The Master of the Ceremonies

“Well?” said Colonel Mellersh, as the doctor ceased his examination.

“Had my man better be off at once?” said Sir Harry. “Give him a chance to get away.”

“If you do get him away, Sir Harry Payne, let me know where he is gone. I may have a few words to say to Major Rockley.”

“I can’t tell what may supervene. There may be concussion of the brain,” said the surgeon. “Yes, he is coming to now. The bullet has only scored his head. It was a marvellous escape.”

“Blast!” muttered Major Rockley, as the news was conveyed to him. “Here, let’s be off back, I want my breakfast. Curse him, I’ve not done with him yet, Payne. There are other ways to touch the heart of a greenhorn like that, than with bullets. I’d got him dead as a hammer. My arm felt like steel, and my shot would have had him right in the chest if that piece of chalk had not struck me and jerked my arm. Come along.”

“Hadn’t I better go and see if I can be of any help?”

“Hadn’t you better go and nurse the scoundrel, and read to him a bit? Bah! Come along, man. He has his second, and they can fetch help from the fishermen’s cottages if they want it.”

Sir Harry followed him up the cliff steps and along the Down path without a word.

“So, I shall not want a post-chaise,” said Rockley, with a laugh. “No rushing up to town and hiding for a while in chambers in St. James’s, or running over to Boulogne. Good job, too. Save the money. I’m fearfully short. Why, man, you look white.”

“Do I? It’s cold. I’m glad that the affair has terminated so well.”

“Terminated?” cried the Major, grasping him by the arm, “It has only begun. I tell you there are other ways than bullets to touch a man’s heart, and I’ll pierce his, curse him! so that he shall rue the day he ever crossed my path.”

Sir Harry looked at him uneasily.

“Payne,” he continued, “I’m a firm friend to those who help me – and lend me money,” he added, with a laugh – “but I never forgive an insult, or a woman’s slight.”

Down on the beach, Colonel Mellersh was kneeling with the great drops of perspiration standing on his face, holding Richard Linnell’s hand, while the surgeon was looking on anxiously at the returning signs of knowledge of his position on his patient’s part.

The other principal and second had been gone some minutes when footsteps were heard, and James Bell and Fisherman Dick came quickly down the cliff.

“Is he much hurt, sir?” said the former, with real signs of trouble in his face.

“No, my man: you may tell the Major that it was a narrow escape.”

“Poor lad!” muttered the soldier, going down on one knee, and making Colonel Mellersh look at him with surprise, as he took one cold hand, to hold it between his own for a few moments.

“Can we carry him to my house, gen’lemen,” said Fisherman Dick roughly. “’Taint very far.”

“No, my man, no,” said the doctor; “he has only been stunned. Narrow escape, though. He’ll walk home.”

“Do you mean it, sir?” cried James Bell. “Beg pardon, sir. Only glad the Major won’t have to go. I’ll get back to barracks now. He’ll be wanting me.”

“All right, my man. Take those confounded pistols with you. There: be off.”

The soldier placed the pistols in the case, and, saluting both gentlemen, hurried away by the shore, while Fisherman Dick touched his hat again, and said in a whisper:

“I’ve got a drop of right Nantes sperrit at my cottage, gentlemen, if you can bring him in there.”

“No, no,” said the doctor. “There, he’s coming round fast now,” and he pointed to Linnell’s staring eyes.

The doctor was right. Half an hour later, with no worse trouble to combat than a fierce headache, and the wound smarting under its strapping, Richard Linnell was able to take the Colonel’s arm and walk home, a warning to other young men not to attempt to climb up the cliff to the Downs, and risk falling and cutting their heads!

For that was the version of Richard Linnell’s mishap that ran through the town.

Volume Two – Chapter Seven.

Miss Clode is Overcome

It was a vain effort, for such an event was sure to be known to others besides the parties concerned.

Sent on a special mission by her aunt that morning, to see whether Mr Miggles had any fish, and with a basket to obtain a small bottle of a peculiar water that Fisherman Dick secretly supplied to a few friends whom he could trust, simple-faced Annie picked up some news.

“You don’t want any more brandy, aunty,” the girl had said; “there are two bottles not opened, and you said you wouldn’t have any more fish for ever so long.”

“Oh, Annie!” cried Miss Clode, “I thought you were beginning to be of a little use to me.”

The girl’s mouth opened wide, and her nose turned red; but directly after a cunning smile came in her face, and her eyes nearly closed.

“Oh, I say, aunty,” she said softly, “I know what you mean now. You mean go and make that an excuse for getting to know about pretty Miss Denville going to see about the little girl.”

“Worse and worse, Annie,” cried Miss Clode. “Don’t you understand that a still tongue makes a wise head?”

“Oh, yes, aunty, I know now;” and nodding her head very knowingly, Annie went off on her mission.

She returned very quickly, with a face quite scarlet with heat and excitement, full of the news she had picked up from Mrs Miggles, who had determined not to say a word of what she knew, and ended by telling all.

Miss Clode was in a state of excitement, for she had heard from a customer that young Mr Linnell, of the Parade, had fallen from the cliff that morning and cut his head, and the news turned the little woman pale, and she staggered and felt sick. When Annie came back she had recovered, but only ready on hearing her niece’s news to faint dead away and lie insensible, just as stout Mrs Barclay came in about a new account-book, and to purchase a couple of pounds’ worth of bill-stamps.

“Poor little woman!” cried Mrs Barclay sympathetically. “Here, don’t make a fuss, my dear; I’ll help you. Let’s get her on the sofa. It’s only fainting, and the smelling-salts will bring her round. That’s the way,” she panted and puffed as she helped to carry the slight little woman into the inner room. “Worse disasters at sea. Not so bad as Mr Linnell tumbling off the cliff this morning and cutting his head.”

“He didn’t tumble off the cliff,” said Annie, round-eyed and trembling with eagerness, as she whispered in Mrs Barclay’s ear.

“Oh, yes, he did, my dear.”

“No, he didn’t,” whispered Annie, as Miss Clode lay quite senseless. “Hearing about it all upset aunty.”

“Did it? What, his fall?”

“No, no, it wasn’t a fall; but I mustn’t say anything.”

“You don’t know anything,” said Mrs Barclay contemptuously.

“Oh yes, I do,” whispered Annie. “It’s very horrid. Major Rockley shot him in a duel this morning for horse-whipping him after Major Rockley had insulted Miss Denville. There!”

“Hush!” whispered Mrs Barclay, whose face was now as red as Annie’s. “Your aunt is coming to.”

“Don’t say I told you. She would be so cross.”

Mrs Barclay nodded; and, after saying a few comforting words to the sufferer as she came to, contented herself with buying the bill-stamps, and left the shop, while, as soon as she had recovered sufficiently, Miss Clode wrote a few hasty lines to Colonel Mellersh, and strictly enjoining her to hold her tongue, sent her niece off to deliver the note on the Parade.