Harold Bindloss - The Dust of Conflict

He stopped outside the spinny with the riding crop held, where it would not be seen, behind him, and a man who had been listening for his footsteps came out of it. It was unfortunate for him that he had spent most of the evening in the hostelry at the village, or he might have recognized the difference between them and Tony Palliser’s reluctant tread. Appleby had come up with swift, resolute stride, as one who had a purpose, and meant to accomplish it.

“Davidson?” he said, with a little ring in his voice, which was very unlike Tony’s then.

The man stared at him. “It was Mr. Palliser I expected to see,” he said.

“I have come in place of him, and don’t think it likely that he will meet you here again,” Appleby said dryly. “In fact, unless we can come to some arrangement, it is very probable that you will get a month’s notice from Mr. Godfrey Palliser to-morrow.”

Davidson laughed unpleasantly. “Mr. Tony tried that game before, and found it wouldn’t pay. Now, you listen to me, though I’m not telling you anything you don’t know. Mr. Tony has to marry money, and Miss Wayne is a particular young lady. They say he’s fond of her, too; but if I thought it my duty to tell her the kind of man he is there’d be no more talk of that match.”

“The trouble is that Miss Wayne would not believe you,” said Appleby.

Now, though Appleby was not aware of this, Davidson had consumed a good deal of liquid refreshment that evening, or he might not have shown his hand so plainly. Nor did he know that Appleby had any connection with the legal profession.

“It would be easy convincing her when she saw his letter. I’ve got witnesses – and a certificate,” he said.

The sullen anger in the last words would probably have caught Appleby’s attention had he been an older man, and shown him that it was not avarice alone which prompted Davidson. As it happened, however, he did not notice it.

“That proves nothing,” he said. “We do not dispute the fact it relates to, but maintain that Mr. Palliser had no connection with it.”

“Do you think you could convince anybody who heard my story?”

“We can try. Isn’t it clear to you that Mr. Palliser can’t go on subsidizing you forever?”

“He’ll go on until there’s enough put by to bring his daughter up a lady.”

Again Appleby failed to discern the sincerity of conviction in Davidson’s tone, which would have been evident to him had he possessed any of the qualities which go to make a successful lawyer.

“I think you are mistaken,” he said. “It is quite clear to us that you will tell your story sooner or later, and because it is Mr. Palliser will tell it before you in his own way. That cuts the ground from under your feet, you see. Then he will indict you and your daughter for conspiracy. It is a somewhat serious thing to blackmail anybody, but you shall have one more chance. I will pay you twenty pounds for Mr. Palliser’s letter, on condition that you sign a statement confessing there is no truth in the slander you have brought against him, and leave his uncle’s service within a month from to-morrow.”

The man stood silent a moment or two, his gun on his arm; and it was unfortunate that Appleby could not see the passion in his face. A sullen hatred of the class he served had smouldered within him since the day a gunshot accident, for which he had obtained no adequate compensation, left him with a limp, and now when he saw the game was up it blazed into unreasoning anger. He may also have been as fond of his daughter as he was of gold, and deceived by her, for the veins were swollen on his forehead when he made a step forward.

“Who are you to thrust yourself into what doesn’t concern you?” he said.

“I am a lawyer,” said Appleby quietly. “Don’t come any nearer!”

Davidson dropped the gun into the palm of his left hand with a rattle. “I might have known it by your tricks,” he said. “Well, I’ll make you fight, and we’ll see who Miss Wayne will believe to-morrow. Now take yourself and your money to – out of this!”

He raised the gun, and Appleby’s calmness deserted him. With a sweep of the riding crop he struck the barrel aside, and, perhaps without Davidson intending it, there was a flash and an explosion. Then the riding crop came down upon a dim white face. The man reeled, recovered, and lurched forward, while next moment he and his adversary were panting and straining in a breathless grapple. Davidson was a strong man, but the blow had dazed him, and the refreshment consumed at the “Black Bull” had endued him with an unreasoning passion, which was not an advantage in a conflict with a man who kept his head. Appleby was also wiry, and tolerably proficient in a certain useful art. Thus when he got his fist home in a place where it would hurt Davidson slackened his grasp, and Appleby struck again as he flung him off. He staggered backwards and went down heavily. Appleby stood still until he rose shakily to his feet again.

“Go home,” he said. “You will be sorry for this tomorrow. It will probably cost you twenty pounds.”

Davidson turned without a word, and Appleby waited a minute or two watching him cross the meadow towards the narrow, one-railed footbridge that spanned the river. He was walking unevenly, but Appleby was too shaken himself to trouble about his condition. Perhaps keeper Davidson was still dazed by the blows dealt him, or his brain was clouded by impotent anger, for he passed on, a dim, shadowy figure, into the gloom of a coppice, and no man saw him alive again. Then Appleby went back to the hall and let himself in through the conservatory. He found Tony waiting him in a state of feverish anxiety, told him briefly what had passed, and, assuring him that Davidson would in all probability listen to reason next day, went to sleep. He also slept soundly, and awakened later than usual when Tony’s man, who had found knocking useless, entered the room with some of his garments on his arm.

“Mr. Palliser was asking if you were up, sir, and they’re getting breakfast now,” he said, and then glanced at the clothes. “I’ve been giving them a brush. There was some mud on the trousers, and I notice a seam split in the coat. I could ask one of the maids to put a stitch in it before it gets worse.”

“No,” said Appleby, a trifle too hastily. “You can put them in my bag. I am leaving by the night train.”

He got into his tweeds, and went down to find the rest of the men who had finished breakfast lounging about the hall, while Tony and his uncle stood on the terrace outside. A dog-cart was also waiting, and another vehicle coming up the avenue. Appleby commenced his breakfast, wondering – because he surmised that Miss Wayne would be anxious to hear what he had accomplished – whether any of the ladies would come down before the shooters started. By and by he saw a light dress flit across the gallery at the head of the stairway, and immediately got up with the ostensible purpose of going back to his room. He, however, stopped in the corridor which led out of the gallery, where, as he had expected, Violet Wayne was waiting him. She usually appeared to as much advantage in the morning as she did under the glitter of the lamps at night, but Appleby fancied that she had not slept very well. There was, so far as he could see, nobody else about.

“You have something to tell me?” she said quietly.

“No,” said Appleby. “I fancied I should have had, but instead I have ten pounds to give you back.”

“Then some plan you had has failed?”

“Not exactly! I am going to try a bolder course.”

The girl looked at him steadily. “I have trusted you, Mr. Appleby. Would it be too much if I asked you to take me into your confidence?”

Appleby shook his head. “I am afraid I can’t very well do that just now,” he said. “In the meanwhile you can be kind to Tony. He has been foolish – and a trifle weak – but he has done nothing that you could not readily forgive him.”