CHAPTER XXIII.
If you fix your eyes upon a distant hill in the month of April, insome countries, or May in others, there are a thousand chances to one,unless the goddess of the spring be very much out of humour, that yousee first a golden gleam warm, as the looks of love, and next a deepblue shadow, calm and grand as the thoughts of high intellect whenpassion has passed away with youth. Perhaps the case may be reversed;the shadow come first and the gleam succeed just as you happen to timeyour look; but at all events, you will require no one to tell you--youwill not even need to raise your face to the sky to perceive at oncethat the cause of this beautiful variation of hues is the alternatesunshine and cloud of the spring heavens.
Over the mind and over the face of man, however, what clouds, whatsunshine, what gleams, what shadows, will not come without any eye butan all-seeing one being able to trace the causes of the change. Thricein one morning was the whole demeanour of Mr. Beauchamp totallyaltered. He descended to breakfast grave and thoughtful; an hour afterhe was gayer than he had been for years. By the side of IsabellaSlingsby he remained cheerful; but before luncheon was over he hadplunged again into a fit of deep and gloomy thought, and as soon asNed Hayward, having taken some food and wine started up to mount hishorse which was at the door, Beauchamp rose also, saying, "I want oneword with you, Hayward, before you go."
"Directly, directly," answered Ned Hayward. "Goodbye, Sir John, goodbye, Miss Slingsby."
"Mind--day after to-morrow at the latest, Ned," cried the baronet.
"Upon my honour," replied Hayward. "Farewell, Mrs. Clifford, I trust Ishall find you here on my return."
"I fear not, Captain Hayward," replied the lady, "but you havepromised, you know, to come over and--"
"Nay, dear mamma, I think you will be here," said Mary Clifford, "Ithink for once I shall attempt to coax you."
Mrs. Clifford seemed somewhat surprised at her daughter's eagerness tostay; but Sir John exclaimed joyously, "There's a good girl--there's acapital girl, Mary; you are the best little girl in the world; she'llstay, she'll stay. We'll get up a conspiracy against her. There, beoff, Ned. No long leave-takings. You'll find us all here when you comeback, just as you left us: me, as solemn and severe as usual, mysister as gay and jovial, Isabella as pensorous, and Mary as merry andmadcap as ever."
Ned Hayward, however, did not fail to bid Miss Clifford adieu beforehe went, and be it remarked, he did it in a somewhat lower tone thanusual, and added a few words more than he had spoken to the rest.Beauchamp accompanied him to the door, and then pausing near thehorse, inquired in a low tone, "Are you quite certain the man withwhom you had the struggle this morning is the same who fired the shotlast night?"
"Perfectly," answered Ned Hayward, "for I saw his face quite well inthe sand-pit; and I never forget a face. I wish to Heaven you couldcatch him."
"Have you any idea of his name?" asked Beauchamp.
"None in the world," replied Ned Hayward; "but there are two peoplehere who must know, I think. One is young Wittingham, and the other isSte Gimlet, otherwise Wolf. I have a strong notion this fellow was oneof those attacking the carriage the other night. But that puts me inmind, Beauchamp, that I intended to go up and talk to Gimlet, but Ihave not time now. I wish you would; and just tell him from me, I willpay his boy's schooling if he will send him to learn something betterthan making bird-traps. You can perhaps find out at the same time whothis fellow is, so it may be worth a walk."
"I will, I will," answered Beauchamp, "but you said the young ladieshere had something to tell me. What is it?"
"I thought they had done it," replied Ned Hayward, "that is stupid!But I have not time now, you must ask them; good bye;" and touchinghis horse lightly with his heel, he was soon on his way to Tarningham.
Beauchamp paused for a moment on the steps in deep meditation, andthen turned into the house, saying to himself, "This must be inquiredinto instantly." He found Sir John Slingsby in the luncheon-room,reading the newspaper, but nobody else, for the ladies had returned tothe drawing-room, and two of them, at least, where looking somewhatanxiously for his coming. It very rarely happens that any one who islooked anxiously for ever does come; and of course, in the presentinstance, Beauchamp took the natural course and disappointed the twoladies.
"I have a message to deliver from Captain Hayward to your new keeper,Sir John," he said, "and therefore I will walk over to his cottage,and see him. An hour I dare say will accomplish it."
"It depends upon legs, my dear Sir," answered the baronet, looking up."It would cost my two an hour and a half to go and come; so if I mightadvise, you would take four. You will find plenty of hoofs in thestables, and a groom to show you the way. Thus you will be back thesooner, and the women will have something to talk to; for I must bebusy--very busy--devilish busy, indeed. I have not done any businessfor ten years, the lawyer tells me, so I must work hard to-day. I'llread the papers, first, however, if Wharton himself stood at the door;and he is a great deal worse than Satan. I like to hear all the liesthat are going about in the world; and as newspapers were certainlyinvented for the propagation of falsehood, one is sure to find allthere. Take a horse, take a horse, Beauchamp. Life is too short towalk three miles and back to speak with a gamekeeper."
"Well, Sir John, I will, with many thanks," answered his guest, and inabout a quarter of an hour he was trotting away towards the newcottage of Stephen Gimlet, with a groom to show him the way. That waywas a very picturesque one, cutting off an angle of the moor and thenwinding through wild lanes rich with all sorts of flowers and shrubs,till at length a small old gray church appeared in view at the side ofa little green. The stone, where the thick ivy hid it not, wasincrusted in many places with yellow, white, and brown lichens, givingthat peculiar rich hue with which nature is so fond of investing oldbuildings. There was but one other edifice of any kind in theneighbourhood, and that was a small cottage of two stories, builtclose against one side of the church. Probably it had originally beenthe abode of the sexton, and the ivy spreading from the neighbouringbuttress twined round the chimneys, meeting several lower shoots ofthe same creeping plant, and enveloped one whole side in a greenmantle. The sunshine was streaming from behind the church, between itand the cottage, and that ray made the whole scene look cheerfulenough; but yet Beauchamp could not help thinking, "This place, withits solitary house and lonely church, its little green, and smallfields behind, with their close hedgerows, must look somewhatdesolate in dull weather. Still the house seems a comfortable one, andthere has been care bestowed upon the garden, with its flowers andherbs. I hope this is Gimlet's cottage; for the very fact of findingsuch things in preparation may waken in him different states fromthose to which he has been habituated."
"Here's the place, Sir," said the groom, riding up and touching hishat, and at the same moment the sound of the horses' feet brought therosy, curly-headed urchin of the _ci-devant_ poacher trotting to thedoor.
Beauchamp dismounted and went in; and instantly a loud, yelping barkwas heard from the other side of the front room, where a terrier dogwas tied to the post of a sort of dresser. By the side of the dog wasthe figure of the newly-constructed gamekeeper himself, stooping downand arranging sundry boxes and cages on the ground.
Now the learned critic has paused on the words "newly-constructedgamekeeper"--let him not deny it--and has cavilled thereat anddeclared them incorrect. But I will defend them: they are neitherthere by, and on account of, careless writing or careless printing;but, well-considered, just, and appropriate, there they stand on theauthor's responsibility. I contend he was a newly-constructedgamekeeper, and out of very curious materials was he constructed, too.
As soon as he heard Beauchamp's step, Ste Gimlet, raised himself, andrecognising his visitor at once, a well-pleased smile spread over hisface, which the gentleman thought gave great promise for the future.It is something, as this world goes, to be glad to see one from whomwe have received a benefit. The opposite emotion is more generalunless we expect new favours; a fact of
which Beauchamp had been madeaware by some sad experience, and as the man's pleased look wasinstantaneous, without a touch of affectation in it, he augured wellfor some of the feelings of his heart.
"Well, Gimlet," said the visitor, "I am happy to see that some of yourstock has been saved, even if all your furniture has perished."
"Thank you, Sir," replied the other, "my furniture was not worth agroat. I made most of it myself; but I lost a good many things itwon't be easy to get again. All the dogs that were in the house, butthis one, were burned or choked. He broke his cord and got away. Allmy ferrets too, went, but three that were in the shed; and the tamebadger, poor fellow, I found a bit of his skin this morning. I thankyou very much, Sir, for what you gave me, and if you wait five minutesyou'll see what I've done with it. I think it will give you pleasure,Sir; for I've contrived to get quite enough to set the place outcomfortably, and have something over in case any thing is forgotten."
Beauchamp liked the man's way of expressing his gratitude by showingthat he appreciated the feelings in which the benefit was conferred.It was worth a thousand hyperboles.
"I shall stay some little time, Gimlet," he said, "for I have one ortwo things to talk to you about, if you can spare a minute."
"Certainly, Sir," answered the man in a respectful tone, "but I can'task you to sit down, because you see there is no chair."
"Never mind that," replied Beauchamp, "but what I wished principallyto say is this: my friend, Captain Hayward, takes a good deal ofinterest in you and in your boy; and, as he was going to London to-dayhe asked me to see you and tell you, that if you like to let the poorlittle fellow attend any good school in the neighbourhood he will paythe expenses. He wished me to point out to you what an advantage itwill be to him to have a good education, and also how much better andmore safe it is for him to be at school while you are absent on yourduty than shut up alone in your house."
"Whatever that gentleman wishes, Sir, I will do," Gimlet replied, "Inever knew one like him before--I wish I had--but, however, I am boundto do what he tells me; and even if I did not see and know that whathe says in this matter is good and right, I would do it all the same.But as for paying, Sir, I hope he won't ask me to let him do that, forI have now got quite enough and to spare; and although I feel it apleasure to be grateful to such a gentleman, yet he can do goodelsewhere with the money."
"You can settle that with him afterwards, Gimlet," replied Mr.Beauchamp, "for he is coming back in a day or two; but I now want toask you a question which you must answer or not as you think fit. Youwere with Captain Hayward, it seems, when he came up with the man whofired into the window of the hall, and you saw his face, I think?"
Gimlet nodded his head, saying, "I did Sir."
"Do you know the man?" asked Beauchamp, fixing his eyes upon him.
"Yes, Sir," replied the other at once, with the colour coming up intohis face, "but before you go on, just let me say a word. That personand I were in some sort companions together once, in a matter we hadbetter have let alone, and I should not like to 'peach."
"In regard to the attack upon the carriage--to which I know youallude--I am not about to inquire," replied Beauchamp, "but I will askyou only one other question, and I promise you, upon my honour, not touse any thing you tell me against the person. Was his name Moreton?"
"I won't tell you a lie, Sir," answered Gimlet. "It was, though howyou have found it out I can't guess, for he has been away from thispart of the country for many a year."
"It matters not," answered Beauchamp, "how I found it out; I know hehas been absent many a year. Can you tell me how long he hasreturned?"
"That I can't say, I'm sure, Sir," replied the man; "but I did hearthat he and the lady have been lodging at Buxton's inn for a day ortwo, but not more. It's a great pity to see how he has gone on, and tosell that fine old place that has been theirs for so many hundredyears! I should think, that if one had any thing worth having that hadbeen one's father's, one's grandfather's, and one's greatgrandfather's, for such a long while, it would keep one straight. It'smostly when a man has nothing to pride himself upon that he goeswrong."
"Not always," answered Beauchamp, "unbridled passion, my good friend,youth, inexperience, sometimes accident, lead a man to commit a falsestep, and that is very difficult to retrieve in his life."
"Aye, aye, I know that, I know that, Sir," answered Gimlet, "but Ihope not impossible;" and he looked up in Beauchamp's face, with anexpression of doubt and inquiry.
"By no means impossible," replied the gentleman, "and the man who hasthe courage and strength of mind to retrieve a false step, gives abetter assurance to society for his future conduct than perhaps a manwho has never committed one can do."
Gimlet looked down and meditated for one minute or two, and, though hedid not distinctly express the subject of his contemplation, hisreverie ended with the words, "Well I will try." The next moment headded, "I don't think, however, that this Captain Moreton will evermake much of it; for he has been going on now a long while in the sameway, from a boy to a lad, and from a lad to a man. He broke hisfather's heart, they say, after having ruined him to pay his debts;but the worst of it all is, he was always trying to make others as badas himself. He did me no good; for when I was a boy and used to go outand carry his game-bag, he put me up to all manner of things, and thatwas the beginning of my liking to what people call poaching. Then,too, he had a great hand in ruining this young Harry Wittingham. Hetaught him to gamble and drink, and a great deal more, when he was amere child, I may say."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Beauchamp, "then the young man is to be pitiedmore than blamed."
"I don't know, Sir, I don't know," answered the gamekeeper; "he's abad-hearted fellow. He set fire to my cottage, that's clear enough,and he knew the boy was in it too; but this business of firing in atthe window I can't make out at all; I should have thought it had beenan accident if he had not afterwards taken a shot at Captain Hayward."
"I wish to Heaven I could think it was an accident," answeredBeauchamp; "but that is out of the question. They say there arethoughts of pulling down the old house, if the place is not sold againvery soon. How far is it?"
"Oh, not three-quarters of a mile from this," replied the gamekeeper."Have you never seen it, Sir? It is a fine old place."
"Yes, I have seen it in former years," said Beauchamp. "Is it in thisparish, then?"
"Oh yes, Sir, this is the parish church here. They all lie buried in avault here, and their monuments are in the aisle; would you like tosee them? The key is always left in this cottage. There they lie, morethan twenty of them--the Moretons, I mean--for you know the man'sfather was not a Moreton; he was a brother of the Lord ViscountLenham; but, when he married the heiress he took the name of Moreton,according to her father's will. His tomb is in there, and I think itruns, 'The Honourable Henry John St. Leger Moreton.' It is a plainenough tomb for such a fine gentleman as he was; but those of theMoretons are very handsome, with great figures cut in stone as big aslife."
"I should like to see them," said Beauchamp, rousing himself from areverie.
"That's easily done," answered the gamekeeper, taking a large key froma nail driven into the wall, and leading the way to a small side-doorof the church.
"You tell me he was down here with the lady," said Beauchamp, as theman was opening the door. "Do you know if he is married?"
"That I can't say, Sir," answered the man. "He had a lady with him,and a strange-looking lady, too, with all manner of colours inher clothes. I saw her three days ago. She must have been ahandsome-looking woman, too, when she was young; but she looks, Idon't know how now."
Beauchamp tried to make him explain himself; but the man could give nobetter description; and, walking on into the church, they passed alongfrom monument to monument, pausing to read the different inscriptions,the greater part of which were more intelligible to Beauchamp than hiscompanion, as many were written in Latin. At length they came to asmall and very plain tablet of modern erection, which bore the
name ofthe last possessor of the Moreton property; and Beauchamp paused andgazed at it long, with a very sad and gloomy air.
There is always something melancholy in contemplating the finalresting-place of the last of a long line. The mind naturally sums upthe hopes gone by, the cherished expectations frustrated, the grandeurand the brightness passed away; the picture of many generations ininfancy, manhood, decrepitude, with a long train of sports and joys,and pangs and sufferings, rises like a moving pageant to the eye ofimagination; and the heart draws its own homily from the fate andhistory of others. But there seemed something more than this in theyoung gentleman's breast. His countenance was stern, as well as sad;it expressed a bitter gloom, rather than melancholy; and, folding hisarms upon his chest, with a knitted brow, and teeth hard set together,he gazed upon the tablet in deep silence, till a step in the aislebehind him startled him; and, turning round, he beheld good DoctorMiles slowly pacing up the aisle towards him.
Stephen Gimlet bowed low to the rector, and took a step back; butBeauchamp did not change his place, though he welcomed his reverendfriend with a smile.
"I want to speak with you, Stephen," said Doctor Miles, as heapproached; and then, turning towards Beauchamp, he added, "How areyou, my dear Sir? There are some fine monuments here."
Beauchamp laid his hand upon the clergyman's arm, and, pointing to thetablet before him, murmured in a low voice; "I have something to sayto you about that, my good friend; I will walk back with you; for Ihave long intended to talk to you on several subjects which had betternot be delayed any longer;--I will leave you to speak with this goodman here, if you will join me before the cottage."
"Oh, you need not go, you need not go," said Doctor Miles, "I havenothing to say you may not hear.--I wanted to tell you, Stephen," hecontinued, turning to the _ci-devant_ poacher, "that I have been downto-day to Tarningham, and have seen old Mrs. Lamb and her sonWilliam."
"He's a dear good boy, Sir," said Stephen Gimlet, gazing in therector's face, "and he was kind to me, and used to come up and see hispoor sister Mary when nobody else would come near her. That poorlittle fellow, all crooked and deformed as he is, has more heart andsoul in him than the whole town of Tarningham."
"There are more good people in Tarningham and in the world, Stephen,than you know," answered Doctor Miles, with a sharp look; "you have tolearn, my good friend, that there are natural consequences attached toevery particular line of conduct; and, as you turn a key in a door,one way to open it, and another way to shut it; so, if your conduct begood, you open men's hearts towards you; if your conduct be bad, youclose them."
Stephen Gimlet rubbed his finger on his temple, and answered in asomewhat bitter, but by no means insolent tone: "It's a very hardlock, Sir, that of men's hearts; and when once it's shut, the boltgets mighty rusty--at least, so I've found it."
"Stephen! Stephen!"--exclaimed the worthy clergyman, raisinghis finger with a monitory and reproachful gesture, "can you sayso.--especially to-day?"
"No, Sir; no, Sir;" cried Stephen Gimlet, eagerly, "I am wrong; I amvery wrong; butj ust then there came across me the recollection of allthe hard usage I have had for twelve long years, and how it had drivenme from bad to worse--ay! and killed my poor Mary, too; for her fatherwas very hard; and though he said her marrying me broke his heart, Iam sure he broke hers."
"You must not brood upon such things, Gimlet," said Doctor Miles. "Itis better, wiser, and more christian, for every man to think of theshare which his own faults have had in shaping his own fate; and, ifhe do so coolly and dispassionately, he will find much less blame tobe attributed to others than he is inclined to believe. But do not letus waste time upon such considerations. I went down to talk to Mrs.Lamb about you and your boy; I told her what Sir John had done foryou; and the imminent peril of death which the poor child had falleninto, from being left totally alone, when you are absent. The good oldwoman--and pray remark, Stephen, I don't call people good, as theworld generally does, without thinking them so,--was very muchaffected and wept a good deal, and in the end she said she was quiteready to come up and keep house for you, and take care of the childwhile you are away."
The man seemed troubled; for the offer was one which, in manyrespects, was pleasant and convenient to him; but there was a bitterremnant of resentment at the opposition which his unfortunate wife'sparents had shown to her marriage with himself, and at the obstinacywith which her father had refused all reconciliation, that struggledagainst better feelings, and checked any reply upon his lips. DoctorMiles, however, was an experienced reader of the human heart; and,when he saw such ulcerations, he generally knew the remedy, and how toapply it. In this instance he put all evil spirits to flight in amoment by awakening a better one, in whose presence they could notstand.
"The only difficulty with poor Mrs. Lamb seemed to be," he said, afterwatching the man's countenance during a momentary pause, "that she isso poor. She said that you would have enough to do with your money,and that the little she has, which does not amount to four shillings aweek, would not pay her part of your housekeeping.
"Oh, if that's all, doctor," cried Stephen Gimlet, "don't let thatstand in the way. My poor Mary's mother shall never want a meal when Ican work for it. I'd find her one any how, if I had to go withoutmyself. Besides, you know, I am rich now, and I'll take care to keepall straight, so as not to get poor again. There could not be agreater pleasure to me, I can assure you, Sir, than to share whateverI've got with poor Mary's mother, and that dear good boy Bill. Thanksto this kind gentleman, I've got together a nice little lot offurniture; and, if the old woman will but bring her bed, we shall dovery well, I'll warrant; and the boy will be taken care of, and go tothe school; and we'll all lead a different sort of life and be quitehappy, I dare say--No, not quite happy! I can never be quite happy anymore, since my poor girl left me; but she is happy, I am sure; andthat's one comfort."
"The greatest," said Doctor Miles, whose spirit of philanthropy in apeculiar way was very easily roused, "the greatest, Stephen; and, asit is by no means impossible, nor, I will say, improbable, both fromthe light of natural reason and many passages of Scripture, that thespirits of the dead are permitted to see the conduct and actions ofthose they loved on earth, after the long separation has occurred,think what a satisfaction it will be to your poor wife, if she canbehold you acting as a son to her mother,--mind, I don't say that sucha thing is by any means certain; I only hint that it is notimpossible, nor altogether improbable, that such a power may exist indisembodied spirits."
"I am quite sure it does," said Stephen Gimlet, with calm earnestness;"I have seen her many a time sitting by the side of the waterunder the willow trees, and watching me when I was putting in mynight-lines."
"I think you are mistaken, Stephen," said Doctor Miles, shaking hishead; "but, at all events, if such a thing be possible, she will nowwatch you with more satisfaction, when you are supplying her place inaffection to her mother."
"I will do my best, Sir," said Stephen Gimlet, "if it be only on thataccount."
"I am sure you will, Stephen," answered the worthy clergyman; "and so,the first spare moment you have, you had better go down and talk withMrs. Lamb.--Now, Mr. Beauchamp, I am ready."
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