Chapter V: Traveller's Joy

The 8th of January dawned still and cold. A black frost was on the ground, and in the sky the yellowish greyness which usually precedes a heavy snowfall.

It was, however, perfectly fine and dry at Bramforth when Olwen set out upon her northward journey. At Newcastle she had to change, and later on must change again, for the little local line which would carry her to Picton Bars.

The lonely station stands high upon the fells, and the snow had begun to fall when she alighted upon the small, dreary platform.

A fly sent by Askwith, landlord of the Seven Spears at Caryngston, was duly in waiting, and when she and her baggage were safely bestowed they started off, up a hill so steep that the driver did not mount his box until they had gone a mile and a half. The Seven Spears was the curious name of the hostelry to which Mrs. Guyse in her last letter had directed her new secretary, with the information that at this point upon her journey she would be met.

By the time they had gained a wide, exposed plateau, the snow was falling with surprising and increasing rapidity. The great flakes were like lumps of wool, and the whole face of the country was white in half an hour. As they breasted the hill they encountered a keen icy wind from the north, against which the horses could make but slow progress. The train had been warmed, but the interior of the fly was very chilly. It seemed to Olwen that in all the miles they travelled they never passed a single human habitation. How far they went she could not tell, but she was blue with cold, and very hungry by the time they reached the outskirts of a small town or a large village. The grey stone cottages were huddled in true Northumbrian fashion one against the other, right upon the road, with no intervening garden plots as in southern counties. Owing to the storm, nobody was in the streets; and against all walls which faced the north the snow had already drifted deeply. Darkness was closing in as they reached the market square, white and empty in the pitiless weather.

Olwen felt a little nervous at the thought that the last, and presumably the wildest, stage of her journey still lay before her. She had hardly realised that England contained a place so remote as Guysewyke.

The inn stood on the north side of the square, facing south. A wooden porch projected above the door, and wooden benches were ranged below the windows.

As the horses stopped before the entrance, a middle-aged woman, in felt slippers, drying her hands upon a large print apron, came and stood in the light of the doorway.

"Is it the yoong leddy for t' Pele?" she asked in a hearty voice, which was strangely comfortable in the circumstances.

"Yes," said Olwen as she jumped out eagerly. "Are you Mrs. Askwith? What dreadful weather you have here! It was quite fine at Bramforth this morning!"

"To think o' that! Coom away, Missie, and Saam'll put trooks doon in't baack kitchen. There's a canny bit o' snaw doon already, and we'll have more'n enoof, coom morrning. Bad time o' year to be travelling, and you sooch a bit lassie!"

The last words were tinged with wonder as Miss Innes walked into the passage, which was papered in imitation blocks of grey granite, divided into oblongs by bands of bright blue.

Olwen laughed. "I think it's fun--quite an adventure, you know," she replied gaily. "Is there anybody here to meet me from Guysewyke?"

"Ow ay, there be," said the hostess; and as she spoke she pushed open a door leading into the bar parlour, whence issued loud laughter and a whiff of mingled tobacco smoke, leather gaiters, beer, sawdust and hot humanity.

Olwen caught sight of several men on benches, three farmers round a central table, and the host, in a green baize apron, with a tankard in each hand.

The face of the farmer seated facing her was clearly visible for a few moments--a long dark face, with a pronounced chin, a slight black moustache, and eyes as green as jade. He seemed just to have said something to amuse his companions, and was himself smiling, showing two rows of teeth as perfect as those of an animal. He looked, she thought, like a picture of _Der Freischuetz_, the demon huntsman.

In her hasty survey she saw nobody who looked like Mrs. Guyse's servant, but somebody must have been there, for the landlady called out:

"She've coom! Yoong lass've coom!" before banging the door and shutting in the noise and warm odours.

She turned to the other side of the central passage and ushered the girl into a second parlour, where a fire burned, but dully. Striking a match, the woman lit a paraffin lamp, and disclosed the typical, square, small-windowed inn sitting-room, with the usual rag hearthrug, china dogs on the mantelpiece, stuffed gamecock in a glass case, and corner cupboard with treasures of old cut glass and lustre ware. The panelled walls had been painted in a vile yellowish imitation of the real oak which the paint in all probability masked.

Kneeling down with a pair of bellows, the landlady quickly blew the sluggish fire into a leaping blaze, upon which she placed a huge log. Then rising and dusting her knees with one hand, she looked doubtfully at her guest.

"Ye'll no get to t' Pele to-night, loov," said she not unkindly. "It's drifting very hard oop on t' fell already. Muster Nin won't risk it in the dark."

Then, in reply to Olwen's "Oh!" of consternation she added, "Well, well, you'll hear what he says himself."

She paused and listened to a new burst of wild merriment, which was plainly audible from the bar. Her lips twisted into an indulgent smile.

"That's him. Troost him to set 'em all off!"

Her eyes wandered to the somewhat forlorn little figure of Olwen, who, doubtful as to whether she was to continue her travels or no, was standing by the table, cold, hungry and uncertain. "Bad time o' year for t' Pele," she remarked, as if puzzled. "Soommer's best, oop yander." Her expression was odd, and it seemed as if she was minded to say more, but instead she turned suddenly, marched out into the passage, half opened the bar door, and called loudly:

"Muster Nin! Coom you here! Didn't you hear me tell you yoong lass've coom?"

"All right, Deb, keep your hair on," said a voice from within; there was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and the young farmer with black hair and green eyes emerged, a pipe in his mouth, a tumbler of hot drink in his hand.

His eyes and those of the stranger girl met momentarily; and she was conscious of two very distinct impressions: first, of his real, though suppressed, anxiety to see her, and secondly, of his disappointment. She could not have explained how she knew this; but in some way she received the impression of his having expected something very different.

"Hallo!" he said, looking her up and down as she stood in cold dignity by the parlour table. "You Miss Innes--eh! How-de-do?"

She bowed. "You are----?"

"My name's Guyse. I drove down this morning to do some business in the town and bring you back. Didn't foresee this weather. Afraid it's no use hoping to get to the Pele to-night. What do you think, Deb?"

Deb's opinion, quite frankly and decidedly, was that it would be a fool's trick to attempt the journey. Madam would never expect them.

The Demon Huntsman, pipe in mouth, studied the silent girl with half-shut eyes. "Think you can make her comfortable here, Deb?" he asked at length.

"Ow ay, Muster Nin. I'll be going oop now and kindle a fire in her room. What time would you like supper--eh?"

"That's for the lady to say."

"You really think," began Olwen, summoning her courage, "that we had better not try to go on? You are not speaking on my account? I am not timid or nervous."

He grinned. "Dessay not. I am though."

"And you are sure that Mrs. Guyse will understand and approve?"

Both Mrs. Askwith and he were very sure of that.

"Then, if I am to stay here, might I beg for a cup of tea? I'm so cold and hungry."

"Tea?" The good woman was overcome with remorse that she had not thought of this. Off she went to prepare it forthwith, and Miss Innes and the young man were left together.

Slowly she laid down her muff and gloves, unfastened Marjorie's motor coat in which she had travelled, and laid it aside, disclosing her slim little person in a dark blue suit. Then she sat down in a big chair of the kind known as a porter's chair, and held her stiff hands to the comforting warmth of the fire.

Her escort had moved round to the fireside, and was sitting on a corner of the table, swinging one leg, and smoking away with a total disregard of her permission.

His eyes were on her, and after a while he took out his pipe, and chuckled, displaying his clean white teeth. "Mean to say you've been a bank clerk for three years?" he asked teasingly.

Olwen almost jumped, so much did this familiarity astonish her.

"Why not?" she countered stiffly.

"You look to me as if you were straight from boarding school, as if you had spent your days walking out in a crocodile, with a mistress behind to see that you didn't give the glad eye to anybody along the sea front."

Olwen was roused. She must give this offensive young cad something to remember. "You were never more mistaken in your life," said she coolly. "I am quite able to take care of myself, and people are rarely rude to me twice."

"Rude?" he laughed, not the least abashed. "I should think not! Fancy cheeking a kitten at the age of six weeks!"

"Your habits with regard to kittens or anyone else," she snapped, "are of no interest to me. Pray don't let me keep you from your--er--associates in the next room."

He laughed out, his head thrown back. "Fuff-fuff! I do love to hear a kitten swear!"

Olwen tilted her chin to a very haughty angle. "Mrs. Guyse has provided me with an unusual kind of escort," she said. "May I ask who you are? Do you live near Guysewyke Pele?"

"No, I don't. I live inside it. I'm the son of the house, and I hope you and I are going to have fine times together. You looked such a mouse that I thought you had no spunk in you; but you've got a spirit of your own, all right, all right."

Olwen rose, and gathered up her coat, with the intention of asking Mrs. Askwith to let her see her room. As she made for the door, it was opened by an apple-cheeked damsel who carried a tea-tray. This she set down upon the table, giving young Guyse what he would have called the glad eye as she did so.

"Hallo, Flossie," said he, taking up his glass, "I drink to your very good health. You see before you, Flossie, no less a person than the Queen of Sheba. Make your very lowest courtesy. Her Majesty is travelling incog., and I've got into hot water by failing to recognise her. Look out for yourself, my girl, or you'll get the set-down of your life."

Flossie began to titter, and young Guyse, rising, said, "Tarta, kitten!" and walked back into the bar parlour. As the door closed behind him there sounded an outburst of laughter, and Olwen wondered if it were caused by some remark he had made about herself. Her cheeks were warm with indignation. This creature--this tavern wit--was to be her house mate at the Pele! ... Why, Ben Holroyd was an aristocrat compared with this!

"Mr. Ninian's full of his nonsense, ain't he?" said Flossie cheerfully. "Known me from a baaby, he has. Me moother she says it's a fair wonder how he do keep up his spirits in that lonely plaace. There, Miss, your tea's ready, and should I carry your things oopstairs?"

Olwen sank down with relief to sip hot tea and eat excellent hot teacake. She was almost ready to cry at prospect before her, but the refreshment and the warmth revived her somewhat. It was not yet twelve hours since she left the Vicarage; she could not yet accept defeat! But she felt uneasy.

Mrs. Guyse had made no mention of her son. She had conveyed the impression that she lived alone. Was it wildly possible that her real escort had been delayed by the snow and this unspeakable young man was masquerading? That might account for the merriment in the bar, but it seemed impossible that the Askwiths should be conniving at such a trick. Her gloomy meditations were broken into by the entrance of Deb, who came to know if she had enjoyed her tea. She thanked her politely, and asked whether there were such a thing as a telegraph office within reach, as she was anxious to send a message to her people to explain that the weather had delayed her.

Mrs. Askwith approved of this idea. "You caan't tell, you might be snowed oop here, and days before you get to t' Pele," was her disquieting opinion. Then, not pausing to consult her guest, she once more pushed open the bar door and shouted for "Muster Nin."

She explained to him that the young lady wished to send a telegram, and he replied, "That's easy enough, if the snow hasn't broken down the wires, and I don't think it will have yet." Advancing into the parlour, he peeped in, a mocking devil in his eyes. "If your Majesty will condescend to allow her slave to hold an umbrella over her, we will at once fare forth across the market-place," said he.

He did not wait for a reply, but took up her fur coat from the chair where still it lay, and held it for her to put on. She was taken by surprise, and did so almost mechanically.

"Now, Deb, the big umbrella," said he, "and I can manage so that this midget shan't be blown away."

They emerged into the porch. As the wind was behind the house, they were here comparatively in shelter, and the snow seemed a mere sprinkling. "Now," said he, as he set the umbrella firmly on his shoulder so as to shield their backs, "cling to me for all you're worth, little 'un, and I'll have you across in a brace of shakes."

It was not a moment for standing on one's dignity. The readiness with which he had come from the warm room to do her a service mollified her somewhat, and she tucked her hand into his arm as directed.

As soon as they were beyond the shelter of the house, the blast drove them on furiously. She had the sensation of being attached to a live wire, so elastic yet so complete was young Guyse's resistance to the storm.

Soon the snow was over their boots, and she was jumping along in a fashion which could not but provoke them both to mirth. She was gasping for breath when they reached the opposite side of the market-place, and stood before the chemist's shop, which was also the post office. The chemist, with a sack over his head, was busy sweeping the drifts from his doorstep. The colour was high in Olwen's cheeks, and her eyes were starry as she made a dash for the comparative light and warmth of the shop within.

The postmaster came to attend them, read Olwen's message slowly and laboriously aloud, and discussed the storm with great fluency in a dialect which Olwen could only partly understand. They discussed the chance of getting to the Pele next day, and Olwen found that her escort had no intention at all of remaining weather-bound.

"This fall is going to stop soon after midnight," he said, "the wind will drop, and then we'll have out Askwith's sleigh and go up there in no time."

On their return journey they met the wind, and young Guyse thought it better not to hoist the umbrella. As the gust shrieked in their faces the girl recalled the prosaic, everyday aspect which the residential district of Bramforth had worn that morning. Everything grey, everything dull; everything just as it always had been and always would be! ... And now she was fighting the elements, the icy blast from the Cheviots like knives upon her face, ankle deep in snow, and clinging close to a young ruffian whom, an hour ago, she had never seen.

As they fought their way on, the white surrounding expanse of snow was broken by an approaching figure. There was a moon behind the snow-clouds, so that the night was not quite black, and she could see that it was a man in an oilskin coat and a cap with flaps tied down over his ears, who was moving towards them.

Young Guyse evidently had no wish to encounter the traveller. He flung his arm round Olwen and turned her in a slightly different direction. His attempt at evasion was thwarted by a shout from the man.

"Hi, Guyse! Guyse! Is that you?"

Guyse wheeled sulkily. "Hallo!" ungraciously, "what do you want?"

"Have you got ... knife in pocket ... with hook for clearing horse's hoof?"

The speaker was out of breath, but his voice was that of an educated man. Olwen saw that he had a short, pointed, fair beard, to which the moisture clung in drops.

Her escort most reluctantly felt in his pockets, and while he did so she knew herself the object of keen scrutiny on the part of the other.

"Thanks, I'm sure"--as the knife was produced--"I'm afraid I have kept this--er--lady standing. What shall I do with the knife, to return it?"

"Leave it with Askwith. I shall be at the Seven Spears till morning." With these words he dragged the girl away, ignoring the other's shout of thanks and good night.

"Who was that?" cried Olwen in his ear.

"That? The doctor. Fellow called Balmayne. Confounded busybody! Always spying!"

"Spying!"

"On me. Why can't he mind his own business? Out there in the snow just to get a look at you, I suppose."

"What nonsense!"

"Like to have been introduced to you, wouldn't he? No fear!"

As he spoke, they reached their haven, the lee of the storm, and she heard his words clearly. She disengaged herself from him, no longer in need of his support, which he nevertheless seemed disinclined to withdraw. The doctor, she thought, might well have felt curious as to who she was--careering across the market-place with young Guyse's arm round her waist!