedding copious tears, and calling her piteously by her name.

This display of tenderness and contrition was, however, of short duration. As his wife came round to consciousness, and was able to move and to speak again, he relapsed into moody silence. The foul spirit, which had been frightened away by a terrible emotion, returned to him; the man made place once more for the wild beast.

No sooner was he satisfied in his cowed and maudlin heart that his wife was not seriously injured than he sneaked out of the house, vaulted on to his still panting steed, and, with a wild and malignant look, disappeared, like some hideous apparition, in the gathering gloom.