Part 9 (2/2)
”I am fortunate to find you,” replied Philippa. ”I was hoping so much that I might see you. You told me you were often on Bessmoor.”
”Every day. I live out of doors. Now I do trust that you have time to come and see my cottage. It is not very far off, and if you do not scorn my humble equipage, my donkey, who seems to be sound asleep at the moment, will save you the trouble of walking. You look very white, I hope you have not been ill.”
”It is only the effect of a stupid headache which bothered me yesterday, but I am really all right to-day.”
Isabella eyed her searchingly. ”Humph! you don't look it,” she said candidly. ”But let us see what a drive in our splendid air will do for you. It will not take more than a few minutes to collect my belongings and make a start.”
She knelt down as she spoke and gathered together a quant.i.ty of papers which she had scattered as she rose to greet Philippa. ”You must not expect our progress to be rapid,” she continued, speaking in an easy, good-humoured way; ”for my donkey, being an animal of great discernment, arrived long ago at the knowledge that time means nothing to us in these parts. We simply don't know the meaning of the word, and he resolutely refuses to hurry for any inducement I can offer him.
When I first made his acquaintance I wore myself out in vain efforts to urge him into something that might reasonably be called a trot, but the experience was so distressing to us both that I gave it up in despair.
Now, I frankly confess that he is my master. If he chooses to reflect upon the road, I do the same, and say nothing. If he proceeds, well, so do I. I still say nothing, and am inwardly thankful. But to give him his due, he is docile, which after all is something, for I cannot imagine what an unprotected female like myself, with scanty knowledge of quadrupeds and their ways, would do with a beast who kicked or ran away, especially in a lonely spot like this, where one so seldom meets a soul upon the road. Come up, Edward,” she added, tugging at the bridle, and with some difficulty persuading the reluctant animal to take up his position between the shafts. Philippa went to the rescue, and between them the deed was done, and in a few moments they were seated side by side in the little cart, proceeding very deliberately across the moor.
Philippa saw that her companion was dressed precisely as she had been at their previous meeting. The same drab cotton frock, or possibly a duplicate; the same hideously unbecoming hat; but she merely glanced at these, for her attention was presently drawn to some indefinable change in Isabella's face. It was some minutes before she realised what it was. The curious, expectant look was gone, and where, on the previous occasion, her new acquaintance had seemed possessed by an intense desire to question, she appeared now to have entirely lost that desire.
Her face hardly showed contentment; there were lines of sadness on it which could never be obliterated, but it had regained what was probably its usual calmness--the calmness of one who has forced herself to wait patiently, who sees her course of action, or inaction, clearly mapped out before her, and is biding her time, waiting for events to bring her to some desired point.
Meanwhile there was no doubt that she discerned immediately that the girl beside her was suffering under a strain of some kind, and was exerting herself to draw her out of her thoughts, to distract her attention from her anxiety, whatever it might be, and presently she succeeded. Philippa felt herself gaining strength from the other's strong and sympathetic personality, and listened with interest to her remarks upon the neighbourhood, and upon the various objects they pa.s.sed upon the road.
CHAPTER VIII
THE HEART OF BESSMOOR
”Those house them best who house for secrecy.”--THOMAS HARDY.
”There is one distinct advantage in my humble chariot,” Isabella said presently, ”and that is that you have plenty of time to give your full attention to the scenery as you pa.s.s. If we were das.h.i.+ng along in a motor I should not have time to tell you that those two flat stones over there,” she pointed in the direction as she spoke, ”mark the resting-place of the last highwayman who ever disturbed the peace of these parts. He seems to have been a most mysterious person, by all accounts, and he rode a white horse--surely a very foolish colour for a highwayman to choose--and he kept the countryside in a state of terror.
He was caught at last--it would take too long to tell you the story of his final escapade and capture--and hung upon that pine-tree.
”It appears that, within an hour of his execution, while the sheriff and his men were still upon the moor, his body disappeared. It was spirited away. And the country-people will tell you quite plainly that the Old Gentleman came in person to fetch him. That, of course, may, or may not, be true, but the curious part of it is that those two stones--they are a fair size, as you can see--were placed there in that position the same night. By the same agency, of course. Very civil of the Old Gentleman to leave a memento of his visit, wasn't it? And since then, of course, he rides at night upon his white horse on Bessmoor, as every self-respecting highwayman who has swung for his crimes should. I cannot say that I have ever had the pleasure of seeing him, but of course I must believe in him. He is quite the most notorious person on Bessmoor--the 'White Horse Rider' as they call him.
”You ask Mrs. Palling, the ancient lady who is good enough to 'do' for me; she is quite what one might call an intimate friend of his, she seems so well acquainted with his movements.
”Now, here we are at the cross-roads. Here we turn to the left and go down what we call a 'loke' in local parlance--in other words a _cul-de-sac_. And now, over there, you can see the chimney of my domicile. It only boasts of one. The other belongs to my good friend and neighbour the afore-mentioned Mrs. Palling, a most refres.h.i.+ng person whose acquaintance you should certainly make. She would amuse you. She is great on signs and portents, and won't even make a loaf of bread unless the moment is favourable. Her favourite hobby is 'Bees,'
but I shouldn't use the word 'hobby,' I should rather say they are her household deities. She consults them about every detail, and informs them of every occurrence. I only trust they have permitted her to keep my fire burning, and then you shall soon have a cup of tea.”
The sandy track along which they were pa.s.sing--it could hardly be called a road--ended abruptly in a tiny open s.p.a.ce with a grove of trees upon one side and a sandpit on the other. In the centre was a pond, shrunken at this season of the year to most diminutive proportions; so much so, indeed, that it barely served for the ablutions of some half-a-dozen ducks, who hustled and jostled one another angrily in their efforts to perform their toilet.
Several stout poles supported a varied a.s.sortment of was.h.i.+ng, which Isabella pointed out with a smile.
”I will not apologise for the publicity of our domestic arrangements,”
she said. ”It used to distress me at first to see my most intimate garments hanging in such close proximity to the well-worn unmentionables of the redoubtable Mr. Palling, but I have got over that. I did mention it to his wife, who failed to understand my scruples, and replied, 'They meets in the washtub, and why not on the line?' and in truth, why not? But here we are arrived at last.”
The donkey pulled up at the gate of one of a pair of cottages which stood at the further end of the little green, and Philippa gave an exclamation of pleasure and surprise. ”Oh,” she cried, ”but this is perfectly charming!”
”Wait until you get inside the gate, and then I do think you will say that my retreat is not ill-chosen,” answered Isabella with a smile.
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