Starvecrow Farm

J. Weyman Stanley

Description

British author Stanley J. Weyman rose to literary fame with a series of swashbuckling adventure tales. Over time, Weyman bridled against the constraints of that genre and began to explore other settings. The novel Starvecrow Farm is one of a series of domestic dramas that Weyman penned in a mid-career change of direction. Fans of novels about English country life will love this finely wrought rural romance.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 avril 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775456094
• Langue: English

Extrait

STARVECROW FARM
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STANLEY J. WEYMAN
 
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Starvecrow Farm First published in 1905 ISBN 978-1-77545-609-4 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I - Across the Quicksands Chapter II - A Red Waistcoat Chapter III - A Wedding Morning Chapter IV - Two to One Chapter V - A Jezebel Chapter VI - The Inquiry Chapter VII - Captain Anthony Clyne Chapter VIII - Starvecrow Farm Chapter IX - Punishment Chapter X - Henrietta in Naxos Chapter XI - Captain Clyne's Plan Chapter XII - The Old Love Chapter XIII - A Jealous Woman Chapter XIV - The Letter Chapter XV - The Answer Chapter XVI - A Night Adventure Chapter XVII - The Edge of the Storm Chapter XVIII - Mr. Joseph Nadin Chapter XIX - At the Farm Chapter XX - Proof Positive Chapter XXI - Cousin Meets Cousin Chapter XXII - Mr. Sutton's New Rôle Chapter XXIII - In Kendal Gaol Chapter XXIV - The Rôle Continued Chapter XXV - Prison Experiences Chapter XXVI - A Reconciliation Chapter XXVII - Bishop Caught Napping Chapter XXVIII - The Golden Ship Chapter XXIX - The Dark Maid Chapter XXX - Bess's Triumph Chapter XXXI - A Strange Bedroom Chapter XXXII - The Search Chapter XXXIII - The Smugglers' Oven Chapter XXXIV - In Tyson's Kitchen Chapter XXXV - Through the Wood Chapter XXXVI - Two of a Race
Chapter I - Across the Quicksands
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A head appeared at either window of the postchaise. Henrietta lookedforward. Her lover looked back.
The postchaise had nearly cleared the sands. Behind it the low line ofLancashire coast was fading from sight. Before it the long green hillof Cartmel had risen so high and drawn so near as to hide the Furnessfells. On the left, seaward, a waste of sullen shallows and quakingsands still stretched to infinity—a thing to shudder at. But thesavage head of Warton Crag, that for a full hour had guarded thetravellers' right, had given place to the gentler outlines of ArmsideKnot. The dreaded Lancashire Channels had been passed in safety, andthe mounted guide, whose task it was to lead wayfarers over thesesyrtes, and who enjoyed as guerdon the life-rent of a snug farm underCark, no longer eyed the west with anxiety, but plashed in stolidsilence towards his evening meal.
And all was well. But the margin of safety had not been large—thepostboys' boots still dripped, and the floor of the carriage was damp.Seaward the pale line of the tide, which would presently sweep in onefoaming wave across the flat, and in an instant cover it half a footdeep, was fretting abreast the point. Ten minutes later had been toolate; and the face of Henrietta's lover, whom a few hours and a Scotchminister were to make her husband, betrayed his knowledge of the fact.He looked backward and westward over the dreary flat; and fascinated,seized, possessed by the scene, he shuddered—perhaps at his ownthoughts. He would fain have bidden the postboys hasten, but he wasashamed to give the order before her. Halfway across he had set downthe uneasiness he could not hide to the fear of pursuit, to the fearof separation. But he could no longer do this; for it was plain to achild that neither horse nor man would cross Cartmel sands until thetide that was beginning to run had ebbed again.
And Henrietta looked forward. The dull grey line of coast, quicklypassing into the invisible, on which she turned her back, stood forher past; the sun-kissed peaks and blue distances of Furness, whichher fancy still mirrored, though the Cartmel shore now hid them, stoodfor the future. To those heights, beautified by haze and distance, herheart went out, finding in them the true image of the coming life, thetrue foretype of those joys, tender and mysterious, to which she washastening. The past, which she was abandoning, she knew: a cold homein the house of an unfeeling sister-in-law and a brother who when hewas not hunting was tipsy—that, and the prospect of an unlovelymarriage with a man who—horror!—had had one wife already, stood forthe past. The future she did not know; but hope painted it from herbrightest palette, and the girl's eyes filled, her lips quivered, herheart strained towards the sympathy and love that were henceforth tobe hers—towards the happiness which she had set out to seek, and thatnow for certain could not escape her. As the postchaise lumberedheavily up the rough-paved groyne that led from the sands she shookfrom head to foot. At last her feet were set upon the land beautiful.And save for the compact which her self-respect had imposed upon hercompanion, she must have given way, she must have opened all herheart, thrown herself upon his breast and wept tears of tenderanticipation.
She controlled herself. As it happened, they drew in their heads atthe same time, and his eyes—they were handsome eyes—met hers.
"Dearest!" he said.
"We are safe now?"
"Safe from pursuit. But I am not safe."
"Not safe?"
"From your cruelty."
His voice was velvet; and he sought to take her hand.
But she withheld it.
"No, sir," she said, though her look was tender. "Remember ourcompact. You are quite sure that they will pursue us along the greatroad?"
"Yes, as far as Kendal. There they will learn that we are not beforethem—that we have somewhere turned aside. And they will turn back."
"But suppose that they drive on to Carlisle—where we rejoin the northroad."
"They will not," he replied confidently. He had regained the plausibleair which he had lost while the terror of the sands was upon him. "Andif you fear that," he continued, "there is the other plan, and I thinkthe better one. To-morrow at noon the packet leaves Whitehaven forScotland, The wind is fair, and by six in the afternoon we may beashore, and an hour later you will be mine!" And again he sought todraw her into his arms.
But she repelled him.
"In either case," she said, her brow slightly puckered, "we must haltto-night at the inn of which you spoke."
"The inn on Windermere—yes. And we can decide there, sweet, whetherwe go by land or sea; whether we will rejoin the north road atCarlisle or cross from Whitehaven to"—he hesitated an instant—"toDumfries."
She was romantic to the pitch of a day which valued sensibility morehighly than sense, and which had begun to read the poetry of Byronwithout ceasing to read the Mysteries of Udolpho ; and she wascourageous to the point of folly. Even now laughter gleamed under herlong lashes, and the bubblings of irresponsible youth were never veryfar from her lips. Still, with much folly, with vast recklessness andan infinitude of ignorance, she was yet no fool—though a hundredtimes a day she said foolish things. In the present circumstancesrespect for herself rather than distrust of her lover taught her thatshe stood on slippery ways and instilled a measure of sobriety.
"At the inn," she said, "you will put me in charge of the landlady."And looking through the window, she carolled a verse of a song asirrelevant as snow in summer.
"But—" he paused.
"There is a landlady, I suppose?"
"Yes, but—"
"You will do what I say to-day," she replied firmly—and now the finecurves of her lips were pressed together, and she hummed no more—"ifyou wish me to obey you to-morrow."
"Dearest, you know—"
But she cut him short. "Please to say that it shall be so," she said.
He swore that he would obey her then and always. And bursting againinto song as the carriage climbed the hill, she flung from her themood that had for a moment possessed her, and was a child again. Shemade gay faces at him, each more tantalising than the other; gavehim look for look, each more tender than the other; and with thetips of her dainty fingers blew him kisses in exchange for his. Herhelmet-shaped bonnet, with its huge plume of feathers, lay in her lap.The heavy coils of her fair, almost flaxen, hair were given to view,and under the fire of his flatteries the delicacy of colouring—forpallor it could scarcely be called—which so often accompanies verylight hair, and was the sole defect of her beauty, gave place toblushes that fired his blood.
But he knew something of her spirit. He knew that she had it in her toturn back even now. He knew that he might cajole, but could neverbrowbeat her. And he restrained himself the more easily, as, in spiteof the passion and eloquence—some called it vapouring—which made hima hero where thousands listened, he gave her credit for the strongernature. He held her childishness, her frivolity, her naïveté , incontempt. Yet he could not shake off his fear of what she mightdo—when she knew.
They paid off the guide under the walls of the old priory church atCartmel, with the children of the village crowding about the doors ofthe chaise; then with a fresh team they started up the valley thatleads to the foot of Windermere lake. But now the November day wasbeginning to draw in. The fell on their right took gloomier shape; ontheir left a brook sopped its way through low marsh-covered fields;and here and there the leafless limbs of trees pointed to the grey.And first one and then the other, with the shrill cries of moor-birdsin their ears, and the fading landscape before their eyes, fellsilent. Then, had they been as other lovers, had she stood moresafely, or he been single-hearted, he had taken her in his arms andheld her close, and comforted her, and the dusk within had been butthe frame and set-off to their love.
But as it was he feared to make overtures, and they sat each in acorner until, in sheer dread of the effect which reflection migh