by James Payn
CHAPTER XV.
"LET IT BE PETER'S GODCHILD."
I have said that I am approaching the conclusion of this my story, andso in truth I am, so far as the readers thereof are concerned in it.They will soon be put in possession of its secret, and close thisvolume, not altogether without regret, as I hope. But for me, and thosewho played their parts in this drama of mystery, months and years wentby without the least clue to its solution. Fairburn Hall remainedwithout a master, although not untenanted. The same servants occupied itas before, and expected, although with less and less of certainty, thatthe Squire would presently return and claim his own again. Theprincipal rooms, as was stated, had been locked up and sealed ever sincehis disappearance, and the very neighbourhood of their doors had begunto be avoided after dark. Noises were affirmed to have been heard inthem, both canine and human--doubtless the ghostly talk held betweenGrimjaw and Sir Massingberd, who had now no longer any reason forsilence concerning that evil deed in which they had been concernedtogether so long ago. The baronet's voice was also heard in the Park andChase, especially upon windy nights, cursing and threatening in a veryvehement and life-like manner, so that his preserves were almost as wellprotected by the terror of his absence as they had been by that of hispresence. Reckless, indeed, must have been the poacher who wired haresor slaughtered pheasants in the Home Spinney, where the dread SirMassingberd must have met with his end, or been spirited away, no manknew how or whither. Had it not been for this superstitious awe, OliverBradford would have found it difficult to guard his master's game, forthe old keeper, crippled with age and rheumatism, could no longer watcho' nights himself, nor could he easily induce his subordinates to do so,unless in pairs. They, too, had little liking to be alone in the HomeSpinney after dusk, nor near the Wolsey Oak, which of late years had hadcertain portentous tenants in the shape of the two ravens, which werefor ever flying to and fro between it and their lodging in the churchtower. The old ancestral saying--
"Ill for Heaths when raven's croak Bodeful comes from Wolsey's Oak"--
was remembered and repeated by the old folks of Fairburn to the risinggeneration with many a solemn head-shake and significant pursing of thelips. Yet, oddly enough, the general opinion, even of these ancientgossips, was, that Sir Massingberd was yet alive. The misfortuneprophesied by the ravens was held to concern the family, or, in otherwords, young Marmaduke, rather than his uncle. If the behaviour of theseintelligent birds proclaimed that the Squire was dead, they deservedrather to be held as doves of good tidings than what they were. No; SirMassingberd was alive, and would turn up some day or other, wickederthan ever. His return was as confidently looked for by many of hisvassals, as that of Barbarossa was wont to be.
This was not, of course, the case with reasonable persons, like Mr.Long, and, I may add, myself. When a twelvemonth had elapsed since hisdisappearance, we both entreated Marmaduke to come down to Fairburn, andtake possession of what might fairly be considered his own. Mr. Gerardand Mr. Clint were equally anxious that he should do this, but allpersuasion was unavailing. The most that could be extracted from him wasthe promise that, when he came of age, a year and a half hence, he woulddo as we pleased. It seemed to us, indeed, the height of improbabilitythat his uncle should still be in the land of the living; it seemed soto the money-lenders, who showed themselves anxious to accommodate theyoung man with enormous loans at a very trifling rate of interest; butto the heir himself it by no means appeared so certain. There wassomething characteristic, he thought, of his terrible uncle in thismysterious withdrawal from human ken, with the fiendish object ofthrowing everything out of gear for years, and thus striking terror byhis sudden reappearance. If he did reappear and found another--and thatone his hated nephew--in the enjoyment of his property, how diabolicalwould be his wrath! There was often quite a sublimity of passion evincedby the old baronet upon very slight occasions; but all such displays,compared to what would happen in the case supposed, would have been butas a cavalry inspection at the Curragh to the Balaklava charge. Suchwere the thoughts, I am convinced, which actuated Marmaduke, although hedid not express them. He confined himself to stating that he did notconsider he had a right to take possession of Fairburn until the time hementioned had elapsed (nor, indeed, was he legally entitled to do so forseven years), and I doubt if he would have given even that promise, hadhe not felt sure that some revelation would be made in the meantime.
But no such revelation _was_ made, and the day of Marmaduke Heath'smajority came round at last. Whether he would even then have put hispurpose of coming down to Fairburn into effect, had it depended solelyupon himself, I cannot say, but he had by that time other interests toconsult beside his own. Marmaduke Heath and Lucy Gerard were man andwife; nor, if you had sought all England through, would you have chancedupon a nobler-looking couple. At that period, although it was not soafterwards, the dependence, the reliance, the looking up for comfort andfor counsel, so natural and so endearing in wedded life, were upon thewrong side--upon Marmaduke's, not Lucy's. All that was done in respectto his affairs was done by her; he only thought about doing them, andresisted their being done until the very last, when, all other meanshaving failed, her sweet voice was called in by the councillors for hisgood, and always succeeded. In one matter only had Marmaduke refusedeven to listen to her--he had insisted upon raising a very large sumupon his now excellent expectations, and settling it upon her before hismarriage. In vain he had been assured that such a settlement wasunnecessary, and the interest he would have to pay for the moneyborrowed, absolutely thrown away. The young man had his way in this; andon the day after the execution of the deed in question they weremarried. I had determined within myself not to be present at thatwedding, in spite of a very pressing invitation, and although Mr. Longhimself attended it.
"What, not go to see Marmaduke married?" cried my tutor, when I told himof this intention. I call him still by that name, although he was atthis time merely my host, with whom I was stopping during one of myOxford vacations. "Why, Meredith, you astonish me beyond measure. I amsure that neither of them will think I have rightly married them, unlessyou are there to be bridegroom's man. Why, Lucy Gerard loves you, Peter,almost as much as she does Marmaduke himself; while Mr. Gerard, betweenyou and me, would, I think, have preferred----" Then I broke down all ofa sudden, and laid my face between my hands upon the table, and sobbedlike a child.
"Peter, Peter, my dear boy," exclaimed the Rector, laying hisfingers--ah, so pitifully--upon my head; "I had not dreamed of this.Poor lad, poor lad, God comfort you and strengthen you; I feel for youas though you were my very own son. What blind worms must we have beennot to have seen this before; or, rather, how bravely must you havehidden it from us all! She doesn't know it, does she? I trust not. Thenlet her never know it, Peter. I do not speak of others, for yourfeelings deserve to be considered as much, and more, dear lad. But, oh,think of hers. What bitterness will mingle with her cup of happinessupon that day, when she feels that you are absent from such a cause--forshe will guess the cause at once, Peter."
"I will be ill," groaned I. "Heaven knows that I shall feel ill enough,and that shall be my excuse."
"And do you think Marmaduke would marry, knowing that his best friendlies ill and alone here? He would never do that. They would feel, Ihope, too, that if it were so, I should not have left you. No, Peter;you have been very strong hitherto--be strong unto the end. Let hernever know that you have suffered and are suffering now for her sweetsake."
"I will do what you think is best, dear old friend," said I; "but pleaseto leave me by myself a little just now."
And he did so; and I battled with my own heart and subdued it, and whenMarmaduke and Lucy were married I was present.
"My dear Peter, your hand is as cold as a stone!" exclaimed thebridegroom, when he wished me "Good-bye" that day. But Lucy saidnothing, save "Good-bye, Peter;" and even to that I could not reply.They were very happy, those two, as indeed they deserved to be. Whateverwas wanting at that time in him, her goo
d sense supplied; while in her,neither then nor afterwards, was there anything wanting. She hadsympathized as much as lay in her power in the tastes and opinions ofher father; she had had a bringing-up which, in these days, would haveat least resulted in what is called a strong-minded woman, rather asopposed to a gentle one. This could scarcely, indeed, have been the casewith Lucy, but her marriage with Marmaduke made it impossible. Her mindhad heretofore been, as it were, all orchard, bringing forth fine andvigorous fruit; a portion of it now became a garden, producing flowersdainty and rare. Her teacher being also her lover, it was no wonder thather progress was rapid; and it is probable that the young student hadnever found his studies so sweet as when communicating them to such apupil. From her father, she had learned philosophy; from her husband,how to appreciate all that was beautiful in Nature and touching inSong. As for her politics, Marmaduke was infinitely more solicitous toimbue her with correct views respecting the poets, which, perhaps, wasfortunate enough. She would never have admitted, even to please him,that her beloved, father was wrong, or even extreme in his views ofgovernment; and, in truth, those opinions of hers--so enthusiastic, sotrustful, and founded upon the mistake of believing all herfellow-creatures as guileless as herself--gave her conversation, anadded charm. To hear her talk of wrongs and rights, with heightenedcolour and earnest eyes--no matter how elevated the rank of the personaddressed, nor how nearly connected with the very executive of whoseacts she was complaining--was enough to make a bishop exchange his mitrefor a white hat, and adopt the Thirty-nine Articles recommended by Mr.Hone.
"Judge Jeffreys himself could never have had the heart to condemn myLucy for a rebel," Mr. Harvey Gerard was wont to say; "although," hewould add, with a cynical twinkle in his eye, "I would not trust my LordEllenborough."
Mr. Long and myself were both in Harley Street upon the day whenMarmaduke came of age; and after dinner, Mr. Clint made a little speech,not without connivance, I think, beforehand with others of the party. Heobserved, that gratifying as was the occasion in question in allrespects, it was most satisfactory to himself, as concluding the periodwhich Marmaduke had assigned as the limit of his abstaining from takinghis rightful position in the world. He ventured to say this much uponhis own part, as having been connected with the Heath family for alengthened period; but he would also say for others--what he knew theywould be backward to say for themselves--that his young friend owed itto them also not to delay the matter any longer.
Marmaduke's face expressed more painful agitation than I had seen itwear for months. "I suppose you are right, Mr. Clint," he returned;"and, at all events, I will be as good as my word, which I passed toMrs. Heath," and he looked at his wife, as though he would have appealedto her to release him from that promise.
"Of course, I am right, sir," returned the lawyer quickly; "but you arewrong and very uncivil not to give your wife her proper title. LadyHeath, I beg to drink your very good health; Sir Marmaduke, here's toyour better manners;" and the lawyer emptied his glass, and filled it upagain, in case any other excuse should arise for the drinking of goodliquor.
"Lady Heath's health; her husband's better manners," echoed laughinglyround the table.
Marmaduke nerved himself by a strong effort, and replied to this toastwith feeling and eloquence. He promised to accede to the request made byMr. Clint, and to that end would return with us to Fairburn on the nextday but one to make his arrangements personally for coming to reside atthe Hall. As for his not having assumed the title, he protested, amidstmerriment, that he had not hitherto done so, solely out of deference tothe feelings of his father-in-law, whom he had once heard describe abaronet as a something only not quite so bad as a lord.
We were all delighted not only with the intentions Marmaduke thusexpressed, but with the cheerfulness and gaiety of his manner inspeaking of them; and when the rest had retired for the night, and myold friend and I were in my room having that last chat by the midnightfire which is perhaps the zenith of human converse, as the curtainlecture is undoubtedly the nadir, I could not help congratulating him onhis change of spirits. "That you are a happy man, I know," said I; "youwould be ungrateful indeed if you were otherwise. But I cannot say howpleased I am to find that the good Genius, who has so blessed you inother respects, has exorcised this phantom fear of yours; that you nolonger dread that childish bugbear, Sir Massingberd."
"Hush!" cried he, looking involuntarily over his shoulder; "do notmention that name, Peter. I would gladly give up house and land thismoment, never to go back to Fairburn; I have a presentiment that evilwill come of it. She would absolve me from my promise even now--Heavenbless her, as it must do, for she is of the angels!--but that therewill be another soon whose interests must be looked to as well as ourown. You will be godfather, dear Peter, will you not? Lucy and I bothwish it. 'Let it be Peter's godchild, Marmaduke,' she said to me onlyyesterday, although I should not divulge these secrets to an oldbachelor like you."
Of course, I promised readily enough, but long after he had bidden megood-night, I sat over the paling embers, thinking, thinking; and whenevery coal was charred, and the black bars cold that held them, I satthinking still. My hopes, for a few fleeting hours, long ago, had beenas bright and warm as they, and were now as dark--and dead.