heavy hall door, and said that if they would wait there a minute he
would inform his master, who was now consulting with the physician in
the sick man’s room.
It was then that Imogene heard two noises which puzzled her for the
moment. The sound of the carriage driving away, and the bolting and
chaining of the hall door. But before any suspicion had time to take
root in her mind the butler returned with an explanation. He reported
that if the sufferer could be kept alive through the night, he had hopes
for his recovery. At the moment he had drifted into unconsciousness,
but directly he revived to his senses the young lady would be permitted
to see him. Two visitors the doctor could not allow, but as the
reverend gentleman kept asking for Imogene, the sight of her would
perhaps bring him a little peace. Since the case was desperate, the
servants had orders to accommodate the ladies in a bedroom adjoining, in
case they were needed in the night. The butler said he had been told to
ask them if they would accept this hospitality, and whether they would
care for a glass of wine before proceeding upstairs. This they both
declined. Imogene saying that she would see her mother to the room, and
hoped they were not causing too much inconvenience, and she added that
if the lady of the house was at liberty she would like to thank her for
all they are doi ng.
“My lady will visit you in a few moments in the bedroom,” replied the
butler. “At the moment she is helping the doctor with the reverent
gentleman’s bandages. I will give instructions for the lady’s-maid to
wait upon you and to see that you have a ll that you require. Will you
follow me, please?”
He led them upstairs, across a wide landing to an open bedroom door.
They went in and found it old-fashioned and comfortable.
“I will inform my lady,” said the butler as he closed the door. In a
minute he was back again and whispered: “The reverend gentleman has
recovered consciousness. Will the young lady come at once, please?”
“Yes, go, my dear,” whispered her mother. “I will wait for you here.
I hope he is better.”
Imogene noticed as sh e passed through the bedroom door that the key
was in the outside of the lock, but as all her thoughts were set on
comforting her lover, she saw nothing suspicious in that. She closed
the door herself, and followed the butler down a short flight of stairs,
along a corridor with a door at the far end. This the butler opened,
and signed for her to go through.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and went in on tiptoe.
Her first view of the room, which was brilliantly lighted with
candles, astonished her, for instead of the bedroom she had expected she
found herself
- 31 -
in a spacious oak-paneled sitting-room with a great round card-table in
the centre. Before she had recovered from her surprise, she heard the
door close behind her, and turning saw not the butler, who had gone, but
a richly dressed gentleman locking the door on the inside and putting
the key in his pocket.
“What is the meaning of this, sir?” she asked. “And where is Doctor
Syn?”
The Squire of Iffley turned and faced her with a chuckle. Instantly
she recognized him, and gasped with terror.
“Quite right, my dear girl,” he said. “You are trapped. Your mother
is locked in her room, so if you scream you will but add to her alarm.
Since Doctor Syn, who is back in Oxford all the time, thought fit to
make you scorn my hospitality, I have been forced to go my own way to
work. You are now at Iffley in my Manor, and here you will stay till
you have consented to all my demands.”
“And what are they, sir?” she asked haughtily.
“First that you will discontinue this absurd love affair with Doctor
Syn,” he answered.
“In order that you may force me to marry your nephew, sir?” she
demanded.
“Spit me, no,” he laughed. “There is no love lost between us, I
assure you, and why should I help him to what I most desire for myself?
I would rather leave my money and estate to our children, my dear, than
to that fool of a nephew who has failed to carry you off.”
“Our children?” repeated the girl in horror. “How dare you even
think of such a thing?”
“For the same reason that I shall accomplish it. I want you for my
wife, and willy-nilly you shall marry me. Of that I am so certain that
I urge you for your own sake not to fight against it. Many a woman
would envy you. I am a bachelor , and rich. I am not without
accomplishments. No man in the country rides harder, fights harder, or
drinks harder. I can hold my own with much younger men. And although I
have never married, women admire me because of my settled determination.
Whatever I ant, I get. So school your mind, little Miss, to forget this
young parson, and accept my wooing.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” replied Imogene.
“Oh yes, you will, because I shall force you to it. I have the means
here to compel your obedience. That is why I have kidnapped your
mother. You will not care to see her starved and tortured, while I
surround you with every luxury? If you refuse to be sensible, I shall
strike at you through her. We will talk now for an hour or so, and then
unless you relent, her persecution will commence, and I warrant her
screams will move you.”
“Doctor Syn will suspect you,” said Imogene coldly. “He will come
and free me when he finds that we have gone from White Frairs. He will
know that the story of his accident was a base lie.”
“Of course he will,” laughed the Squire. “He’ll know it tonight. I
have written him a letter to his Chambers. The servant who brought you
your letter is now on his way to deliver another another to the parson.
In it I have stated that you have changed your mind, and have, with your
mother’s consent, arranged for yourself a happier match than to become a
parson’s wife. Of course, he may believe this. If he does we shall not
be troubled with him.”
“He will not believe it,” replied Imogene. “How can you think it?”
“To be quite frank, I never did,” said the Squire, with a smile. “I
think—nay, I hope—he will come up here. And when he does he will not
leave here alive. Unless, of course, you so convince him that my le tter
is the truth. In that case I will spare him, and you will have the
satisfaction of saving
- 32 -
his life. I confess that my words will sound conceited, but I could not
help crowing a good deal over the success of my revenge. Now will you
drink a glass of wine?”
“Nothing,” she answered coldly.
“Will you come and sit beside me on this comfortable settee?”
“I will not.”
“Very well,” he went on in his bantering tone, “you may stand there
while I sit and drink. I am perfectly content to gloat upon you for an
hour. Then you will not only be willing to sit, but you will sit upon
my knee and sip the wine from my glass.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind, you conceited devil.” she said.
“Oh yes, you will. In an hour. In one hour precisely. Do you know
why?”
“I do not care to know.”
“And yet it is my duty to tell you,” he replied pleasantly. “I must
save my future wife from shock. And in one hour you will hear your
mother’s first scream of pain and terror. I have servants here who are