CHAPTER LII
KIND ENQUIRIES
That notable year, and signal mark in all the great annals of England,the year 1805, began with gloom and great depression. Food was scarce,and so was money; wars, and rumours of worse than war; discontent of menwho owed it to their birth and country to stand fast, and trust inGod, and vigorously defy the devil; sinkings even of strong hearts, andquailing of spirits that had never quailed before; passionate outcry forpeace without honour, and even without safety; savage murmurings at wisemeasures and at the burdens that must be borne--none but those who livedthrough all these troubles could count half of them. If such came now,would the body of the nation strive to stand against them, or fall inthe dust, and be kicked and trampled, sputtering namby-pamby? Britannianow is always wrong, in the opinion of her wisest sons, if she dares todefend herself even against weak enemies; what then would her crimebe if she buckled her corselet against the world! To prostitute theirmother is the philanthropy of Communists.
But while the anxious people who had no belief in foreigners werewatching by the dark waves, or at the twilight window trembling (if evera shooting-star drew train, like a distant rocket-signal), or in theirsleepy beds scared, and jumping up if a bladder burst upon a jam-pot,no one attempted to ridicule them, and no public journal pronounced thatthe true British flag was the white feather. It has been left for timeswhen the power of England is tenfold what it was then, and her dutiesa hundredfold, to tell us that sooner than use the one for the properdischarge of the other, we must break it up and let them go to pot uponit, for fear of hurting somebody that stuck us in the back.
But who of a right mind knows not this, and who with a wrong onewill heed it? The only point is that the commonest truisms come uponutterance sometimes, and take didactic form too late; even as we shoutto our comrade prone, and beginning to rub his poor nose, "Look out!"And this is what everybody did with one accord, when he was down uponhis luck--which is far more momentous than his nose to any man--in thecase of Rector Twemlow.
That gentleman now had good reason for being in less than his usualcheer and comfort. Everything around him was uneasy, and everybodyseemed to look at him, instead of looking up to him, as the manner usedto be. This was enough to make him feel unlike himself; for although hewas resolute in his way, and could manage to have it with most people,he was not of that iron style which takes the world as wax to writeupon. Mr. Twemlow liked to heave his text at the people of his parish onSunday, and to have his joke with them on Monday; as the fire that hasburned a man makes the kettle sing to comfort him. And all who met himthroughout the week were pleased with him doubly, when they rememberedhis faithfulness in the pulpit.
But now he did his duty softly, as if some of it had been done to him;and if anybody thanked him for a fine discourse, he never endeavouredto let him have it all again. So far was he gone from his natural statethat he would rather hear nothing about himself than be praised enoughto demand reply; and this shows a world-wide depression to have arrivedin the latitude of a British waistcoat. However, he went through hiswork, as a Briton always does, until he hangs himself; and he triedto try some of the higher consolation, which he knew so well how toadminister to others.
Those who do not understand the difference of this might have beeninclined to blame him; but all who have seen a clever dentist with thetoothache are aware that his knowledge adds acuteness to the pain. Mr.Twemlow had borne great troubles well, and been cheerful even underlong suspense; but now a disappointment close at home, and the griefof beholding his last hopes fade, were embittered by mystery and darksuspicions. In despair at last of recovering his son, he had fastenedupon his only daughter the interest of his declining life; and now hewas vexed with misgivings about her, which varied as frequently as shedid. It was very unpleasant to lose the chance of having a grandchildcapable of rocking in a silver cradle; but that was a trifle comparedwith the prospect of having no grandchild at all, and perhaps not evena child to close his eyes. And even his wife, of long habit and fairharmony, from whom he had never kept any secret--frightful as might bethe cost to his honour--even Mrs. Twemlow shook her head sometimes, whenthe arrangement of her hair permitted it, and doubted whether any of theCarne Castle Carnes would have borne with such indignity.
"Prosecute him, prosecute him," this good lady always said. "You oughtto have been a magistrate, Joshua--the first magistrate in the Bible wasthat--and then you would have known how to do things. But because youwould have to go to Sir Charles Darling--whose Sir can never put him onthe level of the Carnes--you have some right feeling against taking outa summons. In that I agree with you; it would be very dreadful here. Butin London he might be punished, I am sure; and I know a great dealabout the law, for I never had any one connected with me who was nota magistrate; the Lord Mayor has a Court of his own for trying thecorporation under the chair; and if this was put properly before him bya man like Mr. Furkettle, upon the understanding that he should not bepaid unless he won his case, I am sure the result would be three years'imprisonment. By that time he would have worn out his coat with jailer'skeys upon it, which first attracted our poor Eliza; or if he was notallowed to wear it, it would go out of fashion, and be harmless. No oneneed know a word about it here, for Captain Stubbard would oblige usgladly by cutting it out of the London papers. My dear, you have nobodyill in the parish; I will put up your things, and see you off to-morrow.We will dine late on Friday, to suit the coach; and you will be quitefit for Sunday work again, if you keep up your legs on a chair allSaturday."
"If ever I saw a straightforward man," Mr. Twemlow used to answer, "itwas poor Percival Shargeloes. He is gone to a better world, my dear.And if he continued to be amenable to law, this is not a criminal, but acivil case."
"A nice case of civility, Joshua! But you always stand up for your sex.Does the coach take people to a better world? A stout gentleman, likehim, was seen inside the coach, muffled up in a cravat of three colours,and eating at frequent intervals."
"The very thing poor Percival never did. That disposes to my mind ofthat foolish story. My dear, when all truth comes to light, you will dojustice to his memory."
"Yes, I dare say. But I should like to do it now. If you entertain anydark ideas, it is your duty to investigate them. Also to let me sharethem, Joshua, as I have every right to do."
This was just what the Rector could not do; otherwise he might have beenfar more happy. Remembering that last conversation with his prospectiveson-in-law, and the poor man's declaration that the suspicious matter atthe castle ought to be thoroughly searched out at once, he nourished adark suspicion, which he feared to impart to his better half, theaunt of the person suspected. But the longer he concealed it, the moreunbearable grew this misery to a candid nature, until he was compelled,in self-defence, to allow it some sort of outlet. "I will speak to thefellow myself," he said, heartily disliking the young man now, "andjudge from his manner what next I ought to do."
This resolution gave him comfort, much as he hated any interview withCarne, who treated him generally with cold contempt. And, like mostpeople who have formed a decision for the easing of the conscience, heaccepted very patiently the obstacles encountered. In the first place,Carne was away upon business; then he was laid up with a heavy cold;then he was much too hard at work (after losing so much time) to be ableto visit Springhaven; and to seek him in his ruins was most unsafe, evenif one liked to do it. For now it was said that two gigantic dogs, asbig as a bull and as fierce as a tiger, roved among the ruins all day,and being always famished, would devour in two minutes any temptingstranger with a bit of flesh or fat on him. The Rector, patting hisgaiters, felt that instead of a pastor he might become a very sweetrepast to them, and his delicacy was renewed and deepened. He was boundto wait until his nephew appeared at least inside his parish.
Therefore the time of year was come almost to the middle of Februarywhen Mr. Twemlow at last obtained the chance he required and dreaded. Heheard that his nephew had been seen that day to put up hi
s horse in thevillage, and would probably take the homeward road as soon as it grewtoo dark to read. So he got through his own work (consisting chiefly ofnewspaper, dinner, and a cool clay pipe, to equalise mind with matter),and having thus escaped the ladies, off he set by the lobby door,carrying a good thick stick. As the tide would be up, and only deepsand left for the heavy track of the traveller, he chose the inland wayacross the lower part of the Admiral's grounds, leading to the villageby a narrow plank bridge across the little stream among some trees. Herewere banks of earth and thicket, shadowy dells where the primrose grew,and the cuckoo-pint, and wood-sorrel, and perhaps in summer the glowwormbreathed her mossy gleam under the blackberries.
And here Parson Twemlow was astonished, though he had promised himselfto be surprised no more, after all he had been through lately. As heturned a sharp corner by an ivied tree, a breathless young woman raninto his arms.
"Oh!" cried the Rector, for he was walking briskly, with awell-nourished part of his system forward--"oh, I hope you have not hurtyourself. No doubt it was my fault. Why, Dolly! What a hurry you are in!And all alone--all alone, almost after dark!"
"To be sure; and that makes me in such a hurry;" Miss Dolly was in sadconfusion. "But I suppose I am safe in my father's own grounds."
"From everybody, except yourself, my dear," Mr. Twemlow replied,severely. "Is your father aware, does your sister know, that you areat this distance from the house after dark, and wholly without acompanion?"
"It is not after dark, Mr. Twemlow; although it is getting darker thanI meant it to be. I beg your pardon for terrifying you. I hope youwill meet with no other perils! Good-night! Or at least I mean,good-afternoon!"
"The brazen creature!" thought Mr. Twemlow, as the girl without anotherword disappeared. "Not even to offer me any excuse! But I suppose shehad no fib handy. She will come to no good, I am very much afraid. Mariatold me that she was getting very wilful; but I had no idea that it wasquite so bad as this. I am sorry for poor Scudamore, who thinks her suchan angel. I wonder if Carne is at the bottom of this? There is nothingtoo bad for that dark young man. I shall ascertain at any rate whetherhe is in the village. But unless I look sharp I shall be too late tomeet him. Oh, I can't walk so fast as I did ten years ago."
Impelled by duty to put best leg foremost, and taking a short-cut abovethe village, he came out upon the lane leading towards the castle, somehalf-mile or so beyond the last house of Springhaven. Here he waited torecover breath, and prepare for what he meant to say, and he was sorryto perceive that light would fail him for strict observation of hisnephew's face. But he chose the most open spot he could find, where thehedges were low, and nothing overhung the road.
Presently he heard the sound of hoofs approaching leisurely up the hill,and could see from his resting-place that Carne was coming, sittingloosely and wearily on his high black horse. Then the Rector, to cutshort an unpleasant business, stood boldly forth and hailed him.
"No time for anything now," shouted Carne; "too late already. Do youwant my money? You are come to the wrong man for that; but the rightone, I can tell you, for a bullet."
"Caryl, it is I, your uncle Twemlow, or at any rate the husband of youraunt. Put up your pistol, and speak to me a minute. I have somethingimportant to say to you. And I never can find you at the castle."
"Then be quick, sir, if you please;" Carne had never condescended tocall this gentleman his uncle. "I have little time to spare. Out withit."
"You were riding very slowly for a man in a hurry," said the Rector,annoyed at his roughness. "But I will not keep you long, young man. Forsome good reasons of your own you have made a point of avoiding us, yournearest relatives in this country, and to whom you addressed yourselfbefore you landed in a manner far more becoming. Have I ever pressed myattentions upon you?"
"No, I confess that you have not done that. You perceived as a gentlemanhow little there was in common between the son of a devoted Catholic anda heretic clergyman."
"That is one way to put it," Mr. Twemlow answered, smiling in spite ofhis anger at being called a heretic; "but I was not aware that you hadstrong religious views. However that may be, we should have many thingsin common, as Englishmen, at a time like this. But what I came to speakof is not that. We can still continue to get on without you, althoughwe would rather have met with friendly feeling and candour, as becomesrelatives. But little as you know of us, you must be well aware thatyour cousin Eliza was engaged to be married to a gentleman from London,Mr. Percival Shargeloes, and that he--"
"I am sure I wish her all happiness, and congratulate you, my dear sir,as well as my aunt Maria. I shall call, as soon as possible, to offermy best wishes. It was very kind of you to tell me. Goodnight, sir,good-night! There is a shower coming."
"But," exclaimed the Rector, nonplussed for the moment by this viewof the subject, yet standing square before the horse, "Shargeloes hasdisappeared. What have you done with him?"
Carne looked at his excellent uncle as if he had much doubt about hissanity. "Try to explain yourself, my dear sir. Try to connect yourideas," he said, "and offer me the benefit another time. My horse isimpatient; he may strike you with his foot."
"If he does, I shall strike him upon the head," Mr. Twemlow replied,with his heavy stick ready. "It will be better for you to hear me out.Otherwise I shall procure a search-warrant, and myself examine yourruins, of which I know every crick and cranny. And your aunt Maria shallcome with me, who knows every stone even better than you do. That wouldbe a very different thing from an overhauling by Captain Stubbard. Ithink we should find a good many barrels and bales that had paid noduty."
"My dear uncle," cried Carne, with more affection than he ever yet hadshown, "that is no concern of yours; you have no connection with theRevenue; and I am sure that Aunt Maria would be loth to help in pullingdown the family once more. But do as you please. I am accustomed toill fortune. Only I should like to know what this is about poor CousinEliza. If any man has wronged her, leave the case to me. You have no sonnow, and the honour of the family shall not suffer in my hands. I willthrow up everything, busy as I am, to make such a rascal bite the dust.And Eliza so proud, and so upright herself!"
"Caryl," said his uncle, moved more than he liked to show by thisfine feeling, "you know more, I see, than you liked to show at first,doubtless through goodwill to us. Your dear aunt wished to keep thematter quiet, for the sake of poor Eliza, and her future chances. But Isaid--No. Let us have it all out. If there is wrong, we have suffered,not done it. Concealment is odious to every honest mind."
"Deeply, deeply odious. Upon that point there can be no twoopinions"--he forgets his barrels, thought the Rector--"but surely thisman, whatever his name is--Charleygoes--must have been hiding from yousomething in his own history. Probably he had a wife already. City menoften do that when young, and then put their wives somewhere whenthey get rich, and pay visits, and even give dinners, as if they werebachelors to be sought after. Was Charleygoes that sort of a man?"
"His name is 'Shargeloes,' a name well known, as I am assured, in thehighest quarters. And he certainly was not sought after by us, but cameto me with an important question bearing on ichthyology. He may be awanderer, as you suggest, and as all the ladies seem to think. But myfirm belief is to the contrary. And my reason for asking you about himis a very clear one. He had met you twice, and felt interest in you asa future member of our family. You had never invited him to the castle;and the last intention he expressed in my hearing was to call upon youwithout one. Has he met with an accident in your cellars? Or have yourdogs devoured him? He carried a good deal of flesh, in spite of all hecould do to the contrary; and any man naturally might endeavour to hushup such an incident. Tell me the truth, Caryl. And we will try to meetit."
"My two dogs (who would never eat any one, though they might pull downa stranger, and perhaps pretend to bite him) arrived here the first weekin January. When did Charleygoes disappear? I am not up in dates, but itmust have been weeks and weeks before that time. And I
must have heardof it, if it had happened. I may give you my honour that Orso and Leohave not eaten Charleygoes."
"You speak too lightly of a man in high position, who would have beenLord Mayor of London, if he had never come to Springhaven. But livingor dead, he shall never be that now. Can you answer me, in the samestraightforward manner, as to an accident in your cellars; which, as agentleman upon a private tour, he had clearly no right to intrude upon?"
"I can answer you quite as clearly. Nothing accidental has happened inmy cellars. You may come and see them, if you have any doubt about it.And you need not apply for a search-warrant."
"God forbid, my dear fellow," cried the uncle, "that I should intrudeupon any little matters of delicacy, such as are apt to arise betweenartificial laws and gentlemen who happen to live near the sea, and tohave large places that require restoring! I shall go home with alighter heart. There is nothing in this world that brings the comfort ofstraightforwardness."
Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War Page 52