CHAPTER XXVII
It was a dark, cold, cheerless night, though the season was summer,and the preceding week had been very warm--one of those nights when acold cutting north-east wind has suddenly broken through the sweetdream of bright days, and checked the blood in the trees and plants,withering them with the presage of winter. From noon till eventidethat wind had blown; and although it had died away towards night, ithad left the sky dark and the air chilly. Not a star was to be seen inthe expanse above; and, though the moon was up, yet the light she gaveonly served to show that heavy clouds were floating over the heavens,the rounded edges of the vapours becoming every now and then of a dimwhite, without the face of the bright orb ever being visible for amoment. A dull, damp moist hung about the ground, and there was afaint smell, not altogether unpleasant, but sickly and oppressive,rose up, resembling that which is given forth by some kinds ofwater-plants, and burdened the cold air.
In the little churchyard, at the back of Stephen Gimlet'scottage, there was a light burning, though ten o'clock had strucksome quarter of an hour before; and an elderly man, dressed,notwithstanding the chilliness of the night, merely in a waistcoatwith striped sleeves, might have been seen by that light, which wasnested in a horse-lantern, and perched upon a fresh-turned heap ofearth. His head and shoulders were above the ground, and part ofhis rounded back, with ever and anon the rise and fall of a heavypickaxe, appeared amongst the nettles and long hemlocks which overrunthe churchyard. His legs and feet were buried in a pit which he wasdigging, and busily the sexton laboured away to hollow out the grave,muttering to himself from time to time, and sometimes even singing athis gloomy work. He was an old man, but he had no one to help him, andin truth he needed it not, for he was hale and hearty, and he put sucha good will to his task, that it went on rapidly. The digging of agrave was to him a sort of festival. He held brotherhood with theworm, and gladly prepared the board for his kindred's banquet.
The grave-digger had gone on for some time when, about the hour I havementioned, some one paused at the side of the low mossy wall, about ahundred yards from the cottage of the new gamekeeper, and looked overtowards the lantern. Whoever the visitor was, he seemed either tohesitate or to consider, for he remained with his arms leaning on thecoping for full five minutes before he opened the little wooden-gateclose by, and walking in, went up to the side of the grave. The sextonheard him well enough, but I never saw a sexton who was not ahumorist, and he took not the least notice, working away as before.
"Why, what are you about, old gentleman?" said a man's voice, atlength.
"Don't you see?" rejoined the sexton, looking up, "practising theoldest trade in the world but one--digging to be sure--aye, andgrave-digging, too, which is a very ancient profession likewise,though when first it began men lived so long, the sextons must havebeen but poor craftsmen for want of practice."
"And whose grave is it you are digging?" asked the visitor. "I havebeen here some days, and have not heard of any deaths."
"One would think you were a doctor," answered the sexton, "foryou seem to fancy that you must have a hand in every death in theparish--but you want to know whose grave it is--well, I can't tellyou, for I don't know myself."
"But who ordered you to dig it then?" demanded the stranger.
"No one," said the sexton; "it will fit somebody, I warrant, and Ishall get paid for it; and why should not I keep a ready made grave asa town cobbler keeps ready-made shoes? I am digging it out of my ownfancy. There will be death somewhere before the week is out, I amsure; for I dreamed last night that I saw a wedding come to thischurch, and the bride and the bridegroom stepped on each of the gravehillocks as they walked--so there will be a death, that's certain, andmay be two."
"And so you are digging the grave on speculation, old fellow?"exclaimed the other, "but I dare say you have a shrewd guess whom itis for. There is some poor fellow ill in the neighbourhood--or somewoman in a bad way, ha?"
"It may be for the young man lying wounded up at Buxton's inn,"answered the sexton; "they say he is better; but I should not wonderif it served his turn after all. But I don't know, there is never anytelling who may go next. I've seen funny things in my day. Those whothought they had a long lease, find it was a short one: those who werewishing for other people's death, that they might get their money, diefirst themselves."
The sexton paused, and the stranger did not make any answer, lookinggloomily down into the pit as if he did not much like the lastreflections that rose up from the bottom of the grave.
"Aye, funny things enough I have seen," continued the sexton, aftergiving a stroke or two with his pickaxe; "but the funniest of all is,to see how folks take on at first for those who are gone, and how soonthey get over it. Lord, what a lot of tears I have seen shed on thislittle bit of ground! and how soon they were dried up, like a showerin the sunshine. I recollect now there was a young lady sent down herefor change of air by the London doctors, after they had poisoned herwith their stuff, I dare say. A pretty creature she was as ever I seteyes on, and did not seem ill, only a bit of a cough. Her mother camewith her, and then her lover, who was to be married to her when shegot well. But at six months' end she died--there she lies, close onyour left--and her lover, wasn't he terrible downcast? and he said tome when we had put her comfortably in the ground, 'I shan't be longafter her, sexton; keep me that place beside her--there's a guinea foryou.' He did not come back, however, for five years, and then I sawhim one day go along the road in a chaise and four, with a fine ladyby his side, as gay as a lark."
"Well, you would not have the man go on whimpering all his life?" saidthe other; "how old are you, sexton?"
"Sixty and eight last January," answered the other, "and I have dugthese graves forty years come St. John."
"Have you many old men in the parish?" asked the stranger.
"The oldest is eighty-two," replied the sexton, "and she is a woman."
"Six from eighty-two," said the stranger in a contemplative tone,"that leaves seventy-six. That will do very well."
"Will it?" said the sexton, "well, you know best; but I should like tosee a bit more of your face," and as he spoke, the old man suddenlyraised his lantern towards the stranger, and then burst out into alaugh, "ay, I thought I knew the voice!" he said, "and so you've comeback again, captain? Well now, this is droll enough! That bone you'vegot your foot upon belongs to your old wet-nurse, Sally Loames, if Iknow this ground; and she had as great a hand in damaging you as anyof the rest. She was a bad one! But what has brought you down now thatall the money's gone and the property too?"
"Why, I'll tell you," answered Captain Moreton, "I'll tell you, mygood old Grindley. I want to see into the vault where the coffins are,and just to have a look at the register. Can't you help me? you usedalways to have the keys."
"No, no, captain," rejoined the sexton, shaking his head, "no tricks!no tricks! I'm not going to put my head into a noose for nothing."
"Nobody wants you to put your head in a noose, Grindley," answered theother, "all I want is just to take a look at the coffins for a minute,and another at the register, for I have had a hint that I have beenterribly cheated, and that people have put my great-grandfather'sdeath six years too early, which makes all the difference to me; forif my mother was born while he was living she could not break theentail, do you see?"
"Well, then," said the sexton, "you can come to-morrow, captain; andI'll tell the doctor any hour you like."
"That won't do, Grindley," replied Moreton, "the parson is with theenemy; and, besides, I must not let any body know that I have seen theregister and the coffins till I have every thing prepared to upsettheir roguery. You would not have me lose my own, would you, old boy?Then as to your doing it for nothing, if you will swear not to tellthat I have seen the things at all, till I am ready and give youleave, you shall have a ten-pound note."
It is a strange and terrible thing, that the value of that which hasno value except as it affects us in this world and this life,increases enormously in ou
r eyes as we are leaving it. The sexton hadalways been more or less a covetous man, as Captain Moreton well knew;but the passion had increased upon him with years, and the bait of theten-pound note was not to be resisted. He took up the lantern, hegot out of the grave, and looked carefully round. It was late atnight--all was quiet--nothing seemed stirring; and approaching closeto Moreton's side, he said in a whisper,
"No one knows that you were coming here, eh, captain?"
"Nobody in the world," replied the other, "I called at your house anhour ago, and the girl told me you were down here, but I said I wouldcall on you again to-morrow."
"And you only want to look at the coffins and the book?" continued thesexton.
"Nothing else in the world," said Moreton, in an easy tone; "perhaps Imay take a memorandum in my pocket-book, that's all."
"Well, then, give us the note and come along," replied the sexton,"there can be no harm in that."
Moreton slipped something into his hand, and they moved towards alittle door in the side of the church, opposite to that on which stoodthe cottage of Stephen Gimlet. Here the sexton drew a large bunch ofkeys out of his pocket and opened the door, holding up the lantern tolet his companion see the way in.
Moreton whistled a bit of an opera air, but the old man put his handon his arm, saying in a low tone, "Hush! hush! what's the use of suchnoise?" and leading the way to the opposite comer, he chose one of thesmallest of the keys on his bunch, and stooped down, kneeling on oneknee by the side of a large stone in the pavement, marked with a crossand a star, and having a keyhole in it covered with a brass plate madeto play in the stone. The old man put in the key and turned it, butwhen he attempted to lift the slab it resisted.
"There, you must get it up for yourself," he said, rising, "I can't;take hold of the key, and with your young arm you'll soon get it up, Idare say."
Moreton did as the other directed, and raised the slab withoutdifficulty. When he had done, he quietly put the keys in his pocket,saying, "Give me the lantern!"
But Mr. Grindley did not like the keys being in Captain Moreton'spocket, and though he did not think it worth while to make a piece ofwork about it, yet he kept the lantern and went down first. A damp,close smell met them on the flight of narrow stone steps, which theold lords of the manor had built down into their place of long repose;and the air was so dark that it seemed as if the blackness of all themany long nights which had passed since the vault was last opened hadaccumulated and thickened there.
For some moments, the faint light of the lantern had no effect uponthe solid gloom; but, as soon as it began to melt, the old man walkedon, saying, "This way, captain. I think it used to stand hereabouts,upon the tressles to the right. That is your father's to the left, andthen there's your mother's; and next there's your little sister, whodied when she was a baby, all lying snug together. The Moretons, thatis the old Moretons, are over here. Here's your grandfather--a jollyold dog, I recollect him well, with his large stomach and his purpleface--and then his lady--I did not know her--and then two or threeyoungsters. You see, young and old, they all come here one time oranother. This should be your great grandfather," and he held up thelantern to the top of one of the coffins. "No," he said, after a briefexamination, "that is the colonel who was killed in '45. Why they puthim here I don't know, for he died long before your great grandfather.But here the old gentleman is. He lived to a great age, I know."
"Let me see," said Captain Moreton; and approaching the side of thecoffin he made the old man hold the lantern close to the plate uponthe top. The greater part of the light was shed upon the coffin lid,though some rays stole upwards and cast a sickly glare upon the twofaces that hung over the last resting-place of the old baronet.Captain Moreton put his hand in his pocket, at the same time pointingwith the other to a brass plate, gilt, which bore a short inscriptionupon it, somewhat obscure from dust and verdigris.
"There! it is quite plain," he said, "1766!"
The old sexton had been fumbling for a pair of spectacles, and now hemounted them on his nose and looked closer, saying, "No, captain,1760."
"Nonsense!" said the other, sharply, "it is the dust covers the tailof the six. I'll show you in a minute;" and as quick as light he drewthe other hand from his pocket, armed with a sharp steel instrument ofa very peculiar shape. It was like a stamp for cutting pastry, onlymuch smaller, with the sharp edge formed like a broken sickle. Beforethe old man could see what he was about to do, he pressed his hand,and the instrument it contained, tight upon the plate, gave it aslight turn and withdrew it.
"Lord 'a mercy! what have you done?" exclaimed the sexton.
"Nothing, but taken off the dust," answered Moreton with a laugh;"look at it now! Is it not 66 plain enough?"
"Ay, that it is," said Grindley. "But this won't do, captain, thiswon't do."
"By ---- it shall do," replied the other, fiercely; "and if you sayone word, you will not only lose the money but get hanged into thebargain; for the moment I hear you've 'peached I'll make a fullconfession, and say you put me up to the trick. So now my old boy youare in for it, and had better go through with it like a man. If weboth hold our tongues nothing can happen. We slip out together and noone knows a syllable; but, if we are fools, and chatter, and don'thelp each other, we shall both get into an infernal scrape. You willsuffer most, however, I'll take care of that. Then, on the contrary,if I get back what they have cheated me and my father out of, youshall have 100_l_. for your pains."
At first the sexton was inclined to exclaim and protest, but CaptainMoreton went on so long that he had time to reflect--and, being a manof quick perceptions, to make up his mind. At first, too, he lookedangrily in his companion's face through his spectacles, holding up thelantern to see him well; but gradually be dropped the light and hiseyes together to the coffin-lid, examined it thoughtfully, and in theend said, in alow, quiet, significant voice, "I think, captain, thetail of that six looks somewhat bright and sharp considering how oldit is."
The compact was signed and sealed by those words; and Moreton replied,"I've thought of all that, old gentleman. It shall be as green as therest by to-morrow morning."
Thus saying, he took out a small vial of a white liquid, dropped a fewdrops on the plate, and rubbed them into the deep mark he had made.Then, turning gaily to his companion, he exclaimed "Now for theregister."
Grindley made no reply; and they walked up into the church again, putdown the slab of stone, locked it, and advanced towards the vestry.There, however, the old man paused at the door, saying, in a low,shaking voice, "I can't, captain! I can't! It is forgery, nothingelse. I'll stay here, you go and do what you like, you've the keys."
"Where are the books kept?" asked the other, speaking low.
"In the great chest," said the sexton, "it must be the second bookfrom the top."
"Can I find pen and ink?" inquired Moreton.
"On the table, on the table," answered Grindley. "Mathew Lomax had achild christened two days ago. But it wont never look like the oldink."
"Never you fear," said the other worthy, "I am provided;" and takingthe lantern, he opened the vestry-door and went in.
Captain Moreton set down the lantern on a little table covered withgreen cloth, and proceeded about his work quietly and deliberately. Hewas no new offender, though this was a new offence. He had none of theyoung timidity of incipient crime about him. He had done a great manyunpleasant things on great inducements, pigeoned confiding friends,made friendships for the sake of pigeoning, robbed Begums, as was thecustom in those days, shot two or three intimate acquaintances who didnot like being wronged, and was, moreover, a man of a hardyconstitution, so that his nerves were strong and unshaken. He triedtwo or three keys before he found the one which fitted the lock of thechest. He took out two volumes of registers, and examined thecontents, soon found the passage he was looking for, and then searchedfor the pen and ink, which, after all, were not upon the table. Thenhe tried the pen upon his thumb-nail, and took out his little bottleagain, for it wou
ld seem that within that vial was some fluid whichhad a double operation, namely, that of corroding brass and renderingink pallid. The register was laid open before him, a stool drawn tothe table, his hand pressed tight upon the important page, and the penbetween his fingers and thumb to keep all steady in the process ofconverting 1760 into 1766, when an unfortunate fact struck him,namely, that there were a great many insertions between the twoperiods. He paused to consider how this was to be overcome, whensuddenly he heard an exclamation from without, and the sound ofrunning steps in the church, as if some one was scampering awayin great haste. He had forgotten--it was the only thing he hadforgotten--to turn his face to the door, and he was in the act ofattempting to remedy this piece of neglect, by twisting his head overhis shoulder, when he received a blow upon the cheek which knocked himoff his stool, and stretched him on the pavement of the vestry. Hestarted up instantly, but before he could see any thing or any body,the lantern was knocked over, and the door of the vestry shut andbolted, leaving him a prisoner in the dark.
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