Part 3 (2/2)
”Then you'll have to put the series of accidents down to coincidence.
Where were you bound for when you came to grief?”
Andrew glanced back toward a stretch of water that still shone faintly among the shadowy hills.
”Up yonder, near the head of Wigtown Bay, to shoot geese. d.i.c.k was to come on by train and join me. He's fond of wildfowling, and I took advantage of it to get him away.”
”Away from what?”
Andrew hesitated.
”Well, you see, he was inclined to go the pace, and Staffer had some friends at Appleyard just then--clever, amusing men-about-town, who were fond of cards and knew all about the turf. d.i.c.k tried to play up to them, and he was losing a good deal of money and drinking rather more than was good for him.”
”And his stepfather encouraged his extravagance?”
”Oh, no. Staffer gave him good advice in a cynical, witty way; told him he must pull up because the pace was too hot for a lad. I never quite liked the man, but one must be fair, and he was willing to let me take d.i.c.k. In fact, he agreed it was the best thing to do.”
”But as it turned out, you didn't take him. Were you much at Appleyard afterward?”
”No. One of Staffer's friends offered me a pretty good post abroad, and everybody thought I ought to seize the chance, but I didn't. In consequence, a kind of coolness grew up and I haven't stayed long at Appleyard since. d.i.c.k sends a message and Elsie writes long letters now and then.”
Whitney stood up and stretched himself. A rhythmic throb of engines stole out of the silence, and, some distance off, a yellow and a green light moved across the level sea. Overhead, the topsail cut black against the sky, and the water had grown more luminous in the eddying wake. To the east, a thin, silver moon was s.h.i.+ning above the dim heights of c.u.mberland. Tiny ripples lapped the _Rowan's_ side, but the breeze was faint and everything was still.
”The flood will take us to Rough Firth, and we may as well stand on,”
Andrew said. ”You can go below. I'll call you if you're wanted.”
Carefully lowering his head, Whitney crept into the small cabin and lighted the lamp. Its illumination showed the oilskins swinging against the forecastle bulkhead, and the narrow table on top of the centerboard trunk, which ran up the middle of the floor. On each side were lockers that served as seats, and two folding cots were strapped against the skin of the boat. Whitney let one down and got into it with his clothes on: he had found that this was prudent when cruising in small vessels. There was a rack, loaded with odds and ends, a few inches above his head; and a smell of tarred rope, paraffin and mildewed canvas came out of the forecastle; but this did not trouble him, and he was soon asleep.
In the meanwhile, Andrew sat at the helm, his mind busy with gloomy thoughts.
CHAPTER IV
APPLEYARD
It was a stormy evening when Whitney caught his first glimpse of Appleyard. He felt disappointed. He had expected to see an ancient Border tower with modern additions; but the low, straight-fronted house did not look much more than a century old. It was solidly built of gray granite, with mullioned windows and a small pepper-box turret at one end, but while it made no pretense of architectural beauty, Whitney admitted that it had some charm. For one thing, Appleyard stood boldly on the breast of a knoll, with dark firs packed closely about it, and the landscape it commanded was ruggedly wild. Bleak pastures and lonely moorland, stained a purple-red, rolled back to the hills that melted into leaden cloud in the north. To the south, a strip of green littoral was dotted with white farmsteads and traversed by the curves of a river that flashed where it caught the light.
Beyond this level strip, the Solway sands ran far out to sea, glowing red in the angry sunset and pierced by channels of slate-green water.
In the distance, a narrow white line showed where their edge was washed by the receding tide. On the western sh.o.r.e of the wide estuary, Criffell's lonely height stood out, a harsh dark-blue, against a saffron glare.
The car sped across an iron bridge spanning a ravine where hazel, mountain-ash, and scrub oak grew among the stones, skirted a broad lawn, and stopped at the door. Whitney was presented to Mrs. Woodhouse and Staffer, who welcomed him cordially, and then he shook hands with d.i.c.k. They entered the house at once, and Whitney found himself in a large, square hall, which looked older than the rest of the building.
The light was dim, for the windows were narrow and were placed unusually high in the ma.s.sive walls. A wood fire burned in the big, old-fas.h.i.+oned hearth, but the place felt chilly and especially cheerless.
d.i.c.k took them up a staircase that led to a gallery at the back of the hall.
”Your kit arrived from Glasgow, and I think you'll find all you want laid out in your rooms,” he said. ”Dinner will be ready as soon as you have changed.”
They went along a pa.s.sage, and Whitney was glad to be left alone in his room. It was his first visit to an old Scottish house, and although not an antiquarian he was capable of receiving impressions from places, and he wanted to discover what influence Appleyard had on him. He noted that a fire was laid ready in the grate, although it was August and until that morning the weather had been warm. The room was rather bare, but the few articles of old-fas.h.i.+oned furniture were solid and were made on a good model. They were marked by a certain austerity of taste, and he thought of them as business-like. The plain, self-colored rugs and curtains had a similar effect. Everything that utility demanded was there, but he marked the absence of luxury and ornament.
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