The Castle Inn

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER XXVII

  MR. FISHWICK'S DISCOVERY

  We left Sir George Soane and his companions stranded in the littlealehouse at Bathford, waiting through the small hours of the night for aconveyance to carry them forward to Bristol. Soap and water, a goodmeal, and a brief dog's sleep, in which Soane had no share--he spent thenight walking up and down--and from which Mr. Fishwick was continuallystarting with cries and moanings, did something to put them in betterplight, if in no better temper. When the dawn came, and with it thechaise-and-four for which they had sent to Bath, they issued forthhaggard and unshaven, but resolute; and long before the shops in Bristolhad begun to look for custom, the three, with Sir George's servant,descended before the old Bush Inn, near the Docks.

  The attorney held strongly the opinion that they should not waste asecond before seeking the persons whom Mr. Dunborough had employed; theleast delay, he urged, and the men might be gone into hiding. But onthis a wrangle took place, in the empty street before the half-rousedinn; with a milk-girl and a couple of drunken sailors for witnesses. Mr.Dunborough, who was of the party will-he, nill-he, and asked nothingbetter than to take out in churlishness the pressure put upon him, stoodfirmly to it, he would take no more than one person to the men. He wouldtake Sir George, if he pleased, but he would take no one else.

  'I'll have no lawyer to make evidence!' he cried boastfully. 'And I'lltake no one but on terms. I'll have no Jemmy Twitcher with me.That's flat.'

  Mr. Fishwick in a great rage was for insisting; but Sir George stoppedhim. 'On what terms?' he asked the other.

  'If the girl be unharmed, we go unharmed. One and all!' Mr. Dunboroughanswered. 'Damme!' he continued with a great show of bravado, 'do youthink I am going to peach on 'em? Not I. There's the offer, take it orleave it.'

  Sir George might have broken down his opposition by the same argumentsaddressed to his safety which had brought him so far. But time waseverything, and Soane was on fire to know the best or worst. 'Agreed!'he cried. 'Lead the way, sir! And do you, Mr. Fishwick, await me here.'

  'We must have time,' Mr. Dunborough grumbled, hesitating, and lookingaskance at the attorney--he hated him. 'I can't answer for an hour ortwo. I know a place, and I know another place, and there is anotherplace. And they may be at one or another, or the other. D'you see?'

  'I see that it is your business,' Sir George answered with a glance,before which the other's eyes fell. 'Wait until noon, Mr. Fishwick. Ifwe have not returned at that hour, be good enough to swear aninformation against this gentleman, and set the constables to work.'

  Mr. Dunborough muttered that it lay on Sir George's head if ill came ofit; but that said, swung sulkily on his heel. Mr. Fishwick, when the twowere some way down the street, ran after Soane, and asked in a whisperif his pistols were primed; when he returned satisfied on that point,the servant, whom he had left at the door of the inn, had vanished. Thelawyer made a shrewd guess that he would have an eye to his master'ssafety, and retired into the house with less misgiving.

  He got his breakfast early, and afterwards dozed awhile, resting hisaching bones in a corner of the coffee-room. It was nine and after, andthe tide of life was roaring through the channels of the city when heroused himself, and to divert his suspense and fend off his growingstiffness went out to look about him. All was new to him, but he soonwearied of the main streets, where huge drays laden with puncheons ofrum and bales of tobacco threatened to crush him, and tarry seamen,their whiskers hanging in ringlets, jostled him at every crossing.Turning aside into a quiet court he stood to stare at a humble weddingwhich was leaving a church. He watched the party out of sight, and then,the church-door standing open, he took the fancy to stroll into thebuilding. He looked about him at the maze of dusty green-cushioned pewswith little alleys winding hither and thither among them; at the greatthree-decker with its huge sounding-board; at the royal escutcheon, andthe faded tables of the law, and was about to leave as aimlessly as hehad entered, when he espied the open vestry door. Popping in his head,his eye fell on a folio bound in sheepskin, that lay open on a chest, apen and ink beside it.

  The attorney was in that state of fatigue of body and languor of mind inwhich the least trifle amuses. He tip-toed in, his hat in his hand, andlicking his lips as he thought of the law-cases that lay enshrinedbetween those covers, he perused a couple of entries with a kind ofprofessional enthusiasm. He was beginning a third, which, being by adifferent hand, was a little hard to decipher, when a black gown thathung on a hook over against him swung noiselessly outward from the wall,and a little old man emerged from the doorway which it masked.

  The lawyer, who was stooping over the register, raised himselfguiltily. 'Hallo!' he said, to cover his confusion.

  'Hallo!' the old man answered with a wintry smile. 'A shilling, if youplease.' And he held out his hand.

  'Oh!' said Mr. Fishwick, much chap-fallen, 'I was only just--looking outof curiosity.'

  'It is a shilling to look,' the newcomer retorted with a chuckle. 'Onlyone year, I think? Just so, anno domini seventeen hundred andsixty-seven. A shilling, if you please.'

  Mr. Fishwick hesitated, but in the end professional pride swayed him, hedrew out the coin, and grudgingly handed it over. 'Well,' he said, 'itis a shilling for nothing. But, I suppose, as you have caught me, Imust pay.'

  'I've caught a many that way,' the old fellow answered as he pouched theshilling. 'But there, I do a lot of work upon them. There is not abetter register kept anywhere than that, nor a parish clerk that knowsmore about his register than I do, though I say it that should not. Itis clear and clean from old Henry Eighth, with never a break except atthe time of the siege, and, by the way, there is an entry about thatthat you could see for another shilling. No? Well, if you would like tosee a year for nothing--No? Now, I know a lad, an attorney's clerk here,name of Chatterton, would give his ears for the offer. Perhaps your nameis Smith?' the old fellow continued, looking curiously at Mr. Fishwick.'If it is, you may like to know that the name of Smith is in theregister of burials just three hundred-and eighty-three times--was lastFriday! Oh, it is not Smith? Well, if it is Brown, it is there twohundred and seventy times--and one over!'

  'That is an odd thought of yours,' said the lawyer, staring at theconceit.

  'So many have said,' the old man chuckled. 'But it is not Brown? Jones,perhaps? That comes two hundred and--Oh, it is not Jones?'

  'It is a name you won't be likely to have once, let alone four hundredtimes!' the lawyer answered, with a little pride--heaven knows why.

  'What may it be, then?' the clerk asked, fairly put on his mettle. Andhe drew out a pair of glasses, and settling them on his forehead lookedfixedly at his companion.

  'Fishwick.'

  'Fishwick! Fishwick? Well, it is not a common name, and I cannot speakto it at this moment. But if it is here, I'll wager I'll find it foryou. D'you see, I have them here in alphabet order,' he continued,bustling with an important air to a cupboard in the wall, whence heproduced a thick folio bound in roughened calf. 'Ay, here's Fishwick, inthe burial book, do you see, volume two, page seventeen, anno domini1750, seventeen years gone, that is. Will you see it? 'Twill be only ashilling. There's many pays out of curiosity to see their names.'

  Mr. Fishwick shook his head.

  'Dods! man, you shall!' the old clerk cried generously; and turned thepages. 'You shall see it for what you have paid. Here you are."_Fourteenth of September, William Fishwick, aged eighty-one, barber,West Quay, died the eleventh of the month_." No, man, you are lookingtoo low. Higher on the page! Here 'tis, do you see? Eh--what is it?What's the matter with you?'

  'Nothing,' Mr. Fishwick muttered. But he continued to stare at the pagewith a face struck suddenly sallow, while the hand that rested on thecorner of the book shook as with the ague.

  'Nothing?' the old man said, staring suspiciously at him. 'I do believeit is something. I do believe it is money. Well, it is five shillings toextract. So there!'

  That seemed to change Mr. Fishwick's view. 'It might
be money,' heconfessed, still speaking thickly, and as if his tongue were too largefor his mouth. 'It might be,' he repeated. 'But--I am not very well thismorning. Do you think you could get me a glass of water?'

  'None of that!' the old man retorted sharply, with a sudden look ofalarm. 'I would not leave you alone with that book at this moment forall the shillings I have taken! So if you want water you've got toget it.'

  'I am better now,' Mr. Fishwick answered. But the sweat that stood onhis brow went far to belie his words. 'I--yes, I think I'll take anextract. Sixty-one, was he?'

  'Eighty-one, eighty-one, it says. There's pen and ink, but you'll pleaseto give me five shillings before you write. Thank you kindly. Lord saveus, but that is not the one. You're taking out the one above it.'

  'I'll have 'em all--for identification,' Mr. Fishwick replied, wipinghis forehead nervously.

  'Sho! You have no need.'

  'I think I will.'

  'What, all?'

  'Well, the one before and the one after.'

  'Dods! man, but that will be fifteen shillings!' the clerk cried, aghastat such extravagance.

  'You'll only charge for the entry I want?' the lawyer said with aneffort.

  'Well--we'll say five shillings for the other two.'

  Mr. Fishwick closed with the offer, and with a hand which was stillunsteady paid the money and extracted the entries. Then he took his hat,and hurriedly, his eyes averted, turned to go.

  'If it's money,' the old clerk said, staring at him as if he couldnever satisfy his inquisitiveness, 'you'll not forget me?'

  'If it's money,' Mr. Fishwick said with a ghastly smile, 'it shall besome in your pocket.'

  'Thank you kindly. Thank you kindly, sir! Now who would ha' thought whenyou stepped in here you were stepping into fortune, so to speak?'

  'Just so,' Mr. Fishwick answered, a spasm distorting his face. 'Who'dhave thought it? Good morning!'

  'And good-luck!' the clerk bawled after him. 'Good-luck!'

  Mr. Fishwick fluttered a hand backward, but made no answer. His firstobject was to escape from the court; this done, he plunged through astream of traffic, and having covered his trail, went on rapidly,seeking a quiet corner. He found one in a square among some warehouses,and standing, pulled out the copy he had made from the register. It wasneither on the first nor the second entry, however, that his eyesdwelled, while the hand that held the paper shook as with the ague. Itwas the third fascinated him:--

  '_September 19th,_' it ran, '_at the Bee in Steep Street, Julia,daughter of Anthony and Julia Soane of Estcombe, aged three, and buriedthe 21st of the month_.'

  Mr. Fishwick read it thrice, his lips quivering; then he slowly drewfrom a separate pocket a little sheaf of papers, frayed at the corners,and soiled with much and loving handling. He selected from these a slip;it was one of those which Mr. Thomasson had surprised on the table inthe room at the Castle Inn. It was a copy of the attestation of birth'of Julia, daughter of Anthony Soane, of Estcombe, England, and Juliehis wife'; the date, August, 1747; the place, Dunquerque.

  The Attorney drew a long quivering breath, and put the papers up again,the packet in the place from which he had taken it, the extract from theBristol register in another pocket. Then, after drawing one or two moresighs as if his heart were going out of him, he looked dismally upwardsas in protest against heaven. At length he turned and went back to thethoroughfare, and there, with a strangely humble air, asked a passer-bythe nearest way to Steep Street.

  The man directed him; the place was near at hand. In two minutes Mr.Fishwick found himself at the door of a small but decent grocer's shop,over the portal of which a gilded bee seemed to prognosticate morebusiness than the fact performed. An elderly woman, stout andcomfortable-looking, was behind the counter. Eyeing the attorney as hecame forward, she asked him what she could do for him, and before hecould answer reached for the snuff canister.

  He took the hint, requested an ounce of the best Scotch and Havannahmixed, and while she weighed it, asked her how long she had lived there.

  'Twenty-six years, sir,' she answered heartily, 'Old Style. For the New,I don't hold with it nor them that meddle with things above them. I amsure it brought me no profit,' she continued, rubbing her nose. 'I haveburied a good husband and two children since they gave it us!'

  'Still, I suppose people died Old Style?' the lawyer ventured.

  'Well, well, may be.'

  'There was a death in this house seventeen years gone this September,'he said, 'if I remember rightly.'

  The woman pushed away the snuff and stared at him. 'Two, for the matterof that,' she said sharply. 'But should I remember you?'

  'No.'

  'Then, if I may make so bold, what is't to you?' she retorted. 'Do youcome from Jim Masterson?'

  'He is dead,' Mr. Fishwick answered.

  She threw up her hands. 'Lord! And he a young man, so to speak! PoorJim! Poor Jim! It is ten years and more--ay, more--since I heard fromhim. And the child? Is that dead too?'

  'No, the child is alive,' the lawyer answered, speaking at a venture, 'Iam here on her behalf, to make some inquiries about her kinsfolk.'

  The woman's honest red face softened and grew motherly. 'You mayinquire,' she said, 'you'll learn no more than I can tell you. There isno one left that's kin to her. The father was a poor Frenchman, amonsieur that taught the quality about here; the mother was one of hispeople--she came from Canterbury, where I am told there are French andto spare. But according to her account she had no kin left. He died theyear after the child was born, and she came to lodge with me, and livedby teaching, as he had; but 'twas a poor livelihood, you may say, andwhen she sickened, she died--just as a candle goes out.'

  'When?' Mr. Fishwick asked, his eyes glued to the woman's face.

  'The week Jim Masterson came to see us bringing the child from foreignparts--that was buried with her. 'Twas said his child took the feverfrom her and got its death that way. But I don't know. I don't know. Itis true they had not brought in the New Style then; but--'

  'You knew him before? Masterson, I mean?'

  'Why, he had courted me!' was the good-tempered answer. 'You don't knowmuch if you don't know that. Then my good man came along and I liked himbetter, and Jim went into service and married Oxfordshire way. But whenhe came to Bristol after his journey in foreign parts, 'twas natural heshould come to see me; and my husband, who was always easy, would keephim a day or two--more's the pity, for in twenty-four hours the child hehad with him began to sicken, and died. And never was man in such ataking, though he swore the child was not his, but one he had adopted toserve a gentleman in trouble; and because his wife had none. Any way, itwas buried along with my lodger, and nothing would serve but he mustadopt the child she had left. It seemed ordained-like, they being of anage, and all. And I had two children to care for, and was looking foranother that never came; and the mother had left no more than buried herwith a little help. So he took it with him, and we heard from him onceor twice, how it fared, and that his wife took to it, and the like; andthen--well, writing's a burden. But,' with renewed interest, 'she's awell-grown girl by now, I guess?'

  'Yes,' the attorney answered absently, 'she--she's a well-grown girl.'

  'And is poor Jim's wife alive?'

  'Yes.'

  'Ah,' the good woman answered, looking thoughtfully into the street.' Ifshe were not--I'd think about taking to the girl myself. It's lonely attimes without chick or child. And there's the shop to tend. She couldhelp with that.'

  The attorney winced. He was looking ill; wretchedly ill. But he had hisback to the light, and she remarked nothing save that he seemed to be asombre sort of body and poor company. 'What was the Frenchman's name?'he asked after a pause.

  'Parry,' said she. And then, sharply, 'Don't they call her by it?'

  'It has an English sound,' he said doubtfully, evading her question.

  'That is the way he called it. But it was spelled Pare, just Pare.'

  'Ah,' said Mr. Fishwick. 'That e
xplains it.' He wondered miserably whyhe had asked what did not in the least matter; since, if she were not aSoane, it mattered not who she was. After an interval he recoveredhimself with a sigh. 'Well, thank you,' he continued, 'I am much obligedto you. And now--for the moment--good-morning, ma'am. I must wish yougood-morning,' he repeated, hurriedly; and took up his snuff.

  'But that is not all?' the good woman exclaimed in astonishment. 'At anyrate you'll leave your name?'

  Mr. Fishwick pursed up his lips and stared at her gloomily. 'Name?' hesaid at last. 'Yes, ma'am, certainly. Brown. Mr. Peter Brown, the--thePoultry--'

  'The Poultry!' she cried, gaping at him helplessly.

  'Yes, the Poultry, London. Mr. Peter Brown, the Poultry, London. And nowI have other business and shall--shall return another day. I must wishyou good-morning, ma'am, Good-morning.' And thrusting his face into hishat, Mr. Fishwick bundled precipitately into the street, and withsingular recklessness made haste to plunge into the thickest of thetraffic, leaving the good woman in a state of amazement.

  Nevertheless, he reached the inn safely. When Mr. Dunborough returnedfrom a futile search, his failure in which condemned him to anothertwenty-four hours in that company, the first thing he saw was theattorney's gloomy face awaiting them in a dark corner of thecoffee-room. The sight reproached him subtly, he knew not why; he was inthe worst of tempers, and, for want of a better outlet, he vented hisspleen on the lawyer's head.

  'D--n you!' he cried, brutally. 'Your hang-dog phiz is enough to spoilany sport! Hang me if I believe that there is such another mumping,whining, whimpering sneak in the 'varsal world! D'you think any onewill have luck with your tallow face within a mile of him?' Thenlonging, but not daring, to turn his wrath on Sir George, 'What do youbring him for?' he cried.

  'For my convenience,' Sir George retorted, with a look of contempt thatfor the time silenced the other. And that said, Soane proceeded toexplain to Mr. Fishwick, who had answered not a word, that the rogueshad got into hiding; but that by means of persons known to Mr.Dunborough it was hoped that they would be heard from that evening orthe next. Then, struck by the attorney's sickly face, 'I am afraid youare not well, Mr. Fishwick,' Sir George continued, more kindly. 'Thenight has been too much for you. I would advise you to lie down for afew hours and take some rest. If anything is heard I will send wordto you.'

  Mr. Fishwick thanked him, without meeting his eyes; and after a minuteor two retired. Sir George looked after him, and pondered a little onthe change in his manner. Through the stress of the night Mr. Fishwickhad shown himself alert and eager, ready and not lacking in spirit; nowhe had depression written large on his face, and walked and bore himselflike a man sinking under a load of despondency.

  All that day the messenger from the slums was expected but did not come;and between the two men who sat downstairs, strange relations prevailed.Sir George did not venture to let the other out of his sight; yet therewere times when they came to the verge of blows, and nothing but theknowledge of Sir George's swordsmanship kept Mr. Dunborough's temperwithin bounds. At dinner, at which Sir George insisted that the attorneyshould sit down with them, Dunborough drank his two bottles of wine, andin his cups fell into a strain peculiarly provoking.

  'Lord! you make me sick,' he said. 'All this pother about a girl that amonth ago your high mightiness would not have looked at in the street.You are vastly virtuous now, and sneer at me; but, damme! which of usloves the girl best? Take away her money, and will you marry her? I'd 'adone it, without a rag to her back. But take away her money, and willyou do the same, Mr. Virtuous?'

  Sir George listening darkly, and putting a great restraint on himself,did not answer. Mr. Fishwick waited a moment, then got up suddenly, andhurried from the room--with a movement so abrupt that he left hiswine-glass in fragments on the floor.