Part 11 (1/2)
”Call Lubin with a ladder!” interrupted the desperate lady. ”I must catch the omnibus, if I break all my bones in getting out of the window. Where's Lubin? Isn't there a ladder tall enough? Austin!
Austin! Where _is_ Austin, and why doesn't he open the door?”
”He was here not a moment ago,” replied Martha, tremulously, ”but where he's got to now, or where he's put the key, the Lord only knows.
Perhaps he's gone to see about a ladder. Lubin! have you seen Master Austin anywhere?”
But Austin, un.o.bserved in the confusion, having stealthily glanced at his watch, had slipped out at the garden gate, and now stood looking down the road. The omnibus had just started, and for about thirty seconds he remained watching it as it lumbered and clattered along in a cloud of dust until it was lost to view. Then he went back to the house, and handed the key to Martha. ”There's the key,” he said. ”Tell Aunt Charlotte I'm going for a walk, and I'll let her know all about it when I come back to lunch.”
He was out of the house in a twinkling, stumping along as hard as he could go until he reached the moors. He had played a daring game, but felt quite satisfied with the result so far, as he knew that there were no cabs to be had in the village, and that, even if his aunt were mad enough to brave a two-mile tramp along the broiling road, she could not possibly reach the station in time to catch the train. Now that the deed was done, a sensation of fatigue stole over him, and with a sigh of relief he flung himself down on the soft tussocks of purple heather, and covered his eyes with his straw hat. For half-an-hour he lay there motionless and deep in thought. No suspicion that he had acted wrongly disturbed him for a moment. Of course it was a pity that poor Aunt Charlotte should have been disappointed, and certainly that locking of her up in her bedroom had been a very painful duty; but if it was necessary--as it was--what else could he have done? No doubt she would forgive him when she understood his reasons; and, after all, it was really her own fault for having been so obstinate.
It was now half-past ten, and Austin had no intention of getting home before it was time for lunch. He had thus the whole morning before him, and he spent it rambling about the moors, struggling up hills, revelling in the heat tempered by cool gra.s.s, and wondering how Daphnis would have behaved if he had had an unreasonable old aunt to take care of; for Aunt Charlotte was really a great responsibility, and dreadfully difficult to manage. Then, coming on a deep, clear rivulet which ran between two meadows, he yielded to a sudden impulse, and, stripping himself to the skin, plunged into it, wooden leg and all. There he floated luxuriously for a while, the sun blazing fiercely overhead, and the cool waters playing over his white body.
When he emerged, covered with sparkling drops, he remembered that he had no towel; so there was nothing to be done but to stagger about and disport himself like a naked faun among the b.u.t.tercups and bulrushes, until the sun had dried him. As soon as he was dressed, he looked at his watch, and found that it was nearly twelve. Then he consulted a little time-table, and made a rapid calculation. It would take him just half-an-hour to reach the station from where he was, and therefore it was high time to start.
Off he set, and arrived there, as it seemed, at a moment of great excitement. The station-master was on the platform, in the act of posting up a telegram, around which a number of people--travellers, porters, and errand-boys--were crowding eagerly. Austin joined the group, and read the message carefully and deliberately twice through.
He asked no questions, but listened to the remarks he heard around him. Then he pa.s.sed rapidly through the booking-office, and struck out on his way home.
Meantime Aunt Charlotte had pa.s.sed the hours fuming. To her, Austin's extraordinary behaviour was absolutely unaccountable, except on the hypothesis that he was not responsible for his actions. Her rage was beyond control. That the boy should have had the unheard-of audacity to lock her up in her own bedroom in order to gratify some mad whim, and so have upset her plans for the entire day, was an outrage impossible to forgive. If he was not out of his mind he ought to be, for there was no other excuse for him that she could think of. What _was_ to be done with such a boy? He was too old to be whipped, too young to be sent to college, too delicate to be placed under restraint. But she would let him feel the full force of her indignation when he returned. He should apologise, he should eat his fill of humble pie, he should beg for mercy on his knees. She had put up with a good deal, but this last escapade was not to be overlooked.
Even Martha, when she came in to lay the cloth for lunch, could think of nothing to say in extenuation of his offence.
It was certainly two hours before her excitement allowed her to sit down and begin to knit. Even then--and naturally enough--while she was musing the fire burned. It never occurred to her to reflect that there must have been some _reason_ for Austin's extraordinary prank, and that the first thing to be done was to discover what that was. She was too angry to take this obvious fact into consideration, and so, when Austin at last appeared, his eyes full of suppressed excitement and his forehead bathed in sweat, her pent-up wrath found vent and she flamed out at him in a rage.
For some minutes Austin stood quite silent while she stormed. If it made her feel better to storm, well, let her do it. Half-a-dozen times she demanded what he meant by his behaviour, and how he dared, and whether he had suddenly gone crazy, and then went on storming without waiting for his reply. Once, when he opened his mouth to speak, she sharply told him to shut it again. It was clear, even to Martha, that if Austin's conduct had been inexplicable, his aunt's was utterly absurd.
”You've asked me several times what made me lock you up this morning,”
he said at last, when she paused for breath, ”and each time you've refused to let me answer you. That's not very reasonable, you know.
Now I've got something to tell you, but if you want to do any more raving please do it at once and get it over, and then I'll have my turn.”
”Will you go to your room this instant and stay there?” cried Aunt Charlotte, pointing to the door.
”Certainly not,” replied Austin. ”And now I'll ask you to listen to me for a minute, for you must be tired with all that shouting.” Aunt Charlotte took up her work with trembling hands, ostentatiously pretending that Austin was no longer in the room. ”You wanted to go to town by the 10.27 train, and I took forcible measures to prevent you.
It may therefore interest you to know what became of that train, and what you have escaped. There's been a frightful collision. The down express ran into it at the curve just beyond the signal station at Colebridge Junction, owing to some mistake of the signalman, I believe. Anyhow, in the train you wanted to go by there were five people killed outright, and fourteen others crunched up and mangled in a most inartistic style. And if I hadn't locked you up as I did you'd probably be in the County Hospital at this moment in an exceedingly unpleasant predicament.”
Dead silence. Then, ”The Lord preserve us!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Martha, who stood by, in awe-struck tones. Aunt Charlotte slowly raised her eyes from her knitting, and fixed them on Austin's face. ”A collision!” she exclaimed. ”Why, what do you know about it?”
”I called at the station and read the telegram myself. There was a crowd of people on the platform all discussing it,” returned Austin, briefly.
”Your life has been saved by a miracle, ma'am, and it's Master Austin as you've got to thank for it,” cried Martha, her eyes full of tears, ”though how it came about, the good Lord only knows,” she added, turning as though for enlightenment to the boy himself.
Then Aunt Charlotte sank back in her chair, looking very white. ”I don't understand it, Austin,” she said tremulously. ”It's terrible to think of such a catastrophe, and all those poor creatures being killed--and it's most providential, of course, that--that--I was kept from going. But all that doesn't explain what share _you_ had in it.
You don't expect me to believe that you knew what was going to happen and kept me at home on purpose? The very idea is ridiculous. It was a coincidence, of course, though a most remarkable one, I must admit. A collision! Thank G.o.d for all His mercies!”
”If it was only a coincidence I don't exactly see what there is to thank G.o.d for,” remarked Austin, very drily.
”'Twarn't no coincidence,” averred old Martha, solemnly. ”On that I'll stake my soul.”
”What was it, then?” retorted Aunt Charlotte. ”Anyhow, Austin, there seems no doubt that, under G.o.d, it was what you did that saved my life to-day. But what made you do it? How could you possibly tell that you were preventing me from getting killed?”
”I should have told you all that long ago if you weren't so hopelessly illogical, auntie,” he replied. ”But you never can see the connection between cause and effect. That was the reason I couldn't explain why I didn't want you to go, even before I locked you up. It wouldn't have been any use. You'd have simply laughed in my face, and have gone to London all the same.”
”I don't know what you mean. Don't beat about the bush, Austin, and worry my head with all this vague talk about cause and effect and such like. What has my being illogical got to do with it?”