He expired with his wife’s name on his lips.
Hannah took possession of his keys, and when Simon Pownall came, and seemed disposed to assume the management of the house, she let him know pretty sharply he should do no such thing; so after fidgeting about for some time, the barber-surgeon went away, saying he should despatch his apprentice to Knutsford to let Mr. Gripper know that the old man was dead, with a request to him to come over on the morrow to read the will.
Here, then, was a novel situation in which to be placed. My uncle was dead. Was I really his heir? — master of the house — and owner of two thousand pounds a year? Everybody seemed to consider me so — and I considered myself so.
I did my best to repress them, but I hope I may be pardoned if I confess that, in spite of myself, feelings of exultation would arise in my breast, and I indulged in a thousand extravagant fancies natural to a boy of my age, who finds himself, as he supposes, master of a large fortune. I resolved to live at Nethercrofts, but to enlarge and improve the house, keep hounds and hunters, shoot and fish, and, in short, lead the life of a country gentleman. Ned Culcheth should be my head keeper, and I would double his present wages, whatever they were. Every one of my dependents should experience my bounty, and there should be no stint to my hospitality. I couldn’t make up my mind as to what I would do for John Brideoake; but as to Apphia, when she should be old enough, I was quite determined to marry her. At one time I resolved to leave school directly; but, on second thoughts, I decided on going there again, just to let the boys see what a fine fellow I had become; and I pictured myself walking into John Leigh’s shop, telling him how rich I was, and treating the whole school. My head was quite turned, and I am sorry to say I thought but little of my poor uncle.
Later in the day I received a very kind note from Mrs. Sale, condoling with me on the sad event which had just occurred, begging me to make the vicarage my home, and to come to them as soon as I liked. I thankfully acknowledged the invitation, but declined it.
A strange world we live in. In the evening, preparations were made for a supper — a “lyke wake” Hannah called it — and several neighbours and gossips dropped in. There was old Mrs. Hutchison, old Susan Sparkes, Tom Travice, the undertaker (on the look-out for the job), Job Greaseby, Dick Dobson, the parish clerk, Simon Pownall, and Chetham Quick. The latter having just returned from Knutsford, brought word that Mr. Gripper would come over next morning at eleven o’clock to read the will. Simon Pownall also informed us that he had left a message to that effect at the vicarage, and had caused notice to be sent to all parties supposed to be interested, so that he had no doubt everybody would be assembled at the hour appointed. We all sat down to supper, and no one would have taken us for a set of mourners. At first I felt very sad, but mirth is contagious, and by-and-by, as the cans of ale went round, I became as merry and uproarious as the rest. They called me the “Young Squire,” placed me at the head of the table, in my uncle’s chair, said they were right glad the old man’s money had been so well bestowed, and drank my health with a shout. And then I thought of him whose place I was usurping, and bitterly reproached myself. However, the feeling quickly passed away. Our mirth was somewhat dashed by Simon Pownall, who, when supper was over, and spirits and water were introduced, related a terrific ghost story. He alarmed us all so much, that Sam Massey and William Weever, who had intended watching by my uncle during the night, immediately declared they wouldn’t do it—” not that they were afraid — only they wouldn’t.”
“And quite right too,” said Pownall, chuckling.
“I don’t approve of ‘watching;’ it’s a Popish practice, and inconsistent with our Church,” the parish clerk observed, gravely.
“Rank Popery,” Pownall rejoined. “ Glad to hear you say so, Mr. Dobson. I wouldn’t do it.”
“Nor I,” Tom Travice, the undertaker, said; “and I speaks from experience.”
Pownall then told us another ghost story, more dreadful than the first, and seemed to take a malicious pleasure in the terror he inspired. For my part, I began to fear my uncle would walk in amongst us. Even old Talbot seemed affected, for he refused the drumstick of a fowl which I offered him, though I had seen him take a piece of cheese from Pownall just before the latter began the story, and, creeping under the sofa, the poor old dog remained there during the rest of the evening. Soon after this the party broke up, everybody, except Pownall, renewing their congratulations to me as they went away.
CHAPTER XII.
A NOCTURNAL ALARM.
IT had been arranged that I should henceforth occupy the room above that where my poor uncle was lying, and a bed in it had been prepared for my reception; but I confess the barber-surgeon’s ghost stories had produced such an effect upon me, that I decided on retaining my old quarters until after the funeral.
When we retired to rest, the men, who had drunk pretty freely, were soon locked in slumber; but feeling no disposition to sleep, I did not even take off my clothes, and sitting down on the edge of the bed, gave free course to my reflections, which were painful enough, for I now severely blamed myself for my levity and folly, and felt utterly unworthy of my uncle’s kindness.
In such ruminations hour after hour passed by, and the clock below had just struck one, when I heard a strange kind of noise, apparently proceeding from below, and being greatly startled, listened for its recurrence with a palpitating heart. But the men snored loudly, and not being able to make out anything clearly, I crept cautiously down stairs, and peeped into the house-place. There were no shutters to the windows, and the curtains being partially drawn aside, the moonlight streamed in, shining upon the table, which was still standing in the middle of the room, covered with the remains of the supper. But I could see nothing to occasion alarm, and only heard the chirping of the crickets on the hearth, and the ticking of the old clock.
Thinking I had been deceived, I was preparing to return, when I distinctly heard footsteps in my uncle’s room. It was a dead, dull sound, as if some one were walking about without shoes, or in list slippers. My first impulse was to try and rouse Talbot, who was now sleeping on the hearth, but though I shook him he would not move.
Meantime, my ears were strained to catch the slightest repetition of the sound. For a few seconds all had been still. Then I heard the footsteps again, followed by a noise like the falling of a hammer, or some implement. On this I called out loudly, but the men were too sound asleep to hear me. Hannah, however, whose bedroom adjoined that of my uncle, opened her door, and asked what was the matter. I told her that robbers were in the house; whereupon she hastily retreated and bolted her door, while I ran up-stairs, and with some difficulty aroused the men, who were all very much astonished and alarmed.
During the time occupied by them in huddling on their clothes, I got my gun, which was reared in a corner near my bed, and, loading it, put in a good charge of swan shot. We then went down stairs together, but when I explained to the men that the noise proceeded from my uncle’s room, they shook their heads mysteriously, and declined entering it.
“We shan see nowt there belongin’ to this warld,” Will Weever said.
“Well, I’ll go in, if no one else will,” I cried, cocking my gun. On this Sam plucked up his courage, and, taking down his yeomanry sword, drew it from the scabbard, while Will Weever armed himself with the disabled duck gun, and Peter, unhooking the horse-pistols, grasped the barrel of one in either hand, holding up its brass-mounted butt-end in readiness for action.
In this state we advanced to the door.
After a moment’s breathless pause, during which Hannah’s head was again popped out, the door was thrown open by Will Weever, and Sam, with the drawn sabre in his hand, sprang into the room. I was close at his heels, and the others followed us. We expected something dreadful, but the only dreadful thing we beheld was the dead man, upon whose rigid features the wan moonlight fell, through the small panes of the uncurtained window.
Sam looked at me, and shook his head; but I decla
red, whatever he might think, that I had heard footsteps and other noises in the room, and nothing would convince me to the contrary. On this, careful search was made throughout the chamber, and also in the room above, but no one was found, nor was anything discovered to indicate that a robber had been there, for all appeared to be in the precise state in which it was left in the evening. The window was next examined. There were no shutters to it, and though there were iron bars outside, they afforded little protection, being so wide apart, that a slight person might easily get between them. However, there was nothing to prove that such had been the case.
Still, I was not satisfied, and insisted upon the men going with me round the premises, to ascertain that no one was lurking about. Before doing so, I again endeavoured to rouse Talbot; but though I pushed him with my foot, he neither growled nor stirred.
“What can be the matter with the dog?” I cried. “He seems quite stupefied.”
“He’s afeard — that’s it,” Will Weever replied, shaking his head. “Them dumb creeturs sometimes knows more nor a Christian; an’ Talbot may see t’owd mon walking about, or mayhap sittin’ in his arm-cheer, though we cannot.”
Though this explanation was not entirely satisfactory to me, I accepted it, and we went forth. Our search was fruitless until we came to the garden, where I detected the figure of a man hiding behind a wall, and recognised it at once as that of Phaleg. Levelling my gun, I called to him to surrender. To our surprise, the gipsy came forward, saying he had something worth knowing to tell us, but I must lower my gun, and promise not to harm him. I replied I would make no terms with him, but if he attempted to run away, or offered any resistance, I would certainly shoot him. He laughed, and said:
“Yo’n repent it when it’s too late.”.
And, without another word, he sprang back, and cleared the wall at a bound. The movement was so sudden, and took me so much by surprise, that he was gone before I could pull the trigger; but I instantly ran up to the wall, and, descrying him running across the croft, fired at him. I had not taken any precise aim, but I am sure I hit him, for he uttered a loud cry, and we afterwards found traces of blood near the spot; while such was the gipsy’s fright that he actually knocked down a gate in his haste.
Being now satisfied that I had discovered the cause of the alarm, I returned with my companions to the house, and watch was kept till daylight; but nothing more occurred. Phaleg, it appeared, had visited the hen-roosts, but we could not discover that he had carried off anything. No footmarks could be traced on the gravel walk under the garden window, nor on the little flower-beds adjoining it, and all the household still continued to regard the noises I had heard as supernatural.
CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH MY UNCLE’S WILL IS READ, AND I EXPERIENCE THE TRUTH OF THE PROVERB, THAT “THERE’S MANY A SLIP’TWIXT CUP AND LIP.”
SIMON POWNALL came early in the morning, and when told of the nocturnal disturbances, he shook his head gravely, and said he knew what they were. The old man couldn’t rest till his will was read. But when Pownall heard about the gipsy, his countenance changed, and he wished I had shot the villain dead. What could bring him there, and a corpse lying in the house? Had the reprobate no conscience? He hoped to see him hanged, and speedily too.
Not having had a wink of sleep during the night, I felt greatly fatigued, as well as harassed in mind, but endeavoured to prepare myself for the important business of the day.
At ten o’clock precisely Mr. Gripper rode into the yard, and dismounted at the door. In outward appearance he resembled a farmer more than a man of law, for he had a broad ruddy face, and a large person; and though, out of respect for the occasion, he had substituted black upper garments for the green riding-coat and striped waistcoat which he usually wore, he still retained his corduroy knees and buff gaiters. He had a nose shaped like the ace of clubs, on which rested a pair of heavy plated spectacles. He was attended by his clerk, a seedy-looking personage, with a pasty face and a snub nose. Mr. Gripper did not think it necessary to assume even a show of grief. On the contrary, he was particularly cheerful, shook me warmly by the hand, and congratulated me very heartily. His shabby-looking clerk, whose name was Elkahan Catchpool, did not presume to shake hands, still less congratulate me, but he made me several ducks with his bullet head as his master introduced me in the following terms:
“In this young gentleman, Elkanah, you behold Mr. Mobberley’s heir. This is Master, I should say Mister Mervyn Clitheroe, Elkanah — a very good-looking young gentleman, as you perceive, Elkanah, and worthy of his good fortune.” Then, turning to me, he added, “Ah! we are not all equally fortunate, my dear young sir. We haven’t all rich uncles to provide for us.”
“No, sir; indeed I wish we had,” Elkanah said, again ducking his bullet head. And he looked so miserably poor, that thinking a guinea would do him good, I resolved to give him one before he went away.
We all three sat down to breakfast, and Elkanah ate voraciously, bolting huge mouthfuls in such a way that I expected he would choke himself. Indeed, he did once get black in the face, and I had to thump his back to set him right. During the repast, Mr. Gripper was continually turning to me, talking about my property, offering various suggestions for its improvement, and at last he told me in plain terms he would find me a steward, if I desired it, and the executors consented. I said I was very much obliged to him for the offer, but I had made up my mind to employ William Weever in that capacity, and to keep the whole household just as my uncle had left it. He said my determination showed great good feeling, and had no doubt my suggestions would be attended to, but all arrangements must be referred to Mr. Evan Evans, of the firm of Evans, Owen, and Jones, bankers of Cottonborough, and Mr. Cuthbert Spring, of the same place, merchant, who were appointed trustees and executors under my uncle’s will; and he added, that having sent over a messenger expressly the night before to these two gentlemen, stating the object for which they were required, he expected their attendance that morning. -
This intelligence was satisfactory to me, though I was quite unprepared for it. I was aware that my uncle knew Cuthbert Spring, and esteemed him highly. I was not surprised, therefore, at the trust reposed in that gentleman; and, on my own part, I was well pleased to have the advantage of such able and friendly advice in the management of the property. Of Mr. Evans I knew nothing, except by report. The banking-house to which he belonged was one of the first in Cottonborough. Breakfast over, Mr. Gripper got up and said:
“Now, Elkanah, we’ll proceed to business. Be so good as to step with me, Mr. Mervyn. You know where the will is placed.”
The keys being brought by Hannah, we went to my uncle’s room. The bureau was unlocked, and the will found lying just where I had seen it. Mr. Gripper took it up, and glanced at the endorsement.
“Holloa! how’s this?”
And opening all the drawers, he peered into them, but without discovering what he sought.
“Zounds! this cannot be it, surely.”
“That is my uncle’s will, sir, if you are looking for it,” I observed. “He showed it to me himself the day before he died, when he destroyed his papers.”
“Oh! — papers, eh? Did he destroy many?”
“Oh! yes, sir; a great many — all his bonds and securities, for lie said no one should be troubled after his death; and he particularly charged me to tell Doctor Sale that I had seen his bonds destroyed. I believe my uncle burnt one of his wills.’’
“Whew!” Mr. Gripper whistled. “That explains it. Changed his mind at the last, I suppose. You say you believe he burnt his will. Are you quite sure of it? Mind what you say. It concerns you.”
“I didn’t see him actually throw it on the fire,” I replied, “but I believe I saw it partly consumed. And he told me himself he had destroyed it.”
“That’s enough,” Mr. Gripper said, rather shortly.
For some time after we returned to the house-place, Mr. Gripper seemed lost in reflection. His manner towards me became quit
e altered, and Elkanah, who took his cue from his master, was so far from being humble or obsequious, or even civil, that I determined to withhold the guinea I had designed for him.
By-and-by the expectant legatees began to assemble. There was Harry Heygate, an old farmer, and his two sons, Roger and Ralph, relatives of my aunt, who had walked over from Dunton; and Adam Worthington and his wife and daughter from Knutsford, likewise relatives on Mrs. Mobberley’s side, and some other folks with whom I was wholly unacquainted. Besides these there was Tom Shakeshaft, Simon Pownall, and Chetham Quick, Job Greaseby, Dick Dobson, the parish clerk, and Grimes Earthy, the sexton; and lastly came Doctor and Mrs. Sale, with Malpas. Doctor Sale looked very serious, but he was uncommonly affable to me, almost treating me with respect! Mrs. Sale was kind and considerate as usual, and shed tears as she spoke of my uncle; but as to Malpas, he made it apparent that he came solely on compulsion. I was so disgusted by his unfeeling behaviour, that I would not notice him. Mr. Gripper, I observed, was extraordinarily civil to the Sales, particularly to Malpas, who, however, made a very poor return indeed for his attentions, snubbing him rudely, and turning off as if he would go away.
“You had better stay, my dear young gentleman, indeed you had,” Mr. Gripper remarked, with some significance. “Do. You won’t regret it.”
“Oh! very well, if you wish it, certainly,” replied Malpas, shrugging his shoulders. “But what the devil are you waiting for? Why can’t you read the will without more ado?”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 453