Lady Barbarity: A Romance

I could see them clearly. They were now some distance to the left, apparently in the middle of the first home meadow. Thither I bent my course across wet turf in the piercing night, but with heed for nought save those baleful lanterns. For now I was never more convinced of anything than that these foes had come abroad to settle once for all their long account. By the rapidity with which I drew nearer to the lights, I concluded that their bearers had halted, probably to choose their battleground. Instinctively feeling this to be the case, I broke into a run. Clearing the lawn, leaping pell-mell across the grotto at its margin, and skirting the artificial lake, I emerged into the open field. It was so well lit by the bright moon, riding through white cloud, that I could see enough to confirm my coldest fears.

The lanterns were now reposing on the grass, while each man stood beside his own, perhaps at a distance of a dozen paces. They seemed to be fearlessly erect, and absolutely resolute, and this in itself was enough to prove that only death was likely to end their duel. Ere I had time to cry out, or even to overcome the first paralysis of the fear that held me, one of them, who by his breadth of figure I knew to be the Captain, raised his right hand slowly. At that, although the actual time of the whole affair could not have exceeded half a minute, such tricks can terror play upon us that the entire strength appeared to ooze slowly from my body, as though a surgeon had opened one of my vital arteries and was bleeding me to death by slow degrees. And the instant the Captain’s hand went up, I stopped through arrant horror and that dreadful sense of sheer incompetence that afflicts one in a nightmare. I made one attempt to scream out to them, but my throat seemed useless, and my voice resembled the feeble croakings of a frog. Before I could make another, there came a sound like a mastiff’s bay, and in the most cold, convulsive terror I put my hands before my eyes. They must have been still there, I think, and my eyes have turned to stone, for to this day I swear that I never saw the second and the fatal shot, and, still stranger, actually did not hear it. But when my vision cleared I thought I saw one man prone beside his lantern, and the other bending over him.

The die cast, and the deed accomplished, my limbs resumed their proper office and I was able to proceed. Fate had intervened already, the worst had happened, the tragedy was consummated. The actual fact is ever easier to support than the suspense of it. While I ran to the scene of the murder, with my heart grown too big for my body, and apparently bursting through my side, so complete was the illusion played by terror upon my several senses, that I was absolutely sure that it was the prisoner who was hit, that I had lost a lover, and that the world had lost a hero.

When I arrived breathless upon the battleground, the survivor was kneeling still beside his fallen foe, and appeared to be feeling at his breast. But death ever wears an aspect that is wholly unmistakable, and the lad fully extended on his face, hands straight by his side, and his form prone beneath the ghastly moon, told me all too surely that the life had gone out of him for ever. Without a word I also fell upon my knees beside the corpse, and took one of the dead man’s hands within my own. The murderer, still kneeling the other side of the body, appeared to raise his face and look at me, and then he cried in a voice of hoarse astonishment:

“You?”

I did not answer, but still nursed the dead man’s hand, almost without knowing that I did so, such strange things does passion do.

“Lady Barbara,” he said, in a voice quite unendurable to my ears.

“Do not speak,” I whispered, “I cannot bear to hear you speak.”

“Lady Barbara,” he said again.

“God curse you!” I muttered through shut teeth.

“He was my enemy,” he croaked in a voice I could not recognise.

“Oh, that I should have loved him!” I cried out wildly. “Why did you not put a bullet through this heart of mine?”

And then without further heed of him I continued to embrace the dead man’s hand, and knelt there with it in my desperate grasp, oblivious of everything but the dreadful still passionate agony of sorrow that held me. I was conscious of nothing, not even of the slow passing of the hours, not even of the cruel biting of the cold—nay, not even that the murderer had slunk from me away into the night, that friend of murder, and that I and my lover were alone.

How long I was the victim of this impotence I cannot tell, but at last I grew aware that the dawn had touched my eyes, and that with it light and sanity had returned. Truly day is the source of reason. Had the pitch of night continued for ever, for ever I must have stayed by the couch of my cold lover. But broad day was too bright and bold and fearless to countenance for an instant the madness of grief my bereaved heart was craving to wreak upon itself. Therefore I rose, stiff and numb with my perishing wintry vigil, and turned my face towards the house. But with daylight to incite it, it was most strange how instantly my sleeping blood woke, and how soon my mind was restored to its fullest faculty. Once more could I think—yea act; whilst presently my eyes forgot the moonlight and the dead man’s form, and grew sensitive to detail. There were the pistols covered with hoar, and the burnt-out lanterns cold beside them. Scarce three paces from me was the murderer’s crutch, and yet more strangely his gold-laced hat with the king’s cockade upon it. Verily this was mystery. How he could have made off with his damaged knee unsupported required to be explained, while his discarded hat was not the less to be remarked. It is probable that my reawakened senses, rejoicing in their new activity, discovered a latent fascination in the scene. For, certain it is, that I turned back out of the purest curiosity to observe the enlightened aspect of the corpse.

It had the uniform, the shape, the entire semblance of Captain Grantley! A fit of very violent trembling seized me at that sight, and for the first time in my life, I think, I lost the almost joyous self-confidence that was wont to make me the equal of the most infinite occasion. But after the first spasm of terror and surprise, bald daylight, and the assurance of my natural disposition, asserted themselves determinedly. Whatever the stress and agony of the night, whatever the morbid hysteria that had so long corrupted me, and the awful pangs I had undergone, I was certain that now I was absolute mistress of my mind. It was impossible that my vision could be distorted now; I was compelled to believe the evidence of my eyes.

Captain Grantley was lying on his face, presumably with a bullet through his heart, for there was a blotch of black upon his bright military coat, to indicate the manner of his death. I could see little of his countenance, yet quite enough of it to identify him plainly. Despite the slight distortion his features had undergone in the throes of death, there was no ground for doubt that it was the Captain’s body that lay stone cold in the grass. There was his figure, his uniform, his powdered hair, his large, fat nose, and the heavy bandages around one knee to convince me that I had been a most pitiable fool. What a passionate grief had I lavished on a foe! And yet, poor wretch—poor wretch! We forgive all things to the dead.

It was now that my feelings underwent a very wonderful revulsion. The knowledge that, after all, it was our declared enemy who was dead, and that the man, my lover, whom he had hunted so long and so remorselessly, was alive and at large, reinspired me with energy and hope. A vision of freedom for the fugitive and a consummation of that which I so ardently desired, took me to the house with the swiftness of the wind. If young Anthony had had the folly not to seize his chance of escape already, it remained for me to make him do so.

When I arrived the household was astir. Two of the Captain’s men stood talking on the lawn with faces of much gravity. It was plain that the absence of their leader was already known, but judging by their demeanour I thought it scarcely likely that they had heard the tidings of his end. As I entered the hall, my thoughts were wholly for the prisoner. Had he escaped? Or was he retaken? Unhappily these questions were not unanswered long. Repairing straightway to the library, I discovered the rebel in the custody of Corporal Flickers and two men. He was seated at a table in the Captain’s chair with all the nonchalance so peculiar to him, teasing his captors, and sipping cherry brandy in gentle quantities to reanimate his blood. There seemed a touch of the sublime in the calm manner in which he bowed to fate.

“Perhaps her ladyship can tell us,” says the Corporal, regarding my appearance with great eagerness. “What’s happened to the Capting, ma’am? Is it right that this ere slip o’ hell’s a-corpsed ’im.”

“My dear man,” says I, with the most flattering suavity, and a pretty considerable cunning also, “if you will just step into the home meadow, you will discover for yourself your commander’s desperate disposition.”

“Ha, ladyship!” the Corporal answered, with a grin, “I’m a rather oldish bird, you see. I’ve met your sort afore, my lady. You’ll take care o’ the prisoner, won’t you, while we goes and has a look?”

“Certainly,” says I, a thought sardonically perhaps, “I shall be only too happy to take care of him.”

“Then you won’t,” says Mr. Corporal, with a leer, “and that’s a moral. Don’t you think so, William?”

William thought it was.

From this it will be seen that though the Corporal might be furnished with slightly less intelligence than his dead commander, he was not the less determined foe.

All this time the prisoner had not received me with a single word. This was hardly to be unlooked for in the light of late events. But my brain was still in such a flutter of bewilderment regarding the awful passages in the meadow, that at first it found no reason for his taciturnity, and was inclined to resent it deeply. Having broken a lance with Mr. Flickers, I devoted my attentions to the lad.

“Well,” I bitterly began, “you have made another pretty hash of things. You are able to defeat a gold-laced captain, and one whom I believe to be as skilled an officer as any in the service of his Majesty, and yet permit a twopenny Corporal to take you.”

“Did you not call on God to curse me?” he said in a dreadful voice.

In a flash I saw in what light he had viewed my egregious behaviour. Surely it was not to be supposed that he had divined that I was the victim of the bitterest delusion! That being the case it was only possible for him to put one interpretation on my attitude, and that the most blighting to his dignity and his happiness. I saw that the mischief must be immediately repaired.

“Corporal,” says I, “I must ask you and your men to withdraw to the other side the door. I have something of great privacy to communicate to Mr. Dare.”

But the Corporal seemed disinclined to move. I understood his muttered reply to be to the effect that he knew his business thoroughly, and further, that he had encountered my kind before. However, I put such majesty in my look, and opened him the door with such an air, that he did my behests against the counsels of his judgment, for soldiers, of all men, cannot prevail against those accustomed to command.

In a few words, then, I calmed the riot in young Anthony. And when he saw what had been my error, and what had been his own, his eyes began to sparkle, and the sunshine came into his face.

“On my soul!” he cried, “I thought you could not be quite the she-devil that you seemed.” And then with a tender gravity at the remembrance of his impending doom: “Bab, I wish I could live and love you. I should be a model of a husband, and we’d make a pretty handsome pair.”

“Well,” says I, fascinated with the bravery of his countenance, “I’ve the very greatest mind to make a husband of you. You are the most wonderfully handsome lad, and headstrong too, and that’s why I so encourage you.”

“I wish there was no Tyburn Tree,” says he, with wistfulness.

Thereupon I gathered all my inches up.

“Tree or no Tree,” says I, “I am going to make a declaration of my policy. Day or night I will not cease in my endeavours. Only keep a stout, cheerful heart, child, and I will show you what devotion is. I’ll bully or persuade, intrigue or ruffle it, but what I’ll save you. I will browbeat the King, my lad, and pass a special law in Parliament, but what you shall escape the Tree. Now here’s my hand on that, and mind you do not quiver until the rope is interfering with your breath.”

This was braggadocio indeed, and designed maybe to brace my poor spirit up to the high fortitude that was his own. And yet, God knows, my ultimatum was sincere, and the hapless captive took it so to be.

Having thus decided on our future course, the lad suddenly fell again to gravity.

“I suppose you do not know,” says he, “that your friend the Captain met his end by murder?”

“Impossible,” says I, “it was a duel fought according to the laws; and that I’ll swear to, because I witnessed it. And furthermore, the Captain had first shot, and therefore the greater opportunity.”

“It was none the less a murder, as I have subsequently learnt,” he says, “and I can give you the murderer’s name.”

“His name is not Anthony Dare, I know,” I answered stoutly.

“No, her name is my Lady Barbara Gossiter.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded with an anger that his brutal plainness had provoked.

“Do you see this little bullet on my palm?” says he.

“Well, what have I to do with that?” I asked, “and what has that to do with murder?”

“Alas! too much,” says he. “On returning from the fight I had the misfortune to discover this bullet on this very library carpet, and I wish I could misread its meaning, madam, but that I cannot do; and I’ll show you why I cannot. We settled all the details in this room ere we started for the field. You know, of course, that the fight was forced upon me by the intolerable conduct of the man; but you do not know that he insisted on us firing at twelve paces to make the aim more positive. Nor do you know that he tried by all means in his power to concede the first shot to me, and that when I refused to do other than allow the falling of the coin to dictate it, he looked to the contents of his loaded weapon. Certainly I never guessed that I was to shoot an undefended adversary, but had the thought but come into my mind I could certainly have found some premonitions. Seeing me a trifle pale, he begged me to be quite at my ease, as he knew, he said, that he should be the only one to fall. And further, he wrote this hasty note, and made me promise that when he perished, according to his prophecy, I would deliver this immaculately into your hands. And now have I done so.”

Forthwith he concluded his singular but solemn statement, which had evidently wrought upon his mind to a grave degree, by submitting a sealed missive to my care. With trembling fingers I tore it open, and feverishly read its contents. It said:

I read this subtly-phrased epistle with a burning face, and then read it for the second time, perhaps to discover some mitigation in the severity of the harsh indictment. But no; his death was at my door, and something of a cold fear crept into my soul.

Presently I gave the paper to my lover, and told him to acquaint himself therewith.

“My lad,” says I, “I believe that I have slain a very admirable man.”

Having read the dead man’s words, he tossed the paper from him, and eyed me fiercely with the most indignant face.

“Bab,” he said, “I hate you for this! His blood is most surely on your head; and it would be but common justice if his corpse still haunts you o’ nights when you are a fear-ridden hag of a hundred winters.”

I made no answer to his blame, for remorse was poisoning my heart.

“Yes,” says he, “this was a very proper man. But cheer up, Bab, for when all is claimed, I think that you are a very proper woman too, and I am going to forgive you for your wickedness.” Thereupon he rose briskly from his chair, came to my side, and kissed me right properly, with never a sign of ceremonial. I was in no condition to reprove his impudent assumption, and perhaps had I been, I might have found it scarcely possible to do so, for his behaviour was the most wonderful proof, I thought, of his magnanimity.

“Now cheer up, Bab,” he said; “but I wish that you damned women would keep your claws more regularly trimmed. You are just like soft, tame, pretty pussycats, that go a-hunting the dear harmless birds. You will not keep your paws down; you love to flesh ’em; and, well, if you slay the dear harmless creature, the dear harmless creature’s slain, and there’s an end on’t. You are sure that you did not mean to do it, and it’s a great pity that you did, and had you thought it would have torn it so, sure you would not a done it for a golden pound. But as he’s dead let his end be dignified, so put down twopence for some masses for his soul!”

“You may gibe,” said I, miserably, “but I would that I were not the wicked wretch I am!”

And I sat down tearful, and in a truly repentant mind, for I could not rid my brain of the unholy image of that poor, pale man stark upon the meadow sward.

“His death was prettier than ever was his life,” said Anthony, still musing on the tragic theme. “For at least he sold his country.”

“But at what cost did he cede it?” I demanded fiercely. “And who spurred him to the deed?”

“That is what I never will enquire,” says he; and the pledge accompanying this sweet speech was of such a gentle consolation that rapture softened my keenest pangs.

Until that moment I did not know what a tender and a faithful heart might do. ’Twas good to feel that a man was mine who could recognise my crime, and yet was strong enough to pardon me for its commission. But like the very female creature that I surely am, I did not pause to consider then that this crime had been committed for the sake of the hero who had condoned it with such a lordly magnanimity.