Deep Moat Grange

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER XXII

  ELSIE'S DIARY

  (_Written in her French Exercise Book by Miss Elsie Stennis._)

  I left home on Friday morning at about the usual time--perhaps fiveminutes sooner. It was a fine morning--wintry, bright, just enoughsnow underfoot to crisp the road, and enough tingle in the air to makethe buds of the willows glitter with rime.

  I was reading as I walked. I always do on my way to school, havinglearned when quite a girl. It gets over the road. Besides, if youdon't want particularly to see any one--that is a reason.

  Not that I was expecting to see anybody--least of all Joe Yarrow. Hehad his "Caws"--let him be content. That was what I was saying tomyself. But just at the corner where there is a square inset--oroutset--in which they crack stones with a hammer to mend the badplaces, I slackened a little. There was such an interesting piece inthe French grammar--all about the rules for the conversational use of"en" and "y"--that I went a bit slower, just to make it out. The sensewas difficult to follow, you know.

  Besides, I heard a noise like the sound of footsteps behind me. I knewthat it could only be that donkey Joe, broke loose from his rookery;so, of course, I did not turn round, nor make the least sign. Whyshould I, indeed? I am not Harriet Caw.

  But I heard a voice, which I knew in a minute was not Joe's, callingout--

  "Miss Stennis! Miss Stennis!"

  That made me turn, as, of course, it would any one, just to see who itcould be.

  And it was Miss Orrin--the elder one they call Aphra. You never sawsuch a change in any woman. She looked like a minister's widow, orsome one of good family, living quietly and dressed in mourning. Shehad a black dress--fine silk, it was, quite real--of an old fashion,certainly, but no more so than you see at hydropathics and other placesto which old solitary ladies come for the purpose of talking over theirinfirmities with one another. I was once at the Clifton one withmother--oh, so long ago, before leaving Wood Green! But I seem toremember these times better than things more recent. I really can'thelp telling about it, though I am wasting my paper, I know. I used tothink there was nothing funnier in the world than to see two very deafold ladies, neither taking the trouble to listen to the other,lecturing away to each other--only agreeing with the nods of eachother's head. One would be talking about the Primrose League at hernative Pudley-in-the-Hole, and the other--the learned one--about theinternal state of South Nigeria, as illustrated by the fact that hergrandson had not seen an ordained clergyman for four years!

  "Think what his spiritual condition must be by this time, my dear!Such things ought not to be allowed in a Christian country, under theflag of England!"

  "No, indeed," agreed the other, who had not heard a word. "Of course,it was all the doing of that Gladstone. Even one of the lecturers whocame to speak to us, he was all for work among the lower classes. Asif we could admit the like of them into our League--people who havestrikes, wear red ties, and read Socialist papers! Really, dear, itwas expecting too much, though he was an archbishop's son!"

  "Yes; and my grandson wrote home for books to read--to be sent out by afriend, an officer on a river gunboat--I think his name was Judson.His life has been written by somebody whose books I don't consider atall suitable for James. And so I went down to the Curates' Aid and gota list of everything likely to be of service to one who for four yearshad been devoid of all means of grace. But I fear they never reachedmy poor James. For when he came home, and I asked him about them, hedid not seem ever to have read any of them. But I dare say it was thatJudson's fault. With these naval officer men you never can tell. Idare say the sailors divided them up among themselves on the voyageout!"

  "Exactly. What we wanted, was, of course, to keep our League select.No one very swell, but well connected, and all most careful aboutappearances----"

  "And my grandson in Nigeria brought home a lot of crocodiles and a rarepostage stamp, or a rare crocodile and a lot of postage stamps--I amnot sure which. Anyway, I would not have it. I said he could not keepboth in my house. He must give either to the Zoo. But I don'tknow----"

  And so on. It was fun, and now I like to remember it, though it doesfill up the pages of my note-book even when I am writing very small.Still, it is always something to do.

  Well, Miss Orrin was dressed just like these ancient hydropathickers.Only, she was as alert as a fox and as demure as a mouse, in spite ofbeing in a kind of mourning, with a big jet crucifix on a thick jetchain. That was the only thing about her that was not as sober andserious as a fifty-year-old tombstone. She had such a lot of jetornaments about her, all cut into symbolic shapes, that she moved witha clitter-clatter, just like a little dog walking on a chain withfal-de-rals on its collar.

  But, withal, she had such a grave air that I never once thought oflaughing. Miss Aphra was not a person to laugh at in the gayest oftimes.

  "Miss Stennis," she said, "I know you have not been well received atthe house of your nearest relative. I am acquainted with all thelong-continued ill-usage so unjustly dealt out to your mother andyourself. Long have I tried my best to bring your grandfather to abetter frame of mind. But he is a dour old man--indurated, imperviousto good influence. But what I was unable to do all these years, thenear approach of death has brought about. When the angel Israfelpasses upon his wings of darkness, then the heart hears and is afraid!"

  At these last words she showed a countenance as it were transfigured.It was the first glimpse of her former madness that I observed aboutthe woman.

  "But what do you wish me to do?" I asked, knowing well that she wouldnot seek me without a purpose.

  "Your grandfather, Mr. Howard Stennis, is dying," she said solemnly."He has had a stroke, and may pass away at any moment. Two doctorsfrom Longtown and East Dene have come all the way to visit him. Theygive no hope. But he gets no rest, crying out constantly that hecannot die without seeing you. And you must come instantly. I am hereto beseech you. Behold in me the spirit of a father pleading for adaughter's forgiveness."

  She seized me by the arm. In a sudden access of terror, I wrenchedmyself free, and instantly Miss Orrin began to sob. She sank on herknees before me.

  "I know I have no right to ask," she said. "You have been shamefullytreated, and have no need to forgive. But as you hope for pardonyourself, hasten and come to your grandfather, that he may hear youpardon him before he dies. If not, the sin of his uneasy spirit willbe upon your head! Besides"--her voice dropped to a whisper--"there issomething that he wishes to confess to you concerning your mother. Itis on his conscience. He cannot die without telling you. Come--come!By the forgiveness you hope for yourself, or for those dear to you, Ibid you come!"

  I lifted her up, and obeying a sudden impulse, I turned with her downthe lane which led from the corner where she had surprised me, awayfrom the school-house. I cannot tell you how I came to do it. I hadexpected--why, I know not--some one else to meet me there. Well, Isuppose I may say--Joe Yarrow. And the thought that he wasphilandering his time away with those Caws made me ready for almostanything.

  Besides, I had been to Moat Grange House before. I knew that Mr.Ablethorpe went there regularly, and that he had services with the poormad folk. So I was not nearly so afraid of Aphra Orrin as I had been.

  It was bright and clear still, though the morning was overcasting alittle, as we passed through the meadows. There is a private road mostof the way till you enter the woods of Deep Moat. The people of theMoat Grange, therefore, never had any need to cross Brom Common or gothe way that we had always taken--Joe and I--on our expeditions andresearches.

  All the way Miss Orrin talked incessantly of my grandfather, of howthat he had been like a saviour to her poor sisters and herself,receiving them when they would have been shut up in an asylum, and of acertainty would have died there. She spoke also of his kindness toherself.

  "They call him the Golden Farmer," she said. "And of a truth that iswhat he has been to us, for his heart is of pure gold."


  I ventured to suggest that the folk of the countryside held a verydifferent opinion of Mr. Stennis. But I could not have made a moreunfortunate remark. In a moment the fire of madness flashed up fromher eyes. The colour fled her lips. Her fingers twitched as if drawnby wires. She was again the mad woman I had seen leading theprocession of the little coffins. "The folk of the countryside!" shescreamed. "Ranging bears, wild beasts of the field! Oh, I could tearthem to pieces! Gangs of evil beasts, slow bellies, coming hereroaring and mouthing, trampling my lily beds, uprooting everything,laying waste the labour of years. Oh, I would slay them with myhands--yes, root out and destroy, even as Sodom and as Gomorrah!"

  And suddenly lifting up her hands with the action of a prophetessinspired, she chanted--

  O daughter of Babylon, Near to destruction, Bless'd shall he be that thee rewards As thou to us hast done.

  Yea, happy, surely, shall he be, Thy tender little ones, Who shall lay hold upon, and them Shall dash against the stones.

  I trembled, as well I might, at the fury I had unwittingly kindled.

  We were now in the woods, the main travelled road far behind us, acomplexity of paths and rabbit tracks all about, and before us a greenwalk, dark and clammy, upon which the snow had hardly yet laid hold.On one side rose up the wall of an ancient orchard, which they said hadbeen planted and built about by the monks of old. On the other was themoat, still frozen, only divided from us by an evergreen fence,untrimmed, thick, and high, probably contemporary with the orchard.

  Suddenly, at the entrance to this green tunnel, Aphra Orrin turned andgrasped me by both wrists. Her face, as it glowered down at me, hadbecome as the face of a fiend seen fresh from the place of the NetherHate.

  "Jeremy, Jeremy!" she cried. And at the sound of her voice it came tome that of a certainty I had fallen into a trap. This was not the roadto the House of Deep Moat. I ought to have known better. I had beendrawn hither solely to be murdered. I tried to scream, but could not.As in a dream, when one is chased by terrible things out of theUnknown, speech left me. I felt my knees weaken. And, indeed, had Ibeen as strong as ever I was in my life, of what use would my strengthhave been? For there, at the entrance of the green tunnel, stood MadJeremy, smiling and licking his lips.

  Meantime Aphra Orrin held me, shaking me to and fro as a terrier mighta rat. She was as strong as most men--stronger, indeed, with themadness that was in her.

  "Slay the daughter of Babylon! Slay her! Slay, and spare not!" shecried.

  And while I stood thus, trembling violently, with that dreadful womangripping my wrists so that she hurt them, Jeremy came leisurely up withhis hands in his pockets--sauntering is the word that will best expressit. He bent down and looked at me. For he was very tall. And Ilooked up at him with, I dare say, wide and terrified eyes. Howindeed, could they be otherwise?

  "Where is your knife?" cried Aphra Orrin. "Quick! Make an end--do aswith the others! This is the last seed of iniquity. She will takefrom us our riches--all that should be ours--hard earned, suffered for,all that lies under the green turf--all you have won, Jeremy, and Ihave paid for twice over with weary nights of penance. That old manwould steal it from us, from us who gained it for him, to give it allto this pretty china doll he calls his granddaughter!"

  Had it been the will of Aphra Orrin at that moment, the opportunitywould have been wanting for me to fill this copybook with these notes,to pass the weary time. For she loosened one hand, and snatched at theknife in Mad Jeremy's belt--the same we had once seen in his teeth whenhe swam the Deep Moat to get at Joe and me.

  But happily, or so it appeared at the time, Mad Jeremy was in anotherhumour. He thrust his sister off, and, as it seemed, with the lightestjerk of one hand he took me out of her clutches.

  "Na, na," he said; "this dainty queen is far ower bonnie for a man likeme to be puttin' the knife into as if she were a yearling grice. Theknife for the lads that winna pay the ransom, if ye like. But a bonnielass, and the heiress to a' the riches at the Grange--auld Hobby'shoards--I tell ye, her and me will do fine, Aphra! Let her be, Sis, oryou and me will quarrel. Ay, ay, and maybe ye will find oot what theblade o' my gully knife is for. We will see if ye hae ony bluid o'your ain in your veins, Sis--you that's sae fond o' seein' the colouro' ither folks'!"

  "Never--never! You lie, Jeremy!" cried Aphra. "I know nothing aboutthat. I swear I am ignorant. As to Elsie Stennis, I did but jest. Atany rate, she must not see her grandfather. He is in a foolish mood,and might take us from house and manor, roof and shelter, house andbedding--ay, all that by right belongs to us. Besides"--here she movedup closer to her brother--"she knows too much. She might prove atelltale, and then you, Jeremy, would be hanged--hanged by the necktill you were dead!"

  She repeated the words with a space between each, sinking her voicetill it ended in a hoarse whisper.

  "Na, na!" cried Jeremy. "I but helpit the puir craiturs oot o' theirmisery. They cried na long. And then they wad be that pleased to haenae mair trouble, but juist to lie doon agang the lily beds and forgeta' the cares o' the warl'!"

  "Hush, hush, Jeremy!" cried Aphra. "Think what you are saying,brother. But bethink yourself, brother dear, you must make an end now.The girl has heard too much, and that from your own lips."

  Mad Jeremy ran his fingers through his long, glossy ringlets withsomething like a smirk.

  "Na, na," he said, "I can better that! She shall bide in the covebehind the muckle oven, where three times a week Jeremy bakes thebread. She will be fine and warm there. Nothing to do but set hersoles against the waa', and in a trice she will be as comfortable as aha'penny breakfast roll. No like yin I could name--ha, ha!--freezin'in the----"

  But this time Aphra fairly sprang upon him, putting her hand over hismouth to stop his speech.

  "Oh, that I should be troubled with fools that know not their ownfolly," she cried--"I, that have given more than my life, almost mysoul, for these poor things, my sisters and my brother, yet who willnot be guided by me!"

  Mad Jeremy laughed cunningly, or rather, perhaps, emitted a cacklingsound.

  "Be guided by you, Aphra?" he said. "No, and I don't think! Jeremymay be mad, but he kens a trick worth two of that. He will keep thislittle ladybird safe--oh, very safe, till the wedding dress is ready!Heiress if you like, sister. But then Jeremy will be the heir. And abonnie, bonnie bride he will hae into the bargain. Come your ways,hinny--come your ways!"

  He spoke to me with a curious, caressing voice, bowing low like adancing master, with his broad bonnet in his hand, and making all sortsof ludicrous gestures to prove that I would be safe with him.

  I did not know what to do. From the woman I had nothing to expect buta knife at my throat, and yet to accompany Mad Jeremy! That I couldnot do.

  Suddenly I screamed aloud at the top of my voice, hoping that some onewould hear me and come to my assistance. But Mad Jeremy only put hisarm about me and covered my mouth with one great hairy paw.

  "Gently then, lass--nane o' that, noo! It wanna do," he said, notangrily at all, but rather like one soothing an infant; "ye see there'snae workers in the fields thae winter days. And if there were hailarmies, they wad kep wide o' the Deep Moat Wood, for they hae seenJeremy gang in there a gye wheen times--ech, aye!"

  And picking me up in his arms as easily as a babe, Mad Jeremy carriedme into an ivy-covered ruin, and after that all was a labyrinth ofpassages and tunnels till I found myself in the place where I wrotethese notes.