CHAPTER XLV. THE HOUSE OF MEMORIES
I was greatly touched, and made Mr. Swain many awkward acknowledgments,which he mercifully cut short. I asked him for a while to think overhis offer. This seemed to please rather than displease him. And my firstimpulse on reaching the inn was to ask the captain's advice. I thoughtbetter of it however, and at length resolved to thrash out the matterfor myself.
The next morning, as I sat reflecting, an overwhelming desire seized meto go to Marlboro' Street. Hitherto I could not have borne the sight ofthe old place. I gulped down my emotion as the gate creaked behind me,and made my way slowly to the white seat under the big chestnut behindthe house, where my grandfather had been wont to sit reading his prints,in the warm weather. The flowers and the hedges had grown to a certainwildness; and the smell of the American roses carried me back-as odourswill-to long-forgotten and trivial scenes. Here I had been caned many aday for Mr. Daaken's reports, and for earlier offences. And I recalledmy mother as she once ran out at the sound of my cries to beg me off. Sovivid was that picture that I could hear Mr. Carvel say: "He is yours,madam, not mine. Take him!"
I started up. The house was still, the sun blistering the green paint ofthe shutters. My eye was caught by those on the room that had been hers,and which, by my grandfather's decree, had lain closed since she leftit. The image of it grew in my mind: the mahogany bed with its poppycounterpane and creamy curtains, and the steps at the side by whichshe was wont to enter it; and the 'prie-dieu', whence her soul had beenlifted up to God. And the dresser with her china and silver upon it,covered by years of dust. For I had once stolen the key from Willis'sbunch, crept in, and crept out again, awed. That chamber would beprofaned, now, and those dear ornaments, which were mine, violated. Theimagination choked me.
I would have them. I must. Nothing easier than to pry open a door orwindow in the north wing, by the ball-room. When I saw Grafton I wouldtell him. Nay, I would write him that day. I was even casting about mefor an implement, when I heard a step on the gravel beside me.
I swung around, and came face to face with my uncle.
He must have perceived me. And after the first shock of my surprise hadpassed, I remarked a bearing on him that I had not seen before. He wasmaster of the situation at last,--so it read. The realization gave himan easier speech than ever.
"I thought I might find you here, Richard," he said, "since you were notat the Coffee House."
He did not offer me his hand. I could only stare at him, for I hadexpected anything but this.
"I came from Carvel Hall to get you," he proceeded smoothly enough."I heard but yesterday of your return, and some of your miraculousadventures. Your recklessness has caused us many a trying day, Richard,and I believe killed your grandfather. You have paid dearly, and havemade us pay dearly, for your mad frolic of fighting cut-throats on thehighroad."
The wonder was that I did not kill him on the spot. I cannot think whatpossessed the man,--he must have known me better.
"My recklessness!" I shouted, fairly hoarse with anger. I paid no heedto Mr. Swain's warning. "You d--d scoundrel!" I cried, "it was youkilled him, and you know it. When you had put me out of the way andhe was in your power, you tortured him to death. You forced him to diealone with your sneering face, while your shrew of a wife counted cardsdownstairs. Grafton Carvel, God knows you better than I, who know youtwo well. And He will punish you as sure as the crack of doom."
He heard me through, giving back as I came forward, his face blanchingonly a little, and wearing all the time that yellow smile which sofitted it.
"You have finished?" says he.
"Ay, I have finished. And now you may order me from this ground youhave robbed me of. But there are some things in that house you shall notsteal, for they are mine despite you."
"Name them, Richard," he said, very sorrowful.
"The articles in my mother's room, which were hers."
"You shall have them this day," he answered.
It was his way never to lose his temper, tho' he were called by thevilest name in the language. He must always assume this pious griefwhich made me long to throttle him. He had the best of me, even now, ashe took the great key from his pocket.
"Will you look at them before you go?" he asked.
At first I was for refusing. Then I nodded. He led the way silentlyaround by the front; and after he had turned the lock he stepped asidewith a bow to let me pass in ahead of him. Once more I was in thefamiliar hall with the stairs dividing at the back. It was cool afterthe heat, and musty, and a touch of death hung in the prisoned air.We paused for a moment on the landing, beside the high, triple-archedwindow which the branches tapped on windy winter days, while Graftontook down the bunch of keys from beside the clock. I thought of my deargrandfather winding it every Sunday, and his ruddy face and large figureas he stood glancing sidewise down at me. Then the sound of Grafton'sfeet upon the bare steps recalled the present.
We passed Mr. Carvel's room and went down the little corridor over theball-room, until we came to the full-storied wing. My uncle flung openthe window and shutters opposite and gave me the key. A delicacy notforeign to him held him where he was. Time had sealed the door, and whenat last it gave before my strength, a shower of dust quivered in theray of sunlight from the window. I entered reverently. I took onlythe silverbound prayer-book, cast a lingering look at the old familiarobjects dimly defined, and came out and locked the door again. I saidvery quietly that I would send for the things that afternoon, for myanger was hushed by what I had seen.
We halted together on the uncovered porch in front of the house, thathad a seat set on each side of it. Marlboro' Street was still, the widetrees which flanked it spreading their shade over walk and roadway. Nota soul was abroad in the midday heat, and the windows of the long houseopposite were sightless.
"Richard," said my uncle, staring ahead of him, "I came to offer you ahome, and you insult me brutally, as you have done unreproved all yourlife. And yet no one shall say of me that I shirk my duty. But first Imust ask you if there is aught else you desire of me."
"The black boy, Hugo, is mine," I said. I had no great love for Hugo,save for association's sake, and I had one too many servants as it was;but to rescue one slave from Grafton's clutches was charity.
"You shall have him," he replied, "and your chaise, and your wardrobe,and your horses, and whatever else I have that belongs to you. As I wassaying, I will not shirk my duty. The memory of my dear father, and ofwhat he would have wished, will not permit me to let you go a-begging.You shall be provided for out of the estate, despite what you have saidand done."
This was surely the quintessence of a rogue's imagination. InstinctivelyI shrank from him. With a show of piety that 'turned me sick hecontinued:
"Let God witness that I carry out my father's will!"
"Stop there, Grafton Carvel!" I cried; "you shall not take His name invain. Under this guise of holiness you and your accomplice have done thedevil's own work, and the devil will reward you."
This reference to Mr. Allen, I believe, frightened him. For a secondonly did he show it.
"My--my accomplice, sir!" he stammered. And then righting himself: "Youwill have to explain this, by Heaven."
"In ample time your plot shall be laid bare, and you and his Reverenceshall hang, or lie in chains."
"You threaten, Mr. Carvel?" he shouted, nearly stepping off the porch inhis excitement.
"Nay, I predict," I replied calmly. And I went down the steps and outof the gate, he looking after me. Before I had turned the corner ofFreshwater Lane, he was in the seat, and fanning himself with his hat.
I went straight to Mr. Swain's chambers in the Circle, where I found thegood barrister and Captain Daniel in their shirt-sleeves, seated betweenthe windows in the back room. Mr. Swain was grave enough when he heardof my talk with Grafton, but the captain swore I was my father's son(for the fiftieth time since I had come back), and that a man could nomore help flying at Grafton's face than Knipe could re
sist his legs; orCynthia his back, if he went into her stall. I had scarce finished myrecital, when Mr. Renwick, the barrister's clerk, announced Mr. Tucker,which caused Mr. Swain to let out a whistle of surprise.
"So the wind blows from that quarter, Daniel," said he. "I thought so."
Mr. Tucker proved to be the pettifogger into whose hands Grafton had puthis affairs, taking them from Mr. Dulany at Mr. Carvel's death. The manwas all in a sweat, and had hardly got in the door before he began totalk. He had no less astonishing a proposition to make than this, whichhe enunciated with much mouthing of the honour and sense of duty ofMr. Grafton Carvel. His client offered to Mr. Richard Carvel the estatelying in Kent County, embracing thirty-three hundred acres more or lessof arable land and woodland, with a fine new house, together with theindented servants and negroes and other chattels thereon. Mr. RichardCarvel would observe that in making this generous offer for the welfareof his nephew, Mr. Tucker's client was far beyond the letter of hisobligations; wherefore Mr. Grafton Carvel made it contingent upon theacceptance of the estate that his nephew should sign a paper renouncingforever any claims upon the properties of the late Mr. Lionel Carvel.This condition was so deftly rolled up in law-Latin that I did notunderstand a word of it until Mr. Swain stated it very briefly inEnglish. His quiet laugh prodigiously disconcerted the pettifogger, whohad before been sufficiently ill at ease in the presence of the greatlawyer. Mr. Tucker blew his nose loudly to hide his confusion.
"And what say you, Richard?" said Mr. Swain, without a shade of accentin his voice.
I bowed my head. I knew that the honest barrister had read my heartwhen he spoke of noblesse oblige. That senseless pride of cast, sodeep-rooted in those born in our province, had made itself felt. To bea factor (so I thought, for I was young) was to renounce my birth. Untilthat moment of travail the doctrine of equality had seemed very prettyto me. Your fine gentleman may talk as nobly as he pleases over hisMadeira, and yet would patronize Monsieur Rousseau if he met him; and hetakes never a thought of those who knuckle to him every day, and cleanhis boots and collect his rents. But when he is tried in the fire,and told suddenly to collect some one else's rents and curse another'snegroes, he is fainthearted for the experiment. So it was with me whenI had to meet the issue. I might take Grafton's offer, and the chanceto marry Dorothy was come again. For by industry the owner of the Kentlands would become rich.
The room was hot, and still save for the buzzing of the flies. When Ilooked up I discovered the eyes of all three upon me.
"You may tell your client, Mr. Tucker, that I refuse his offer," I said.
He got to his feet, and with the customary declaration of humbleservitude bowed himself out.
The door was scarce closed on him when the captain had me by the hands.
"What said I, Henry?" he cried. "Did I not know the lad?"
Mr. Swain did not stir from his seat. He was still gazing at me with acurious expression. And then I saw the world in truer colour. This goodSamaritan was not only taking me into his home, but would fight formy rights with the strong brain that had lifted him out of poverty andobscurity. I stood, humbled before him.
"I would accept your kindness, Mr. Swain," I said, vainly trying tosteady my voice, "but I have the faithful fellow, Banks, who followedme here from England, dependant on me, and Hugo, whom I rescued from myuncle. I will make over the black to you and you will have him."
He rose, brushed his eyes with his shirt, and took me by the arm. "Youand the captain dine with me to-day," says he. "And as for Banks, Ithink that can be arranged. Now I have an estate, I shall need a trainedbutler, egad. I have some affairs to keep me in town to-day, Richard.But we'll be off for Cordon's Pride in the morning, and I know of onelittle girl will be glad to see us."
We dined out under the apple tree in Gloucester Street. And the captainargued, in his hopeful way, that Tucker's visit betrayed a weak pointin Grafton's position. But the barrister shook his head and said thatGrafton was too shrewd a rogue to tender me an estate if he fearedme. It was Mr. Swain's opinion that the motive of my uncle was to puthimself in a good light; and perhaps, he added, there was a littlerevenge mixed therein, as the Kent estate was the one Mr. Carvel hadgiven him when he cast him off.
A southerly wind was sending great rolls of fog before it as Mr. Swainand I, with Banks, crossed over to Kent Island on the ferry the nextmorning. We traversed the island, and were landed by the other ferry onthe soil of my native county, Queen Anne's. In due time we cantered pastMaster Dingley's tavern, the sight of which gave me a sharp pang, forit is there that the by-road turns over the bridge to Carvel Hall andWilmot House; and force of habit drew my reins to the right across thehorse's neck, so that I swerved into it. The barrister had no word ofcomment when I overtook him again.
'Twas about two o'clock when we came to the gate Mr. Swain had erectedat the entrance to his place; the land was a little rolling, and partlywooded, like that on the Wye. But the fields were prodigiously unkempt.He drew up, and glanced at me.
"You will see there is much to be done with such fallows as these,"said he. "The lessees from his Lordship were sportsmen rather thanhusbandmen, and had an antipathy to a constable or a sheriff like arat to a boar cat. That is the curse of some of your Eastern Shoregentlemen, especially in Dorchester," he added; "they get to befishmongers."
Presently we came in sight of the house, long and low, like the one inGloucester Street, with a new and unpainted wing just completed. Thatday the mist softened its outline and blurred the trees which clusteredabout it. Even as we swung into the circle of the drive a rounded andyouthful figure appeared in the doorway, gave a little cry, and stoodimmovable. It was Patty, in a striped dimity gown with the sleevesrolled up, and her face fairly shone with joy as I leaped from my horseand took her hands.
"So you like my surprise, girl?" said her father, as he kissed herblushing face.
For answer she tore herself away, and ran through the hall to the broadporch in front.
"Our barrister is come, mother," we heard her exclaiming, "and whom doyou think he has brought?"
"Is it Richard?" asked the gentler voice, more hastily than usual.
I stepped out on the porch, where the invalid sat in her armchair. Shewas smiling with joy, too, and she held out her wasted hands and drew metoward her, kissing me on both cheeks.
"I thank God for His goodness," said she.
"And the boy has come to stay, mother," said her husband, as he stoopedover her.
"To stay!" cries Patty.
"Gordon's Pride is henceforth his home," replied the barrister. "And nowI can return in peace to my musty law, and know that my plantation willbe well looked after."
Patty gasped.
"Oh, I am so glad!" said she, "I could almost rejoice that his unclecheated him out of his property. He is to be factor of Gordon's Pride?"
"He is to be master of Gordon's Pride, my dear," says her father,smiling and tilting her chin; "we shall have no such persons as factorshere."
At that the tears forced themselves into my own eyes. I turned away,and then I perceived for the first time the tall form of my old friend,Percy Singleton.
"May I, too, bid you welcome, Richard," said he, in his manly way; "andrejoice that I have got such a neighbour?"
"Thank you, Percy," I answered. I was not in a state to say much more.
"And now," exclaims Patty, "what a dinner we shall have in theprodigal's honour! I shall make you all some of the Naples biscuit Mrs.Brice told me of."
She flew into the house, and presently we heard her clear voice singingin the kitchen.
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