Deep Moat Grange

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER XXIII

  WITHIN THE MONKS' OVEN

  The chamber into which Jeremy led me was small, but it had evidentlybeen used for a sleeping-room before. A couch was placed in thecorner. There were chairs and even a table. But I saw at the firstglance that the window, placed high in the vaulted roof, was unglazed,but barred.

  "It is not precisely a palace, so to speak," said Jeremy, shaking hislong snaky curls, and smiling his unctuous thin-lipped smile; "but incomparison wi' some--mercy me, but ye should be content. Ye will bebraw and warm here. This was never aught but a cosy corner--see,bonnie lass! There's the auld monks' wark--the oven where they bakedtheir pies!"

  And taking my hand in his great one he slapped the wall which ended myprison vault, cutting it, as it were, into two parts. It was, in fact,quite as warm as the fingers could bear, and most of the time since haskept an equal temperature--though, if anything, a little stifling onbaking days.

  "Here ye shall bide," said Jeremy, standing dark and lithe in thedoorway; "I myself shall be your keeper, but think not but that JeremyOrrin kens bravely how to behave himself to a leddy. Ye will waithere, sacred as St. Theresa, till the wedding gown is prepared and thetable spread. But Jeremy will feed his ladybird with his own handthree times a day--nor shall his sister Aphra put so much as a potstick in the cooking, for fear of mistakes! She's a fine lass, Aphra,when ye ken her, but little to trust to when she has a spite againstye. Stick you by Jeremy, leddy, and he will stick by you!"

  After he was gone, and the silence had re-established itself, listeningintently, I caught the sound of water flowing somewhere near, andlifting up a little square of wood let into the stone floor in theangle behind the couch, I saw black water creeping sullenly alongunderneath my dungeon--probably the outlet of the Moat Pond on its wayto join the Brom Water. And I could not keep thinking of the fate ofthose "others," who had not the doubtful but yet puissant protection ofJeremy. The trapdoor was certainly large enough to take a man, and thewater, creeping ice-free down to the Moat Pond, would tell no tales.As it was I tore one or two little notes sent me by Joe into thesmallest pieces, and watched them float away--that I might in no wayconnect him with the miseries into which my foolish confidence hadbrought me.

  I was altogether alone. On the table Jeremy had put a candle withmatches. When he brought my evening meal of porridge, cooked in themonks' bakery by himself, he asked if I wanted anything to read.

  "I canna aye gie ye my company," he said. "What wi' the maister bein'no well, I hae great stress o' business--but can ye read?"

  I told him that I could, and awaited with some curiosity the bookswhich Mad Jeremy would bring me. His choice was better than I couldhave expected. It comprised _Driver's Complete Farriery_, _The HeatherLintie_, (poems), a book of sermons with the title _In Hoc Signo_--orsomething like that--_Markham's Complete Housewife, Cavendish onWhist_, and two huge volumes of _Pinkerton's Voyages_.

  "I wad hae brocht ye a Bible, too, but Aphra micht hae noticed," hesaid. "There's mair nor a packet o' candles in the press, forbye ahalf loaf if ye are hungrysome i' the nicht-time. It's little likelythat ye will ken how to play the fiddle?"

  I told him I had no such skill, at which he sighed.

  "I was dootin' that," he said. "If ye had I could hae played theseconds to ye fine! But Jeremy can play for twa when the fit is onhim. Ye never heard Jeremy. He has a fiddle that is a real--Jeremyforgets the name--but it's real something awesome grand. And that's adeal mair than maist braw folk can say o' their fiddles. For they aremaistly made i' the Gressmarket o' Edinbory! There's a melodeon,though, wi' silver keys, that's better still. But Hobby winna gieJeremy the siller to buy it. It's in Lithgow's window at Langtoon, andsome day it will be Jeremy's ain. Maybe afore ye think. Then he willcome and play ye the bonnie music. Ye can dance, Elsie? Eh, that'sweel. Jeremy canna dance, but he can play the bonnie music to dancetill, and it's the finest sicht in the world to see a feat young lassfooting it dentily to 'The Wind that Shakes the Barley' or'Tullochgorum.'"

  After Jeremy was gone, I went over many things in my mind. Whateverpart my grandfather Stennis had taken in the disappearances of HarryFoster, Riddick of Langbarns, Lang Hutchins the drover, and JoeYarrow's father, obviously he had nothing to do with this. Therefore,I could only hope and pray that he was alike innocent of the others.

  Not that the justice, or injustice, of the country would in any casehold him guiltless. He it was who had brought this wild crew about thelonely and formidable House of the Grange. Because of them the DeepMoat glimmered through a mist of fear, and the sullen expanse of theMoat Pond had its waters, like once on a time the Nile, turned by theevening sun into blood.

  Still, I should be glad, even in my own heart, to be able to thinkbetter of my mother's father, even if no one agreed with me.

  Having seen the disturbances which followed the disappearances of HarryFoster and Mr. Yarrow, I pleased myself with the thought that soon myprison house would be broken open, and this foul brood of birds of preycompelled to flee for their lives. But I had not forgotten that it wasthe return of Harry's blood-stained mail cart which had awakenedsuspicion, and in the case of Joe's father, the coming back of the mareby way of the locked door of the yard. But a girl with half a dozenbooks under her arm, on her way to teach a few infants in a school,would be in a very different position. Joe and Nance Edgar would askquestions, doubtless. But I had quarrelled with the one, and neverreally been open or companionable with the other. So it might be said(was indeed said) that I had taken French leave of Breckonside in a fitof temper, and had gone off to meet friends, or to teach in a schoolfor which I had long been applying. Indeed, the postman had brought mean official blue paper that morning, by virtue of which I was informedof my registration as a regular certificated teacher under the Act of1871.

  As a matter of fact, there was even a greater upheaval after mydeparture, but owing to doubts, and to the want of outward and visiblesigns to provoke it, the outburst seemed longer in coming. Iconsidered myself, indeed as girls often do, much more friendless thanI really was.

  Then began in my oven prison a period of great silence and regularity.In writing the tale, I am following the entries in my diary day by day,and shall endeavour to make a story out of them as best I can. Thereis really little to tell, romantic as the circumstances were. As MadJeremy had truly said, the place was warm enough. The absence of thelight of day was what I felt the most--also the lack of all sound,either of human voice or any living creature. Each alternate weekday Icould hear Jeremy raking his fire to its proper heat before thrustingin the pans containing his batch of bread. Thrice every day he wouldcome to bring me something to eat. But never did he offer me the leastviolence all the time I remained in the vaulted chamber.

  Perhaps the moon was in good season. Perhaps the fool had regained alittle sanity in the mere act of going contrary to his sister. At anyrate his madness showed itself chiefly in his bringing every sort ofmusical instrument to my prison house. Upon these he played withconsiderable skill, but with a strange, weird, irresponsible ironyrunning through even the most familiar tunes--something, as one mightsay, like "God save the King" played by the host's own piper, whenGeorge the Fourth made his state entrance into his own palace.

  It must have been a strange sight to see us, seated of an evening in alittle semicircle, Jeremy with the three younger of his sisters--butalways without Aphra, or Euphrasia, as I found her real name to be.And these occasions were by no means unwelcome. For, mad as the womenwere, there was about them something of the village "innocent," litwith a certain flame of religious enthusiasm. They were very differentfrom that tall, stern figure of granite--their elder sister. Honorine,who had had some training in dressmaking, was always at work withfutile industry, confectioning some garment which, when finished, wasmore like the dress of a Christmas guiser or carnival clown than arespectable garment for everyday use. Her sisters, Camilla andSidonia, sat looking listlessly at nothi
ng, or engaging in purposelessinfantile controversies with one another. Jeremy at one end of thecircle sat strumming fitfully upon his latest instrument, violin orJew's harp, his half-savage music breaking in upon Honorine's ceaselesschatter without prelude or apology. But these interruptions did not inthe least put out his sister. She was proud of some remnants of aformer short-lived beauty, and loved to recount and magnify the ancientflames she had kindled when "head of a department," dictating thefashions to the good ladies of Thorsby at Hood and Truslove's longextinct but once celebrated emporium in the High Street there.

  It did not occur to me till afterwards that I ought to have beenfrightened--thus sequestered from the world, and my life hardly worthfive minutes' purchase, if I should chance to incur the anger of one ofthose mad creatures. But at the time I sat with my French grammar onmy knees, thinking chiefly how funny it was to see the five of us allseated with the soles of our feet turned to a blank wall. This we didfor the warmth of the dividing wall. And indeed it was never cold--forbefore my side had time to cool, Jeremy was firing up his oven againfor the next batch of bread to feed the Deep Moat Grangers and theirguests.

  That these could be dangerous thieves and murderers, in spite of thegossip I had heard, never crossed my mind. They were to me, as I thinkto Mr. Ablethorpe, just so many poor things who had lost their senses.I noticed, however, that all except Jeremy were accustomed to hushtheir voices when they spoke of their terrible sister Aphra. Andlittle by little I was able to draw from Honorine (who, above allthings, loved to talk) the sad history of their wanderings. I will notattempt to reproduce in detail all her babblings. Indeed, she neverquite finished a sentence. Nor did she ever continue where she leftoff. But, so far as I understood her relation, controlled as it wascontinually by the denials of Sidonia and Camilla, and punctuated bythe scornful strains of Mad Jeremy, the story of the Orrin familyamounted to this--

  Their father had been a teacher in a large Lanarkshire village; butsome money having come into his hands by the death of a distantrelative, he went to Lancashire and there started a mill. He left afortune to his children, valued at some L40,000. But what had beenquickly gained proved just as easy to lose.

  At his death Aphra kept on the spinning mill, and for a time made abrave face to adverse fortune. But a combination among biggeremployers froze her out. The mill failed, and with it was engulfed thewealth of her sisters and the portion of her one brother. HithertoJeremy had behaved more humanly than any of the others, learning thebusiness of the mill, with the hope that some day he might be able toconduct one of his own. But the sudden failure of all his hopesoverthrew an ill-balanced brain. He grew wild and untamable in hishabits, only appearing at home at rare intervals, and then only toclaim more and more money from his sister.

  The others, Honorine, Camilla and Sidonia, mentioned the name of theireldest sister with a kind of awe, but Jeremy never without a sneer or ataunt--except only in her presence, and when taxed with digging in thegarden, a habit for which, Honorine whispered, Aphra was accustomed topunish him severely.

  After their failure in Wigham, the passage of the Orrin familysouthward through England is marked only by some vague reminiscences ofHonorine. She would begin a sentence "When we were at Bristol" and endit with "This happened after Aphra had brought us to Leeds."Nevertheless the nodded confirmations of the other two sisters,silently listening as they twisted their fingers, together with the"humphs" and denials of Jeremy, let me understand the truth withsufficient clearness.

  If Aphra had been alone, unsaddled with her flock of mad folk, whom shetreated like grown-up children, yet loved with more than sisterlydevotion, she would have had no difficulty in providing for herself.

  At Bristol, for instance, she had established herself with whatremained of their small capital in a ready-made shoe shop in awell-frequented street, while Honorine and Sidonia interpreted thelatest London fashions to the dwellers in Clifton. But the latterbranch failed because Honorine refused to serve those customers who, onentering the shop, would not consent to bow the knee and worship thestatue of the Virgin, which they kept in a wall niche surrounded withever-burning candles. This did not at all suit the ideas of theCliftonians, and soon the two sisters were back hanging on as before tothe skirts of Aphra. As for Jeremy, he wandered about the docks,finding mysterious means of filling his pockets, but always sharing theproceeds.

  But his strength waxed so great, his temper so uncertain, thatpractically he was allowed to go his way. From this time forward noteven Aphra was able to control him. More than once he had threatenedher life with his clasp knife. Still she did not insist upon hisleaving the house. As the head of the family, she was responsible forall. Jeremy was a prodigal son, but still a son--indeed, the only sonof the house. Her father had confided him to Aphra, and she would befaithful to her trust.

  It was about this time that the family became touched with that mysticspirit which Mr. Ablethorpe had thought to utilize in leading them tobetter things. But the attempt was vain from the first.

  Even at Bristol an attempt to walk in procession upon the street withwhite banners and mystic emblems awoke so much mingled hostility andmirth that the police were fain to interfere. And an assault made byHonorine upon a visiting bishop of Low Church tendencies, who dared topreach in a Geneva gown, led to the closing of the boot shop and theirmigration once more to the north.

  Everywhere they went Honorine was the bane of custodians of HighAnglican and Catholic churches. She insisted upon spending the wholeday in such buildings, kneeling for hours together before the sacredpictures, especially those representing favourite saints, making herstations of the cross several times a day, and representing to thedistressed church officers (who wanted their dinners) that it was notime to think of earthly nourishment here below--because at any momenttheir brains might be sucked up by a steam engine even as hers hadbeen. She continued, therefore, in spite of gowned Anglican churchofficers, magnificent Catholic "Suisses," and arrogant parish beadles,to do penance for sins which she had never committed.

  "There are enough misdeeds in the family, though, to keep you atpenance all your life," grunted Jeremy with a grin, as Honorinefinished her confession. "You did quite right, Honor; I always saidthat you had more sense than Aphra!"

  "Aphra is wise," said her sister, "but she does not know that, owing tomy prolonged studies in the Book of Nature, I am enabled to curetoothache."

  From the date of their leaving Bristol the family had gone where thedetermined Aphra had led them. Their longest time of refuge was in theservice of a German widow named Funkel, who lived in a villa nearSurbiton. Devout as Mr. Ablethorpe, this good woman had taken an ideaof bringing the Orrins to more settled ways.

  Aphra was to be cook and housekeeper, Honorine sewing maid, Camillawaited at table, and Sidonia became laundress. It was a hospitable andkindly arrangement. But the operations of Jeremy, who had charge ofthe small garden, brought all the dogs of the neighbourhood there toscratch, while within doors the entire service of the household wouldbe interrupted by discussions as to what the exact meaning of a pinchof salt spilled on the right side of the salt cellar, or a tug of warbetween the younger sisters to decide who was to clean the knives.

  As all had foreseen but herself, Madame Funkel had to call in thepolice before she could get rid of her troop of domestics. It ended intheir retreat, after certain threats on Aphra's part--threats which,but for the opportune vanishing of Jeremy, might not have endedpleasantly for their ex-mistress.

  Aphra returned to her diminished shoe shop, this time set up in asuburb of Leeds, and Jeremy was next heard of as the companion of Mr.Hobby Stennis in the little wayside cottage where he lived beforemoving into the larger and more retired Deep Moat Grange.

  Honorine asked Jeremy more than once how he came to be acquainted withMr. Stennis. But his only reply was that "there were certain thingswhich it was good for women to know, but how he first came to meet Mr.Stennis was not one of them."