CHAPTER XIX.
THE TARN IN THE PARK.
Next morning Stanley Lake, at breakfast with the lawyer, said--
'A pretty room this is. That bow window is worth all the pictures inBrandon. To my eye there is no scenery so sweet as this, at least tobreakfast by. I don't love your crags and peaks and sombre grandeur, noryet the fat, flat luxuriance of our other counties. These undulations,and all that splendid timber, and the glorious ruins on that hillock overthere! How many beautiful ruins that picturesque old fellow Cromwell hasleft us.'
'You don't eat your breakfast, though,' said the attorney, with acharming smile of reproach.
'Ah, thank you; I'm a bad breakfaster; that is,' said Stanley,recollecting that he had made some very creditable meals at the sametable, 'when I smoke so late as I did last night.'
'You drove Mr. Wylder to Dollington?'
'Yes; he's gone to town, he says--yes, the mail train--to get somediamonds for Miss Brandon--a present--that ought to have come the daybefore yesterday. He says they'll never have them in time unless he goesand blows them up. Are you in his secrets at all?'
'Something in his confidence, I should hope,' said Mr. Larkin, in rathera lofty and reserved way.
'Oh, yes, of course, in serious matters; but I meant other things. Youknow he has been a little bit wild; and ladies, you know, ladies will betroublesome sometimes; and to say truth, I don't think the diamonds havemuch to say to it.'
'Oh?--hem!--well, you know, _I_'m not exactly the confidant Mr. Wylderwould choose, I suspect, in a case of that very painful, and, I will say,distressing character--I rather think--indeed, I _hope_ not.'
'No, of course--I dare say--but I just fancied he might want a hint aboutthe law of the matter.'
The gracious attorney glanced at his guest with a thoroughlybusiness-like and searching eye.
'You don't think there's any really serious annoyance--you don't know theparty?' said he.
'_I?_--Oh, dear, no. Wylder has always been very reserved with me. Hetold me nothing. If he had, of course I should not have mentioned it. Ionly conjecture, for he really did seem to have a great deal more on hismind; and he kept me walking back and forward, near the mill-road, aprecious long time. And I really think once or twice he was going to tellme.'
'Oh! you think then, Mr. Lake, there _may_ be some serious--a--a--well, Ishould hope not--I do most earnestly _trust_ not.' This was said withupturned eyes and much unction. 'But do you happen, Captain Lake, to knowof any of those unfortunate, those miserable connections which younggentlemen of fashion--eh? It's very sad. Still it often needs, as yousay, professional advice to solve such difficulties--it is very sad--oh!is not it sad?'
'Pray, don't let it affect your spirits,' said Lake, who was leaning backin his chair, and looking on the carpet, about a yard before hislacquered boots, in his usual sly way. 'I may be quite mistaken, youknow, but I wished you to understand--having some little experience ofthe world, I'd be only too happy to be of any use, if you thought mydiplomacy could help poor Wylder out of his trouble--that is, if therereally is any. But _you_ don't know?'
'_No_,' said Mr. Larkin, thoughtfully; and thoughtful he continued for aminute or two, screwing his lips gently, as was his wont, whileruminating, his long head motionless, the nails of his long and somewhatlarge hand tapping on the arm of his chair, with a sharp glance now andthen at the unreadable visage of the cavalry officer. It was evident hismind was working, and nothing was heard in the room for a minute but thetapping of his nails on the chair, like a death-watch.
'No,' said Mr. Larkin again, 'I'm not suspicious--naturally too much thereverse, I fear; but it certainly does look odd. Did he tell the familyat Brandon?'
'Certainly not, that I heard. He may have mentioned it. But I startedwith him, and we walked together, under the impression that he was going,as usual, to the inn, the--what d'ye call it?--"Brandon Arms;" and it wasa sudden thought--now I think of it--for he took no luggage, though to besure I dare say he has got clothes and things in town.'
'And when does he return?'
'In a day or two, at furthest,' he said.
'I wonder what they'll think of it at Brandon?' said the attorney, with acavernous grin of sly enquiry at his companion, which, recollecting hischaracter, he softened into a sad sort of smile, and added, 'No harm, Idare say; and, after all, you know, why should there--any man may havebusiness; and, indeed, it is very likely, after all, that he really wentabout the jewels. Men are too hasty to judge one another, my dear Sir;charity, let us remember, thinketh no evil.'
'By-the-bye,' said Lake, rather briskly for him, rummaging his pockets,'I'm glad I remembered he gave me a little note to Chelford. Are any ofyour people going to Brandon this morning?'
'I'll send it,' said the lawyer, eyeing the little pencilled notewistfully, which Lake presented between two fingers.
'Yes, it is to Lord Chelford,' said the attorney, with a grand sort ofsuavity--he liked lords--placing it, after a scrutiny, in his waistcoatpocket.
'Don't you think it had best go at once?--there may be somethingrequiring an answer, and your post leaves, doesn't it, at twelve?'
'Oh! an answer, is there?' said Mr. Larkin, drawing it from his pocket,and looking at it again with a perceptible curiosity.
'I really can't say, not having read it, but there _may_,' said CaptainLake, who was now and then a little impertinent, just to keep Mr. Larkinin his place, and perhaps to hint that he understood him.
'_Read_ it! Oh, my _dear_ Sir, my _dear_ Captain Lake, how _could_you--but, oh! no--you _could_ not suppose I meant such an idea--oh,dear--no, no. You and I have our notions about what's gentlemanlike andprofessional--a--and gentlemanlike, as I say--Heaven forbid.'
'Quite so!' said Captain Lake, gently.
'Though all the world does not think with us, _I_ can tell you, thingscome before us in _our_ profession. Oh, ho! ho!' and Mr. Larkin lifted uphis pink eyes and long hands, and shook his long head, with a melancholysmile and a sigh like a shudder.
When at the later breakfast, up at Brandon, that irregular pencilledscroll reached Lord Chelford's hand, he said, as he glanced on thedirection--
'This is Mark Wylder's; what does he say?'
'So Mark's gone to town,' he said; 'but he'll be back again on Saturday,and in the meantime desires me to lay his heart at your feet, Dorcas.Will you read the note?'
'No,' said Dorcas, quietly.
Lady Chelford extended her long, shrivelled fingers, on which glimmeredsundry jewels, and made a little nod to her son, who gave it to her, witha smile. Holding her glasses to her eyes, the note at a distance, and herhead rather back, she said--
'It is not a pretty billet,' and she read in a slow and grim way:--
'DEAR CHELFORD,--I'm called up to London just for a day. No lark, buthonest business. I'll return on Saturday; and tell Dorcas, with dozens ofloves, I would write to her, but have not a minute for the train.
'Yours, &c.
'M. WYLDER.'
'No; it is not pretty,' repeated the old lady; and, indeed, in no sensewas it. Before luncheon Captain Lake arrived.
'So Wylder has run up to town,' I said, so soon as we had shaken hands inthe hall.
'Yes; _I_ drove him to Dollington last night; we just caught the uptrain.'
'He says he'll be back again on Saturday,' I said.
'Saturday, is it? He seemed to think--yes--it _would_ be only a day orso. Some jewels, I think, for Dorcas. He did not say distinctly; I onlyconjecture. Lady Chelford and Miss Brandon, I suppose, in thedrawing-room?'
So to the drawing-room he passed.
'How is Rachel? how is your sister, Captain Lake, have you seen herto-day?' asked old Lady Chelford, rather benignantly. She chose to begracious to the Lakes. 'Only, for a moment, thank you. She has one of hermiserable headaches, poor thing; but she'll be better, she says, in theafternoon, and hopes to come up here to see you, and Miss Brandon, thisevening.'
Lord Chelford and I had a pleasant walk that day to
the ruins ofWillerton Castle. I find in my diary a note--'Chelford tells me it iswritten in old surveys, Wylderton, and was one of the houses of theWylders. What considerable people those Wylders were, and what an antiquestock.'
After this he wished to make a visit to the vicar, and so we partedcompany. I got into Brandon Park by the pretty gate near Latham.
It was a walk of nearly three miles across the park from this point tothe Hall, and the slopes and hollows of this noble, undulating plain,came out grandly in the long shadows and slanting beams of evening. Thatyellow, level light has, in my mind, something undefinably glorious andmelancholy, such as to make almost any scenery interesting, and mysolitary walk was delightful.
People must love and sympathise very thoroughly, I think, to enjoynatural scenery together. Generally it is one of the few spectacles bestseen alone. The silence that supervenes is indicative of the solitarycharacter of the enjoyment. It is a poem and a reverie. I was quite happystriding in the amber light and soft, long shadows, among the ferns, thecopsewood, and the grand old clumps of timber, exploring the undulations,and the wild nooks and hollows which have each their circumscribed andsylvan charm; a wonderful interest those little park-like broken dellshave always had for me; dotted with straggling birch and oak, and hereand there a hoary ash tree, with a grand and melancholy grace, dreamingamong the songs of wild birds, in their native solitudes, and the brownleaves tipped with golden light, all breathing something of old-worldromance--the poetry of bygone love and adventure--and stirringundefinable and delightful emotions that mingle unreality with sense, amusic of the eye and spirit.
After many devious wanderings, I found, under shelter of a wonderfullittle hollow, in which lay, dim and still, a tarn, reflecting the stemsof the trees that rose from its edge, in a way so clear and beautiful,that, with a smile and a sigh, I sat myself down upon a rock among theferns, and fell into a reverie.
The image of Dorcas rose before me. There is a strange mystery and powerin the apathetic, and in that unaffected carelessness, even defiance ofopinion and criticism, which I had seen here for the first time, sobeautifully embodied. I was quite sure she both thought and felt, andcould talk, too, if she chose it. What tremendous self-reliance anddisdain must form the basis of a female character, which acceptedmisapprehension and depreciation with an indifference so genuine as toscorn even the trifling exertion of disclosing its powers.
She could not possibly care for Wylder, any more than he cared for her.That odd look I detected in the mirror--what did it mean? and Wylder'sconfusion about Captain Lake--what was that? I could not comprehend thesituation that was forming. I went over Wylder's history in my mind, andCaptain Lake's--all I could recollect of it--but could find no clue, andthat horrible visitation or vision! what was _it_?
This latter image had just glided in and taken its place in my wakingdream, when I thought I saw reflected in the pool at my feet, the shapeand face which I never could forget, of the white, long-chinned old man.
For a second I was unable, I think, to lift my eyes from the water whichpresented this cadaverous image.
But the figure began to move, and I raised my eyes, and saw it retreat,with a limping gait, into the thick copse before me, in the shadow ofwhich it stopped and turned stiffly round, and directed on me a look ofhorror, and then withdrew.
It is all very fine laughing at me and my fancies. I do not think thereare many men who in my situation would have felt very differently. Irecovered myself; I shouted lustily after him to stay, and then in a sortof half-frightened rage, I pursued him; but I had to get round the pool,a considerable circuit. I could not tell which way he had turned ongetting into the thicket; and it was now dusk, the sun having gone downduring my reverie. So I stopped a little way in the copsewood, which wasgrowing quite dark, and I shouted there again, peeping under thebranches, and felt queer and much relieved that nothing answered orappeared.
Looking round me, in a sort of dream, I remembered suddenly what Wylderhad told me of old Lorne Brandon, to whose portrait this inexplicablephantom bore so powerful a resemblance. He was suspected of havingmurdered his own son, at the edge of a tarn in the park. _This_ tarnmaybe--and with the thought the water looked blacker--and a deeper andcolder shadow gathered over the ominous hollow in which I stood, and therustling in the withered leaves sounded angrily.
I got up as quickly as might be to the higher grounds, and waited therefor awhile, and watched for the emergence of the old man. But it did notappear; and shade after shade was spreading solemnly over the landscape,and having a good way to walk, I began to stride briskly along the slopesand hollows, in the twilight, now and then looking into vacancy, over myshoulder.
The little adventure, and the deepening shades, helped to sadden myhomeward walk; and when at last the dusky outline of the Hall rose beforeme, it wore a sort of weird and haunted aspect.
Wylder's Hand Page 20