The Obstacle Race. Ethel M. Dell
close to the worthy Mrs. Rickett too. I am not an engineer. I am the village schoolmaster."
He announced the fact with absolute directness. It was Juliet's turn to look surprised. She almost gasped.
"You—you!"
"Yes, I. Why not?" He met her look of astonishment with a smile. "Have I given you a shock?"
She recovered herself with an answering smile. "No, of course not. I might have guessed. I wonder I didn't."
"But how could you guess?" he questioned. "Have I the manners of a pedagogue?"
"No," she said again. "No, of course not. Only—I have been hearing a good deal about you to-day; not in your capacity of schoolmaster, but as—Brother Dick."
"Ah!" he said sharply, and just for a moment she thought he was either embarrassed or annoyed, but whatever the feeling he covered it instantly. "You have talked to my brother Robin?"
"Yes," she said. "He is the only person I have talked to besides Mrs.
Rickett. We met on the shore."
"I hope he behaved himself," he said. "You weren't afraid of him, I hope."
"No; poor lad! Why should I be?" Juliet spoke very gently, very pitifully. "I have a feeling that Robin and I are going to be friends," she said.
"You are very good," he said, in a low voice. "He hasn't many friends, poor chap. But he's very faithful to those he's got. Most people are so revolted by his appearance that they never get any farther. And he's shy too—very naturally. How did he come to speak to you?"
She hesitated. "It was I who spoke first," she said, in a moment.
"Really! What made you do that?"
She hesitated again.
He looked at her with sudden attention. "He did something that made you speak. What was it, please?"
His tone was peremptory, almost curt, Juliet hesitated no longer.
"Do you mind if I don't answer that question?" she said.
"He will tell me if you don't," he returned, with a certain hardness that made her wonder if he were angered by her refusal.
"That wouldn't be fair of you," she said gently, "when I specially don't want you to know."
"You don't want me to know?" he said.
"I should tell you myself if I did," she pointed out.
"I see." He reflected for a moment; then: "Will you promise to tell me if he ever does it again?" he said.
Juliet laughed with a feeling of almost inordinate relief. "Yes, certainly. I know he never will."
"Then that's the end of that," he said.
"Thank you," said Juliet.
They had reached the road that turned up to the village, and the light from a large lamp some distance up the hill shone down upon them.
"That is where Mr. Fielding lives," said Green, as they walked towards it. "Those are his lodge-gates. No doubt you have heard of him too. He is the great man of the place. He owns it, in fact."
"Yes, I have heard of him," said Juliet. "Is he a nice man?"
He made an almost imperceptible movement of the shoulders. "I am very much indebted to him," he said.
"I see," said Juliet.
They reached the cottage-gate that led to the blacksmith's humble abode, and a smell of rank tobacco, floating forth, announced the fact that he was smoking his pipe in the porch.
Juliet paused and held out her hand. "Good-bye!" she said.
His grasp was strong and very steady. "Good-bye," he said, "I hope you'll find what you're looking for."
He stooped to pat Columbus, then opened the gate for her.
Instantly there was a stir in the porch as of some large animal awaking.
"That you, Mr. Green?" called a deep bass voice. "Come in! Come in!"
But Green remained outside. "Not to-night, thanks," he called back. "I've got some work to do. Good-night!"
The gate closed behind her, and Juliet walked up the path with Columbus trotting sedately by her side. She heard her escort's departing footsteps as she went, and wondered when they would meet again.
CHAPTER V
THE GREAT MAN
The church at Little Shale was very ancient and picturesque. It stood almost opposite to the lodge-gates of Shale Court, the abode of the great Mr. Fielding. Two cracked bells hung in its crumbling square tower, disturbing once a week the jackdaws that built in the ivy. Just once a week ever since the Dark Ages, was Juliet's reflection as she dutifully obeyed the somewhat querulous-sounding summons on the following day. She could not picture their ringing for any bridal festivity, though it seemed possible that they might sometimes toll for the dead.
Two incredibly old yew-trees mounted guard on each side of the gate and another of immense size overhung the porch. The path was lined by grave-stones that all looked as if they were tottering to a fall.
An old clergyman in a cassock that was brown with age hurried past her as she walked up the path. She thought he matched his surroundings as he disappeared at a trot round the corner of the church. Then from behind her came the hoot of a motor-horn, and she glanced back to see a closed car that glittered at every angle swoop through the open gates and swerve round to the churchyard. She wanted to stop and see its occupants alight, but decorum prompted her to pass on, and she entered the church, which smelt of the mould of centuries, and paused inside.
It was a plain little place with plastered walls, and green glass windows, and one large square pew under the pulpit. The other pews were modern and very bare, occupied sparsely by villagers who all had their faces turned over their shoulders and were craning to watch the door.
No one looked at her, however, and Juliet, after brief hesitation, sat down in a chair close to the porch. The entrance of the Court party was evidently something of an event, and she determined to get a good view.
Footsteps came up the path, and on the very verge of the porch a voice spoke—a woman's voice, unmodulated, arrogant.
"Oh, really, Edward! I don't see why your village schoolmaster should be asked to lunch every Sunday, however immaculate he may be. I object on principle."
The words were scarcely uttered before the notes of the organ swelled suddenly through the church. Juliet sent a quick look towards it, and saw the black cropped head of the man in question as he sat at the instrument. It occupied one side of the chancel and a crowd of village children congregated in the side pews immediately outside and under the eye of the organist. Juliet felt an indignant flush rise in her cheeks. She was certain that that remark had been audible all over the church, and she resented it with almost unreasonable vehemence.
Then with a sweep of feathers and laces the speaker entered, and Juliet raised her eyes to regard her. She saw a young woman, delicate-looking, with a pretty, insolent face and expensive clothes, walk past, and was aware for a moment of a haughty stare that seemed to question her right to be there. Then her own attention passed to the man who entered in her wake.
He was tall, middle-aged, handsome in a somewhat ordinary style, but Juliet thought his mouth wore the most unpleasant expression she had ever seen. It was drawn down at the corners in a sneering curve, and a decided frown knitted his brows. He walked with the suggestion of a swagger, as if ready to challenge any who should dispute his right to the place and everyone in it.
His wife entered