“I soon made up my mind,” continued Hileria Pullen, “that, come what would, the baby I would not leave. But then, where was the good of my staying there till the captain came back, with his screeching curses, and his bottles, and powders, and a new nurse — nurse, indeed! Hileria Pullen would not have been long for that nursery! And the darling babby would have been in strange arms, and a bad business at the ‘old Hall’ before a week, and, most like, no talk about it; or, if there was, some awful story trumped up to fix the blame on me. May the Lord deliver us from all evil!”
“It is a world of sorrow, Mrs. Pullen,” observed the vicar. “It is a world of wickedness, sir,” said Hileria.
“That it is, also,” allowed Dr. Jenner; “sin and sorrow, twin offspring of the Fall. Go on, pray.”
“The thought came to me-I trust in the Lord it may have been from Him-that as there I could not stay, and, moreover, as leave the babby I loved, better, I may say, than myself, in that place, to them that was going to take it in hand, I could not; which it would have been nothing less but to lend a hand in what was intended to be done, which God forbid.”
“Amen, amen,” murmured the clergyman.
“So there was nothing left me, but one chance for it. I made up my mind I’d take the child with me, or lose my life,” said Hileria Pullen. “Being as you are, you can’t understand, sir, how I felt. If you was me, in that dismal place, undertaking that great risk, with the chance of meeting Captain Torquil, who was drove desperate almost by his crosses and losses, being one of them wicked men that would not stop at nothing, you would know what it was to fear for your life like I did. As he now is, I really think he would do or say anything almost.”
“I hope not; I trust not. Still it was, you know, a great venture, under any circumstances; it was, you know, irregular, and appearances might be held to be against you; but undoubtedly you did right, and I think you a heroine, Mrs. Pullen,” said the clergyman.
“So I am, sir, I hope, and all my papers and discharges correct. A good nurse I have bin to the poor babby, according to my opportunities. Well, sir, the end of it was, having made my mind up, sir, to try it, and having, by the mercy of heaven, some money in my box; that night, I said nothing to any one living, and I took the child, poor little thing, and I dressed it, as you see. And, ill though I was, I stole away with the baby, and no one missed me till next morning, I take it — for that was a house where most people did as they liked, except when the master was there — and none cared about their own business — much less other people’s.”
“But you said Captain Torquil followed you. How was that?”
“We were two hours late the second day, at a small town called Twinton, when I got out with the baby, meaning to cross to this.”
“Two hours late, were you? How was that?” asked the vicar.
“We had thirty mile of snow on the way, sir,” said Hileria, looking as miserable as she could, “and north of that, some of the road all one sheet of ice.”
“Yes, to be sure; so I heard; there was a fall of snow between Scardon and Derby. We shall have it here soon, I dare say,” obsérved Mr. Jenner, looking toward the windows.
“You’ll mind the inn at Twinton, sir?” said she.
“To be sure, ‘The Guy of Warwick.’ You found it a comfortable place, I’m sure. It is a kinsman of Mr. Turnbull, our host here, who keeps it,” said Mr. Jenner.
“Yes; good fires they had, sir. It was there we stopped. I was afraid to stay downstairs in the public room, and I kept the child under my cloak, so that the people downstairs could not see it; for I could not tell who might be asking them questions by-and-by. So up the stairs I went, and the chambermaid put me into a big room over the door, and there was a fire at the far end; but I could not keep away from the big bow window looking along the white frosty road, towards London. La! sir, everything that came up that way, how my heart went thump and flutter, flutter and thump!
“Why did you stay so long on such dangerous ground?” inquired the vicar.
“There was a coach expected every minute that would bring me more than half way to Golden Friars, and I could get out at a place called Scardon Hall, where there was horses.
I thought if the captain came up, what should I do, me and the child, if he should hear at Twinton there was any one had ordered a shay for Golden Friars. He’d have questioned them all, through and through, right and left, up and down, he’d ‘a bin out in the stable, and up in the garrets, and if I was hid in the cock-loft, he’d have ferreted me out, and heaven ‘ave mercy on me then! So I thought, as there might be a delay, ‘twould be wiser to say little, and keep out of observation, and just take the coach, when it came up, as far as Scardon Hall. The coach was a bit late, and every minute seemed as long as an hour to me, thinking I never could be out of the highway soon enough.
“The baby was asleep, poor little thing. I laid it on the bed, not far from the fire. I could not eat a mouthful, I was too much afraid for that; I could not stay near the fire, cold as I was; I could do but one thing, and that was, to stand in the window, and watch the road, holding my breath, and counting the minutes by my watch.
“I was there more than an hour I should think, and it was moonlight still, and I saw a chaise and four pull up at the door, and Captain Torquil put his head out of the window, and he asked how long it was since the mail-coach passed, and they told him. They were wetting the horses’ mouths, and though it was a frosty night, they were steaming up in a cloud with heat; and he asked how far on was the place where they changed horses, and they told him five miles only; and he said, ‘They have left that, I suppose, half an hour ago;’ and they said, ‘That at least;’ and he said, ‘They were behind time here;’ and they said they lost time by the ice on the road, where the floods were — which was true — and they were bringing it up now. Then he asked them how long the next stage was, and they told him thirteen miles; and he said, ‘We shan’t overtake them next stage, then;’ and they said, hardly.”
“You remember all this very distinctly,” said the vicar.
“Every word of it went into my ear like a penknife, I’ll never forget word or look, or turn or sight of the four minutes that passed then. I was standing with the baby in the big window over the door, and in the broad moonlight, and I could no more move from where I stood than the post outside with the painted sign swinging to it.
“I did not feel myself nor the child for the time, nor as if I had a body at all, but only just eye and ear, and like to fall down dead with fear of him, for you don’t know all I’ve heard of that man. Well, sir, you may guess how I felt when he raised his eyes to the very window where me with the baby in my arms was standing.
“I felt my eyes growing as big as saucers in my head, staring at him; and the captain leaned out, and made as if he was going to open the door. But, heaven be thanked, he did not see me. I think ’twas the shine of the moonlight back again from the panes of glass that hid me. He held his watch in the light of the moon, leaning out, and he called to the postboys to be off; and, I thank God, I saw them drive on at a great pace the next minute. I had been trembling the whole journey, in fear of him overtaking me, for I knew that he would think I had taken the northern coach, having a sister married in Edinburgh, and he knew she wanted me to go to live with her; and I do suppose he went right to the coach office when he heard I was gone, and found out what passengers went, and then he followed. I mentioned you to him, also, once, sir, as one that should be consulted; and when he finds I haven’t gone on by the coach, I know he’ll make straight for this.”
“Not unlikely. Give me the copy of the will, and I will have our lawyer’s opinion as to its effect; and — there is Mr. Turnbull. I hear him in the lobby.”
And he called in the innkeeper, and gave him a solemn charge, in case of inquiries after Mrs. Pullen, to withhold all information, which that grave person undertook to do.
“My people doesn’t know her name, and I’ll give them directions to say nothing.�
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“And should Captain Torquil, or any one on his behalf, make inquiry about the child, please say that I have taken that matter in hand, and refer him to my attorney, Mr. Tarlcot. And now I’ll take the copy of the will, ma’am-thanks; and I’ll bring it back to you when he has made a note of it.”
So he bid her goodbye, and was approaching the door, when suddenly she screamed, starting upright in the bed, “Oh law, sir, he’s come!”
“Hush! Captain Torquil do you mean?”
“Oh! yes, sir. I hear his voice.”
CHAPTER X.
CAPTAIN TORQUIL.
THE vicar leaned over the banisters, and heard a clear and somewhat sharp voice talking in the hall with Mr. Turnbull, and his own name mentioned.
At this time of year few strangers passed through Golden Friars, and having never before heard those clear resolute tones in which he was named, he concluded that the visitor could be no other than Captain Torquil.
So that worthy divine put his hat on his head, and with a dignified air went down the back stair, and through the inn yard, with swift paces to the attorney’s house.
Brevity was urgent, for although there was nothing excited in the gentlemanlike accents which he had overheard, Mr. Turnbull, of the George, would at once, as agreed, send Captain Torquil on to the attorney. It would be awkward to be surprised there, and the clerical costume, the good vicar pointedly observed, would make identification inevitable.
Mr. Luke Tarlcot, the attorney, was a goodnatured fellow enough — a man of sixty years and upwards, a serious man, a fat man, cautious and taciturn, and diplomatic on occasion.
Holding this gentleman by the corner of his coat collar, he poured, as briefly as he could, into his ear the strange story of Hileria Pullen and Captain Torquil, and produced the late Mrs. Mildmay’s will, which, happily, was very short.
I’ll get away, I won’t meet him; he’ll be here in no time. Let me out through your garden; come-come-quickly.” And out the back way, through Mr. Tarlcot’s leafless plum-trees and winter cabbages, and under the thick ivied arch into the lane, the clergyman marched quickly, and so away by the hard pathway, with his back to the lake and the town, towards the solemn mountains, at whose foot lay the farmstead of his sick parishioner, Farmer Bligh, trusting that by the time of his return at sunset, Captain Torquil would be many miles beyond the outlines of the purple mountains that surround Golden Friars.
Mr. Tarlcot returned thoughtfully to his room, which was somewhat darksome, and had an oldfashioned and grimy air, and sat himself down in his office chair, and slipped the copy of the will into the drawer before him. And almost at the same moment he heard a gentlemanlike voice say, “This way?” And before the maid could announce him, a handsome man, with an air of fashion, very black hair, very delicately-chiselled features, which had something the effect of a carving in ivory, a little yellowed by time, entered the room.
This gentleman had his hat in his hand, and an exquisite little walking-stick, and he carried a sort of light drap wrapper across his arm. The attorney observed this gentleman’s French boots and French gloves, and also that he appeared quite unconscious how much finer he was than the figures that usually walked about the purlieus of the George in Golden Friars.
He made a slight bow, and walked towards the table, at which the attorney had risen to receive him.
“I’ve looked in about a very odd affair, Mr. Tarlcot. My name is Torquil. Your clergyman here, Mr. Jenner, has probably mentioned Captain Torquil. The most extraordinary piece of villainy has been practised upon me and my wife, Mrs. Torquil, by a servant who has kidnapped — may I sit down?” said the captain, not waiting, however, for leave— “kidnapped I may say our child — a young child consigned to our care by the will of its mother, a widow, a very near relation of my wife’s.
I have had an infinity of trouble. I’ve followed all the way from London forty miles north of this place, and found on overtaking the coach that she had got out, and come across, as I rightly conjectured, here. At your hotel, round the comer, they tell me that she did so, and brought the infant with her. They say they don’t know what’s become of her, but that your — yourthe Reverend Mr. Jenner makes himself responsible for the child.”
Here was a little silence. The attorney did not break it. He looked down industriously on his desk, and leaned a little forward.
“Am I rightly informed?” asked Captain Torquil.
“If you will permit me, when you have quite done, I shall then state all I am at liberty to state on the subject.”
“Oh! exactly; then I shan’t say another word. The child has been stolen, and your client, the rector, or whatever he is, says I’m to look to him, and refers me to you, so here I am.”
“Is there any particular question you wish to put to me?” asked Mr. Tarlcot.
“Certainly. Being the guardian of the child, I demand its restoration. Where shall I find it?”
“I can’t tell you where the child is to be found, Captain Torquil. But the Reverend Mr. Jenner is differently advised as to your position in relation to that child; and his information is fortified by the copy of the will of the late Mrs. Mildmay, of Queen’s Snedley, Mrs. Jenner’s relative.”
“Your copy can hardly be better than a-a-quiz, sir, if it omits that. But it is perfectly immaterial to me. I know my rights and powers, and once for all, and to save your client the ruinous consequences into which you are about to run him, I demand that the child be replaced in my hands.”
“I have not got it, sir, and I may as well be quite explicit. If that child were in my custody I should not feel warranted in placing it in your hands; and I should decline to do so,” said the old attorney firmly.
“Then you know where it is.”
“I don’t say that, sir.”
“And you refuse to restore or to disclose it,” continued the captain.
The attorney was silent.
“You refuse to give me any information?”
“I don’t say that I have any to give, sir; but if I had I should refuse it,” said Mr. Tarlcot.
The captain stared at him fixedly, with whitening face, and eyes that gleamed for a few moments.
“Very well, sir,” said the captain, with a sudden effort. “Your client adopts the outrage of that servant, and receives and conceals my kidnapped ward. Very good, sir, I suppose you understand your own business. We’ll try that. I’ll open your eyes. You shall hear from me, you may tell your parson.”
“You may possibly hear from us first, sir,” said Mr. Tarlcot, determined not to be bullied.
“What do you mean by that, sir?” asked the captain, in an icy tone, leaning the knuckles of both hands on the desk, and advancing his sharp and pallid features towards the attorney. “It seems to me, sir, that you would not object to my losing my temper and striking you. I’ll not make any such fool of myself. You shan’t get your hand into my pocket for damages. I’ll make short work with your clerical patron. I’ll drive off to that town — what’s its name? — nine miles away, and I’ll get the police here.”
The attorney bowed. He did not wish further to heat his enemy, who had arrived already at the candescent point.
Grasping his hat, stick, and wrapper, which he had laid down on the table, he flung from the room, laughing and grinding his teeth as he passed through the hall; and before the attorney who followed him to do the honours, could overtake him, he had clapped the door with a clang that made the whole house vibrate.
CHAPTER XI.
APPROACHING.
HIS chaise had followed him to the steps, and he sprang into it, shut the door himself, pulled up the window, and leaned back. He was not long in collecting his ideas, for the attorney, standing in the middle of his room, saw him let down the front window and call something to the driver, who forthwith got his horses into motion.
Mr. Tarlcot, watching the vehicle as it drove away, observed that it turned the comer, not in the direction of the town he had named, but of the George
.
“Forgot something there,” conjectured the lawyer. “Oh! hey? why he may be going on to the vicar’s house, and upon my life there’s no one there but a parcel of women to meet him.
In haste he put on his hat, and was out on the steps in a moment, and trotted down to the comer, with an anxious face.
There one commands a view across the front of the George inn, and of some houses beyond it, along the margin of the lake, to the vicar’s house.
The elm trees and the two grey piers, capped with stone balls, stained and worn with the rains and suns of two centuries, stood hardly four hundred yards away.
It was with a very uncomfortable sensation that he saw the chaise draw up at the vicar’s house, and Captain Torquil spring out and run up to the hall door.
Mr. Tarlcot was nothing short of very much frightened when he saw this. He was a serious man, and never swore-and the “bless my soul!” with which he witnessed the occurrence very inadequately expressed the intensity of his feeling. The attorney looked this way and that, in his perplexity; and he bethought him of Tom Shackles, whom he saw at that moment striding into the George. So he followed him in, and talked a little with him in the hall.
In the meantime, the vicar’s house had received this sinister visitor.
When he knocked at the door, good Mrs. Jenner was in the scene of her new and delightful interest. The baby was in a sound sleep — Mrs. Jolliffe pronounced it very refreshing — and Mrs. Jenner and Kitty Bell, with their souls in their eyes, smiled down benedictions and thanksgivings in breathless silence upon the little slumberer. When the knock was heard at the hall-door, Mrs. Jenner, with a shudder, wondered how any one could be so brutal as to run such a risk as that of drumming a doubleknock just at the hour when it might be supposed the little darling was asleep.
She stole softly out on the lobby, and listened. She heard the stranger inquire for her, and Mall answer that she was at home. She then heard them both go up to the drawingroom and the visitor say “Captain Torquil.”
Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated) Page 742