A Duel
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 2: An Offer of Marriage
She raised her head to listen, thinking that her senses must be playing her a trick. No; it certainly was the sound of wheels, coming nearer and nearer. Some one was driving fast through the darkness, so fast that in what seemed to her to be less than a minute the driver was close upon her. Apparently nearly in front of her, although she could not see it, was a road along which the vehicle was approaching. It carried no lights; nothing broke the shadows; but, if her ears could be trusted, within a stone’s-throw of where she was some wheeled conveyance was hurrying past. She stood upon her one sound foot and shouted:--
“Hallo!--hallo-o!--hallo-o-o!” again and again.
Her first shouts went unheeded. Possessed by a wild fear that she might remain unnoticed, raising her voice to a desperate yell, she started to scream herself hoarse.
This time her tones travelled. Suddenly the vehicle ceased to move. An answering shout came back to her:--
“Who’s there? What’s the matter with you?”
The accent was broad Scotch. Had it been the purest Cockney it could not have seemed more welcome. She replied to the inquiry:--
“I’ve sprained my ankle so that I can hardly move”.
This time in the other voice there was an unmistakable suggestion of surprise.
“Is it a woman?”
“Yes.”
Her tone was fainter.
“And what might you be doing here at this hour of the morning?”
“I’m going to Carnoustie.”
“Carnoustie! You’re going to Carnoustie!--along this road? You’re joking! Can you get as far as this, so that I can have a look at you?”
“I’ll try.”
She did try. It was a distance of barely a hundred yards, but traversing it was a work of time. When the space was covered it was only by clutching at the wheel of the trap that she saved herself from subsiding in a heap upon the ground. In an instant the driver was off his seat, and with his arm about her.
“Is it so bad as that?”
“It is pretty bad,” she stammered.
“For the Lord’s sake, don’t faint! We’ve no time to waste upon such trifles.”
“I’m not going to faint.” At any rate the tone was faint enough. Suddenly she seemed to pull herself together, as if stirred by a spirit of resentment. “I never have fainted in my life--I’m not going to begin to do it now.”
He laughed--that is, the little husky sound he made might have been intended for a laugh.
“If you’ll keep quite still I’ll lift you up into the trap somehow, though, by the feel of you, you’re as big as I am, and, maybe, heavier. The mare won’t move. She’s one of the few female things I ever met that wasn’t troubled with the fidgets.”
As he put it, “somehow” he did get her up into the trap, then climbed on to the seat beside her. Presently they were bowling along together. For some seconds neither spoke. She was endeavouring to accustom herself to her new position. He, possibly--as his questions immediately showed--was wondering who it was that he had chanced upon.
“You’re English?”
“I am.”
“Staying in these parts?”
“I’m on a walking tour.”
“A walking tour at one o’clock in the morning!”
“It wasn’t one o’clock when I started. I’ve been where you found me for hours and hours.”
“Where were you making for?”
“I’ve told you, I was going to Carnoustie.”
“Going from Carnoustie, you mean. You’ll never be finding it in this part of the country.”
“I daresay. Since it became dark I’ve been hobbling round about just anywhere. I don’t know where I am; I’ve lost myself completely.” He was silent, as if he found something in her words which made him think. Then she took up the rôle of questioner: “Where are you going?”
“To a man that’s dying.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“It’s my trade.”
“Then you’ll be able to look at my ankle. I hope it’s nothing serious, but it seems to be getting worse instead of better.”
“I’ll look at your ankle, never fear. I’ll find you an easier patient than the one I’m bound for.”
Little more was said on either side. The doctor seemed to be by nature a taciturn man, or perhaps he was too preoccupied for speech. Isabel was feeling too miserable to talk. She was cold and wet; her ankle was occasioning her no little pain. She could hardly have been less inclined for conversation, and she, also, had at times a gift of silence. During the twenty or thirty minutes the drive continued probably not half-a-dozen words were exchanged.
At last the doctor brought his mare to a standstill.
“I suppose you couldn’t get down and open a gate? There’s one right in front of us. I can see it’s closed.”
His eyes must have had the cat’s quality of being able to penetrate the darkness; she could see nothing.
“I might be able to get down--if I had to tumble, but I doubt if I’d ever be able to get up again.”
He grunted as if in disapprobation.
“Can you hold the reins while I get down?”
“I daresay I could do that.”
He passed her the reins and descended. She heard a gate swing back upon its hinges. He reappeared at the horse’s head.
“I’d better lead her through and up to the house; it’s as black as the devil’s painted under the trees. I ought to have brought my lamps, but I came away in such a hurry. When some folks are dying they will not wait.”
They passed through a darkness which was so intense that she could not see the horse which was drawing her on. The avenue seemed a long one. It was some minutes before, drawing clear of the overhanging foliage, they stopped in front of a house which loomed grim and ominous in the shadows. Apparently their approach had been heard. No sooner had they stopped than the door was thrown wide open. The figure of a woman was seen peering out into the darkness, with a lamp in her hand.
“Is it the doctor?” she demanded.
“Yes, it’s the doctor. And how is he now?”
“He’s as near to death as he can be to be still alive. I believe he’s only keeping the breath in his body till he gets a sight of you.”
“To be sure that’s uncommonly good of him. Now, madam, will that ankle of yours permit you to tumble down with the help of a hand from me?”
Without answering Isabel commenced a laborious and painful descent. At sight of her the woman on the doorstep evinced a lively curiosity.
“Why, doctor, who is it you’re bringing with you?”
“It’s a visitor for you, and another patient for me, Nannie. You’ll have to find her a corner somewhere while I go up to see the laird. When I’ve done with him I’ll have to start with her. I’m hoping that she’ll be the easier job of the two. Come, lend a hand. It’s beyond my power to get her into the house alone, and it seems that by herself she’ll never do it.”
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