Chapter II: The Poison Plant

The wheels of the dog-cart clattered back over the stone paving of the yard, and a wild whoop of welcome echoed through the place. A small, boyish figure leapt impetuously to the ground to be caught and fast held in Maud's straining arms.

"Hullo, Maud! Hullo, Maud!" cried Bunny.

He hugged her none the less ardently, hugged and kissed her. They had not seen each other for three months.

Maud's greeting was quite inaudible; she could only hold him passionately close, feeling the abounding activity of his light young frame, and realizing with a great throb of rejoicing that the miracle had been wrought indeed. Bunny had been made whole.

"I say, isn't it fine?" the boy cried eagerly. "I've been doing gymnastics and physical exercises to any amount. I can swim too, and Dr. Capper says I may learn to ride. Jake's going to teach me, aren't you, Jake? Oh, isn't it fine, Maud? Isn't it fine?"

She held him a little from her, gazing at him fondly ere she gathered him close again. He was very slight and thin but he was taller than she had thought possible. The deep hollows about his eyes were far less marked than before, though his whole face bore that indelible stamp of suffering which had always made him older than his years.

He gave her another hearty hug. "I'm as fit as a fiddler," he declared. "But I still have to do four hours flat on the floor every day. I told Jake I wasn't going to do it any more, but he swears he'll tie me down to the table-legs if I don't. You're a sport, aren't you, Jake?"

He left his sister abruptly to attach himself to Jake whose threats of violence were plainly a huge attraction to his boyish mind.

Jake thrust an arm about the narrow shoulders. "We've got to make a man of you somehow, my son," he said. "And Capper is very emphatic about keeping up the treatment for another six weeks."

"Yes, and after that I'm going to school," said Bunny, with the assurance of a man who holds the ruling of his own destiny. "There's Fairhaven College up on the hill, Jake. That'll do for me. And I'll be a weekly boarder, and you'll take me to races on Saturdays."

But Jake shook his head. "Not at your time of life, young feller. No, when you go to school you'll stay there. You've got to make up for lost time. P'raps in the holidays we'll see. But I make no rash promises. Now, Mrs. Bolton, what about tea?"

They went within to the meal prepared in the sunny parlour with its door thrown open to the garden.

They sat at the table, Bunny alert, excited, radiant; Jake cheery and indulgent, bestowing his exclusive attention upon him; Maud, very quiet and reserved but watching the boy with eyes of shining affection that scarcely left him for a moment.

He had so much to tell them of this treatment and of that, how at the beginning of things he had found it so hard to bear, and how the doctors had helped him through.

"They were so awfully decent," he said. "There was one of 'em--Dr. Wyndham, who was no end of a swell. He used to come twice a week and put me through the most ghastly drill that rolled me out quite flat. He made me think of you, Jake. He was such a chap for getting his own way. Somehow I never could get ratty with him, though I used to dread the sight of him for ever so long. He soon got to know it, and he'd sit down by my side, and talk in a reassuring sort of way till he'd worked me up to it. He seemed to have no end of time to waste, and yet he was always ready; used to come in with his hands in his pockets and a funny smile on his face, and send the nurse packing because he knew I hated anyone looking on. I got to like him no end. You'd have liked him too, Maud. He was just our sort." And there he stopped suddenly, for the first time gazing fully at her. "Great Scott!" he said. "How queer you look!"

"I?" said Maud, slightly startled.

Bunny was looking at her hard. He turned abruptly to Jake. "Why does she lock like that? She hasn't been ill, has she?"

Jake's eyes went to his wife's face. He regarded her critically for a moment.

But before he could speak Maud hastily broke in. "Bunny! How absurd! Of course not! I am never ill. Jake, pass up his cup!"

He obeyed in silence, and she received it with a hand that trembled. Her face was burning.

"You look better now," said Bunny. "P'raps it's the heat. How do you amuse yourself nowadays? Is Saltash at the Castle?"

She shook her head. "No. He left on the same day that you did. I have scarcely seen him since."

"You have heard from him," said Jake, in the tone of one making a casual statement.

She was silent for a second or two while she poured out Bunny's tea; then, without lifting her eyes, "Yes," she said. "I have heard from him."

"Where is he?" asked Bunny. "Does he write often?"

"Not often," said Maud. She suddenly looked across at Jake with eyes that seemed to fling a challenge. "I expect you know where he is," she said.

"He is in town," said Jake.

He met her look with the utmost deliberation, and almost at once she looked away.

"I expect he'll be going to Scotland next month," said Bunny. "But I hope he'll come here first. I'd like to see him. Aren't there some big races at Graydown soon, Jake? Won't he come for them?"

"I can't say what he'll do," said Jake, pulling out his pipe. "The Burchester Cup will be run in a fortnight."

"Oh, Jake, old chap, do--do let me see that!" urged Bunny, with shining eyes. "Is the Mascot going to run again?"

"No, not the Mascot this time,--the Albatross. You remember him? Reckon he ought to carry it off if his jockey is good enough." Jake spoke with something of a frown.

Bunny was all eagerness. "The Albatross! Wasn't he the chap you were forcing into the water that day you first spoke to us? Yes, I remember him, of course--a beauty. Who's up, Jake? Isn't he any good?"

"I wanted Vickers to ride him," Jake said. "He's been training. But he has just broken his thumb, confound him. That leaves it to Dick Stevens, and I don't feel just sure of him. He may pull it off; but he's not like Sam Vickers. The animals haven't the same faith in him,--any more than I have."

He got up from the table as he spoke, and went to the mantelpiece for a match. Bunny gulped down his tea and sprang up also.

"Say, Jake, I'm coming round the Stables with you," he said. "I won't be in the way."

Jake, his clay pipe between his teeth, puffed forth a cloud of smoke, and turned. "Not to-night, my son. You've got another two hours' floor-drill before you. You go and do it!"

Bunny's face fell. "Oh, damn it, Jake! Not to-night!"

Jake's hand shot forth and grasped his shoulder. "Who taught you to say that?" he demanded.

Bunny stared. "I don't know. Lots of fellows say it. Charlie often does."

"I do myself," said Jake grimly. "But you're not to, savvy? I mean it. It ain't a mite clever, my son. It's beastly ugly. And you--you've got to be a gentleman if you do live under the roof of a bounder. Now you go and do as you're told, quick march! I shall know if you don't, and I shall know the reason why too. Take him upstairs, Maud; and if he don't behave himself, undress him and put him to bed!"

He would have gone with the words, but Bunny with a red face stayed him. "I'll do as you tell me, Jake," he said, "but I won't be managed by anyone else. And I'm not a bit afraid of you. See?"

Jake stopped, and the old kind smile that once had been so much more frequent lighted his face. "That's right, little pard; you've no call to be," he said. "But I won't have it said that you were brought up in a stable. And I won't have you hanging around with the boys in the yard either. Our language is not your language, and you're not to learn it. Now go and do your duty! I'll take you round the Stables to-morrow."

He bestowed a kindly pat upon Bunny's shoulder, and departed.

Bunny turned round to Maud. "What's the matter with him?" he said.

She sat with her face to the window, her eyes fixed unseeingly upon the sunlit garden. "Nothing that I know of," she said, without moving.

Bunny came to her side. "But, Maud, he isn't always like that, at least he used not to be."

"Like what?" she said.

Bunny was looking at her hard. "You used not to be like this either," he said. "What's happened to you both?"

She gave herself a sharp shake--it was almost like a shudder suppressed--and came out of her reverie. She met Bunny's questioning eyes with a smile.

"My dear boy, nothing has happened. Don't look so suspicious! There! Come and let me look at you! Do you know I hardly know you? You seem so young."

Bunny pushed an arm about her neck, and gave the kiss for which she yearned. "You look years older than you did," he said, with brotherly candour. "I thought you'd get on like a house on fire when you hadn't me to worry you, but you look more down in the mouth than ever."

"I shan't now I've got you," she whispered, clinging to him. "I've missed you--horribly, dear."

"I thought you would," said Bunny with complacence. "I missed you too at first. When they gave me that beastly massage, I used to howl for you."

"Was it so terribly bad?" she murmured, holding him faster.

"It was--unspeakable," said Bunny. "I shouldn't have stuck to it if you'd been there. As it was,--well, I couldn't help myself. But they were awfully kind too. No one ever pitched into me for behaving badly. They all seemed to take it for granted that I should. And when I began to get better, they were so jolly encouraging. But I'd rather be flogged every day for a year," ended Bunny, "than go through it all again."

"Dr. Capper didn't tell me it would be so bad," said Maud.

"No. Capper's a deep one. He didn't tell me either. He laughs about it now," said Bunny, "and says the end has fully justified the means. He's rather a card, but he's a fine chap. He is coming to see us before he leaves England. I made him promise. He'll be off before the end of August." Bunny stretched himself luxuriously. "How's the mother getting on?" he enquired.

"I haven't seen her for quite a long time. I believe she is very busy," Maud said. "They have discharged some of the servants at 'The Anchor.' I don't believe it answers. She was looking rather worried the last time we met. But she didn't tell me anything, except that times were bad."

"They always are with some people," said Bunny. "I suppose Jake is quite prosperous, is he?"

"Oh, quite, I think," she said in surprise. "Of course he is Charlie's paid man. Why do you ask?"

"He looks a bit bothered," said Bunny. "P'raps it isn't that though. Come along! Let's go upstairs!"

He twined his arm in hers. They went up side by side.

A little later they separated, and Maud went to her own room. Down in the training-field below the orchard a solitary horseman was riding a young, untamed animal that fought savagely against his mastery, striving by every conceivable artifice to unseat him. She paused at the casement window and watched the struggle, marked the man's calm assurance, his inflexible strength of purpose, his ruthless self-assertion. And, as she watched, that evil thing that she nourished in her heart opened its first poisonous flowers and bloomed in rank profusion. She hoped with a sickening intensity that the animal would win the day, and that Jake Bolton would be killed.