by John Trevena
CHAPTER XIX
REAPING THE HARVEST
It would have been extraordinary, after Teenie's visit, had Nellie notreceived a letter from Sidney, begging her to give him an opportunity ofclearing up the mystery which had so long surrounded Black Anchor Farm.The style and spelling of this epistle moved her to the discovery thatit would be necessary to leave Miss Yard in the hands of Kezia, andreturn to Highfield, for one night only, in order that she mightsuperintend the packing of the furniture; in place of George, who mightquite possibly prove untrustworthy.
She replied, not altogether to that effect, without one thought for theridiculous nature of her expeditionary programme; she could not arriveat Highfield until late in the afternoon, she would be compelled toleave early the following morning, while the packers could notreasonably be invited to work from dusk to sunrise. Sidney could meether at the station if he liked: in fact she thought that might be thebest plan, "As poor old George does not possess a sense of humour."Sidney thought so too; but Nellie in her hurry missed the train. Shewas able to agree with Miss Yard, who could not travel without theobservation, "They ought to do away with railway junctions."
There was no good reason for losing all sense of method upon her arrivalat Windward House. As a methodist, she would have walked calmly indoors,announced to Bessie--who was presumably in charge--that she had returnedto spend one more night in her old bedroom entirely out of sentiment;and then have gone for a walk, in the opposite direction to BlackAnchor, among the moths and beetles, hoping to catch a glimpse of thenew moon. But the sight of that open window, the garish lamplight, thecold apparition of George with a murderous cork in his hand, made herhopelessly unmethodical. Her mind became so entirely disorganised thateverything escaped it, except that stupid necessity of going for a walkimmediately. She flung her bag through the window and fled.
On the way to Black Anchor Nellie succeeded in persuading herself thatshe was, if not exactly discreet, at least as sensible as any otheryoung woman in revolt from the severity of everyday life towards a morepicturesque and imaginative style of existence. She actually made aplan. As it was night, and sufficiently dark for spying, she wouldapproach the farm among the bogs, flit around it like awill-o'-the-wisp, play watchful fairy at the window, act recordingangel at the keyhole, until part at least of the mystery might berevealed. She had no particular wish to discover the secret of Sidney'sfascination, which attracted to him young ladies of superior birth andeducation, but she desired very much to learn something about theseprepossessing damsels; who they were and why they came; and above all itwas her business to ascertain why Sidney spoke like a farmer's boy, butlooked like a farmer's landlord, and wrote like the descendant of a poetlaureate.
"How dark it is down here!" she murmured. "Lucky I know the geography. Iwish I knew my history half as well."
Then it seemed to her that all kinds of light-footed people were leapingover the bogs and jumping the furze bushes; while the moor on each sidetwinkled with teasing eyes of local inhabitants sent out to watch themovements of the spy.
Nellie saw the farm, and knew by the stream of light that all the doorsand windows stood wide open. The trackway beyond was dangerous becauseone window threw a searchlight right across it; but she walked on,having never been taught the art of scouting, and came presently to acolossal figure, carved apparently out of granite, or beaten into humanshape by wind and weather, rising from an unhewn boulder halfway to thesky. This was a wonder of the moor never previously discovered, thoughtNellie; but a moment later she felt certain ghosts were abroad, and thiscolossus was being worshipped by the local inhabitants, dancinginvisibly all over the peat and tussocks: she could detect the smell ofincense, see the smoke rising; any moment she might be compelled towitness a human sacrifice. There was a glow of fire undoubtedly. Againshe fled, while the colossus shook from side to side although there wasno wind.
"How silly of me!" gasped Nellie. "It was old Mr. Brock, sitting on arock--bother the rhyme!--smoking a cigar."
Obsessed by the idea of finding out something concerning this enchantedregion, she went on towards the farmhouse, forced to walk along thelighted trackway because it skirted the edges of a bog, where in fullswing was the season of grand opera and, from a cool green dais, thebullfrog conductor constrained an enormous amount of energy out of hisorchestra--it sounded like Tanhaeuser but was more melodious--althoughthe night-jars and owls did their best to mar the performance out ofprofessional rivalry, while the beetles with their trombones werehopelessly discordant. But soon there were other sounds, far pleasanter;a scuffling in the furze-clad regions beyond; an approach, atrepidation, a capture, and a scream:
"You beast, Sidney! I did think I had hidden myself that time."
"I saw the white ribbon in your hair. You looked out just at the wrongmoment."
"It's my turn to seek now."
"I'm going up to Highfield."
"I don't believe she's coming."
"I'll go and find out anyhow."
"Shall I come?"
"No, you stop at home."
"I won't spoil sport. If you see her, I'll cut off full lick."
"Listen! that was grandfather whistling."
Nellie stood upon the trackway shivering. Behind her old Mr. Brockclosed the pass; in front Sidney was approaching; on the right sidespread the bogs; on the left a jagged wilderness of boulders. From astrategical point of view she was done for. And she had come there tospy! She could only halt in vexation squeezed against a rock untilcaptured, or advance with what little dignity remained to make anunconditional surrender.
"Boots muddy, hair all anyhow, crushed clothes--and caught in thisabominable fashion," she murmured. "In fact I'm so untidy there's just achance he may not recognise me."
She had not the slightest cause for worry. A girl may know when shelooks attractive to other girls; but she seldom realises she is mostfascinating to a man when her boots are muddy and her hair is allanyhow.
There came a rabbit-like scamper up the trackway, and the stampedingTeenie screamed again:
"Oh, I say--you did make me jump! Sidney! Sidney, you ass! Here she is!Here's Miss Blisland! Oh, what a lark!" shouted the child with shamelessand barbaric jubilation.
"Don't talk such beastly nonsense," cried the other voice.
"It is her!" screamed the child.
"Yes, it's me," said Nellie faintly; and all three stood together, in anatmosphere of amazement and bad grammar.
"I thought, as it was such a lovely night--I mean evening--I wouldstroll in this direction to tell you I'm off again first thing in themorning," explained Nellie.
"This is splendid! I was just going to start for Highfield, but this isfar better, as there's no old Drake to waddle about and quack. I washanging about the road all the afternoon. This is Teenie Stanley--mycheeky young sister."
"Your sister! And your name isn't Brock at all!" cried Nellie.
"Run away, kid, and talk to grandfather," Sidney ordered; and thelittle whirlwind whisked round Nellie and departed.
"I did have the idea, but thought somehow it wasn't possible," Nelliewas saying. "You have humbugged everybody, but you never really deceivedme; if you had, I shouldn't be here now. I saw through your Dartmoordialect, and all the rest of it. And I suppose Dorothy is your eldersister?"
"Of course she is."
"And the much-abused Mrs. Stanley--"
"Is my mother who, in spite of local rumour, does not put on localcolour."
"Why ever didn't you tell me before? What was the sense of making such amystery of it?"
"The people in Highfield made the mystery. We didn't want them to knowwe were here."
"Couldn't they see you, stupid?" said Nellie, more cheerfully.
"I mean grandfather didn't want them to know who we are; but I shouldhave let out everything that evening--when you were spiteful--if wehadn't quarrelled. You know, Nellie, you were rather too cross aboutmother, and--and I lost my temper because you wouldn't trust me, and Imade up my mind
you should."
"You are nearly as bad as George Drake," she declared.
"Nearly isn't quite."
"And who are you, please?"
"Oh, we are not of vast importance. My full name is Arthur SidneyStanley. It was a shame to give me such names, as I can't possibly putmy initials on anything. That little beast, Teenie, always calls me ass.We're not exactly paupers, as we own a big share in a number of storesall over the south. There's one at Drivelford."
"I've been in it hundreds of times, and distinctly remember seeing youbehind the counter."
"Don't be horrid. I've never been to Drivelford in my life, but I'mgoing there tomorrow if you are."
"Who is Mr. Brock?" she asked in a great hurry.
"Really my grandfather, and the owner of Black Anchor Farm, also thepatron of the living. Now you know why the vicar condescends to visitus. Brock is such a common name in this part of Devonshire that nobodycould dream he is _the_ Mr. Brock."
"And why did you come here? Why have you lived, like a couple of commonpeople, in this ramshackle place, without housekeeper or servant? Yousimply made the people talk about you. How could they understand acouple of gentlemen pigging it! Your mother and sisters coming herenaturally made a scandal. Even I couldn't believe they were yourrelations, though I was positive you were much better than you pretendedto be. I shall never forgive you for talking to me in Devonshiredialect, though I'm quite willing to forget you had supper one Sundayevening in our kitchen."
"Wasn't it fun too!" Sidney chuckled. "I wanted grandfather to come, buthe drew the line at that. When you know grandfather well--and that'sgoing to be jolly soon--you will guess how enormously he has enjoyed histime here. It was his idea entirely. He loves roughing it, he has spentmost of his life knocking about the world, and he's only really happy ina cottage. He declares luxury and high feeding kill more people than anydisease. It's only the rustic who lives to be a hundred, he says; and,as he means to score a century himself, he takes a spell of living likea rustic occasionally. He could never get a satisfactory tenant for thisplace, so he told father one day he'd made up his mind to show thecommoners what hard work could accomplish on a Dartmoor farm."
"Where do you come in?"
"Just here. I hadn't been very strong since leaving school--crockedmyself rowing--and the doctor said I ought to work in the open air for atime before taking up anything serious. You can't persuade doctors thatfarming is work; they look upon it as a recreation. So grandfathersuggested I should come along with him. Father was willing, but motherwas horrified. I jumped at the idea of course. Grandfather is thegrandest old fellow alive, and I would rather be under him than all thedoctors in the world. He wouldn't have a housekeeper, as he likes doingeverything for himself when he's roughing: besides, a woman would haveseen his papers and letters, and found out who he was; and naturally hedoesn't want the people to know that the patron of the living, andbiggest landowner in the parish, is grubbing in the bogs down here."
"Didn't the scandal make him angry?"
"He has never heard a word of it."
"So that's the mystery!" cried Nellie, feeling rather ashamed ofherself.
"It's jolly simple after all. We are going away before winter, whenthere's a flood four days a week, and a gale the other three.Grandfather owns the place has beaten him. He says a man who tries tofarm on Dartmoor ought to receive a premium instead of paying a rent. Ifit isn't bog, it's rock, and, if it isn't rock, it's 'vuzzy trade.' Andif you do put in a crop, the moles turn it out; and, if the moles don'tturn it out, rabbits, sheep, mice and grubs in millions and slugs intrillions gobble it up completely. Now come and be introduced tograndfather, and then I'll take you home. He is sure to growl at you,but you must stand up to him, and then he'll love you. He likes anyoneto stand up to him. The vicar got the living by contradicting him. Isay, Nellie, don't hurry back to Drivelford."
"Are you aware you have not called me Miss Blisland once?" she demanded,showing no inclination to approach the terrible black grandfather.
"Quite! And are you aware you have never once called me Sidney?"
"I must go back in the morning. Miss Yard will be crazy all nightwithout me. She will think I've been kidnapped," Nellie hurried on.
"She won't be wrong."
"I should like to start at once, though I hate the idea of facingGeorge. I'm a dreadful coward really, and I'm afraid he will think Ihave treated him badly. He knows of my arrival, but I'm quite certain heis not bothering to look for me."
"A kick in the face will do him good," replied Sidney disdainfully.
"He can't take a joke, though he did try to take me, and I'm much thebiggest joke he has ever run against. The truth of the matter is he hasmade up his mind to get back the Captain's furniture, which belongs toMiss Yard now, and he knows the only way he can get it is by marryingme."
"There's grandfather growling! He's telling Teenie to go to bed, andshe's telling him to go himself. That kid never is tired. Now he'schuckling! Grandfather likes to be cheeked."
"I ought to have gone long ago. It must be getting on for midnight."
"And we've got to be up early. I'm coming with you, and you shallintroduce me to Miss Yard, and then I'll take you to my people, and thenwe'll get married--"
"Well, of all the precociousness!" she gasped. "Do you know I'm olderthan you?"
"You can't blame me for that."
"And I expect to be treated with respect. And my father was neveranything more than a very poor curate."
"Well, a curate is a bishop on a small scale, and we are onlyshopkeepers on a large scale. It's funny that poor curates should alwayshave the nicest daughters."
"And I can't forgive you for talking to me like a farmer's boy."
"Then I won't forgive you for saying horrid things, and thinking worseabout my mother and sisters."
"Of course we might forget. But then that wouldn't be enough. So I cannever marry you, Sidney--at least, not until Miss Sophy dies."
"She'll have to be jolly quick about it," said the young man fiercely.
"She is very kind and considerate," Nellie murmured doubtfully; tryingto work out the algebraical problem. If a Giant Tortoise is hale andhearty at five hundred, and a Yellow Leaf is trying to inveigle a MereBud towards the matrimonial altar at ninety-something, what is thereasonable expectation of life of an old Lady who has nothing to diefor?
"All this time," said Sidney, "grandfather is peering at us, whileTeenie is simply goggling. We have got to pass them, and then--thankheaven!--we shall be alone."
"If I let you come with me--" she began.
"As if you could prevent it!"
"Will you stand up to George for me? Will you play the Dragon, and _not_get beaten?"
"Rather! I owe the saint one for his sermons."
But Sidney was not given the opportunity, for, when they reachedWindward House, after wasting an extraordinary amount of time inclimbing the hill, they found the place deserted; but the key was in thedoor, and a note lay on the table. They read it with explosions of sheerrapture.
Why Nellie had returned to Highfield George, for his part, could notimagine; but he considered her conduct on the whole disgraceful, andbegged to remind her that nothing but a satisfactory explanation couldavert a rupture. She, in her selfishness, had supposed, no doubt, hewould either light a lantern and seek to track her footsteps; or sit upand wait until she should be pleased to return. He had no intention ofdoing either of these things. A game of hide-and-seek about theHighfield lanes at dead of night, after a long and fatiguing day, wasnot much to his taste; while the role of henpecked lover, awaiting thereturn of a profligate fiancee to the family hearth, was a part he wasstill less suited for. It was his habit to retire at half past ten. Hehad retired, utterly worn out and exhausted. In the morning he wouldgive Nellie an opportunity for explaining her conduct; and, if theexplanation should prove unsatisfactory, he should seriously contemplateasking her to return all the presents he had given her.
"What has he
given you, darling?" asked Sidney.
"Nothing whatever, dearest."
They had learnt a number of words like that while toiling up the hill.
"But surely, sweetheart, he must have given you something."
"I expect he's thinking of the furniture; but I got that for myself,though he doesn't know how."
Then they made their plans, but George had also made his. His usualhabit was to permit the sun to warm the world before he walked upon it;but on this occasion he had requested Mrs. Dyer to call him early.Nellie, on the other hand, overslept, having nobody to call her, andbeing naturally tired after so much travelling, romance, excitement andhappiness: excellent things but all fatiguing.
She woke with a dream of a battlefield where shells of monstrous sizewere exploding upon every side, each one missing her by inches; nor wasthis surprising for, upon opening her eyes, she soon became aware thatstones were being hurled into the room.
"It can't be Sidney," she murmured sleepily. "He wouldn't wake me soroughly, even though I am late. Goodness--that's a rock!"
It was not Sidney. It was George, as she discovered by one swift glance.He frowned like an artillery man while adding to his stock ofammunition.
"Stop it! You've broken the water jug, and my room is flooded," shecried.
"So I've got you up at last! You threw your bag into my window lastnight, so I throw stones into your window this morning. It's what theycall the _lextalionis_."
"Please go away! I'm not dressed yet," she called.
"I'm waiting to hear your explanation, and I'm going to stand here, inthis very same place where I was first beguiled by your deceitful faceat the window, when you sat and worked a sewing machine, like that ladyin the Bible who got pushed out and trodden underfoot," said Georgewrathfully; for during the night a suspicion of the truth had reachedhim.
"I'd better get it over at once," Nellie murmured. Then she wrappedherself in the quilt and approached the window.
"Here I am!" she said brightly.
"What a nasty, hostile, ungrateful expression. And you ought to be in awhite sheet instead of that scarlet quilt," said George bitterly.
"Well, you shouldn't be so rude as to throw stones at me. They were notpebbles either."
"It's my house and my window. Why have you come back?"
"Because I wanted to."
"That's a woman's answer. Did you give your address to that wickedlittle girl who answers to the name of Teenie?"
"I might have."
"That's another woman's answer. Did that young man who wallows in vicewrite to you?"
"A young gentleman known here as Sidney Brock did write to me."
"That's the sort of confession a woman does make. And you actuallyreplied? You had no shame whatever?"
"I sent an answer."
"Then came!"
"And saw and conquered," she murmured happily.
"What are you muttering about?"
"I suppose you would call them my sins. But, if you speak to me againlike that, I shall shut the window," Nellie replied with spirit.
"I'm blest if she isn't going to argue," George mumbled. "I don't wantto be hard upon you, young woman, but I can't have this sort of thing,"he went on sternly. "You desert my dear old aunt, and come back here,and rush into bad company, and you don't even ask my permission. I'm aliberal and broad-minded chap, but I can't stand that."
"How are you going to prevent it?"
"By asserting myself, by putting my foot down. Here am I working andtoiling for you. I have sent Robert and Bessie away for a well-earnedholiday, and presently vans will be coming for the furniture. It's allfor you. I don't think of myself at all. I'm saving the furniture, andhanding it over to you at great expense, while you are breaking my heartby making appointments with young Mormons in the dark, and going to sucha place as Black Anchor at dead of night, and staying there tillmorning. That sort of conduct makes men commit murder and suicide, andother things they are sorry for afterwards. But I'm not a criminal, andI'm not passionate. I'm practical, and cool, and--and amiable. I havetaken quite a fancy to you, Nellie. Other people don't think much ofyou, but I can see you have good qualities, only you won't show them.Now I want you to tell me why you wrote to young Sidney, and why youmet him last night. Be very careful how you answer, as the whole of yourfuture happiness may depend on it."
"I wanted to clear up the mystery," she said.
"There is no mystery about shameful wickedness. Being about to marry arespectable gentleman, who bears a highly honoured name, upon the lastday of this month--"
"Oh, stop! Do please!" cried Nellie appealingly. "We are only playing.We have been fooling all along, and you must have known it. I was alwayslaughing and teasing--have you ever seen me serious, as I am now?"
"You don't mean to tell me you are trying to get out of it--you are notgoing to keep your promise?"
"What was my promise?"
"That you would marry me on the last day of this month."
"It wasn't put like that. I promised, in fun, to marry you on thethirty-first of September, and, of course, I thought you would have seenthrough that joke long ago."
"I suppose the point of the joke is that you mean to become a Mormon?"
"There is no thirty-first of September. And I am going to become aMormon, if you like to put it that way, for I am engaged to SidneyBrock."
"And I'll tell you what I am going to do," George shouted. "I'm going tojilt you."
"Thanks so much," laughed Nellie.
George stalked out of the garden, and was not seen again until Sidneyand Nellie had departed, and big vans had drawn up beside Windward Houseto the wonder and dismay of all the village. Then he revisited thescenes of his former triumphs and issued certain orders to the packers.After that he hurried off to the town and visited an auctioneer.
Returning to Highfield, he passed behind Robert's cottage, demolishedthe peatstack, and brought to light the musical box, the silvercandlesticks, and all the rest of the purloined articles. These weredeposited in the vans.
A hostile crowd had collected, but George took no heed of anyone; noteven the Wallower in Wealth who sought ineffectually to obtainpossession of the musical box by force and without payment. The unhappyDyer had his eyes opened to the exceeding perfidy of his lodger, but hedared not open his mouth as well.
The following day bills were posted about the neighbourhood, announcinga sale to be held at short notice, in the market hall of the town, ofthe valuable furniture and remarkable antiquities formerly in thepossession of Captain Francis Drake, by order of the Executor of thewill of Mrs. Drake deceased.
"I'm sorry for Aunt Sophy, but she ought to have kept out of badcompany," was George's only comment.
CHAPTER XX
THE GLEANERS
When Bessie and Robert returned to Highfield; when the people discoveredhow the light railway, which originally had been a matter ofelectricity, and then had degenerated into an affair of steam, was infact a proposal of gas entirely; when Windward House remained empty andunswept, with the giant tortoise lord of the manor; and when theniggardly Dyer was attacked on all sides as the confederate of thepublic enemy--there unfortunately existed no genius of the lampcompetent to continue the parochial record from the point where CaptainDrake had closed it. Genii of the lantern undoubtedly did exist, andthese made another story, a kind of fairy tale, which was not toldoutside the village. All the water was spilt near the pump. Nobody tookpart in the revolution which followed, causing an alteration in thelandscape; at least nobody in particular; but there was not a man,woman, or child of destructive age who did not give a hand towards thegeneral rubbing of the lamp. When the furniture failed to arrive at thebanks of the Drivel, and inquiry elicited the fact that all had passedinto the hands of dealers, Kezia fell into a state of melancholy whichnot even her favourite Sunday walk around the cemetery was able torelieve; and when the cruel truth of George's unassailable title toWindward House was broken gently room by room, despondency increasedupon
her to such an extent that she actually paid a visit to theelectric theatre.
Miss Yard laughed merrily at the humorous idea of buying new furniture,and told everybody about her provincial escape from the fire which haddestroyed everything she possessed, and how a young gentleman calledSidney had rescued her from the flames at great personal risk. She wasso grateful that she suggested he might become engaged to Nellie, and hehad done so at once; which showed how absurd it was to say that youngmen of the present day were rude and disobedient. Of course it wasunderstood that the engagement was only to continue during her lifetime.As for Nellie, she breathed a great sigh of relief. The loss of thefurniture might be a serious matter, so far as Kezia's future and MissYard's banking account were concerned; but it meant the total eclipse ofGeorge. He could not show his face either in Highfield or Drivelford; hehad done for himself completely. She refused to listen to Sidney'sproposal of instructing Hunter to institute proceedings.
"By doing nothing we get rid of him for ever," she said.
"Anyhow, we can take action against the people who bought the things,"he urged.
"We shall do nothing of the kind. It would worry the old lady into hergrave; and I believe that's your object."
"I want to punish the brute for bullying you and preaching at me."
"You can't make a thick-skinned creature like George feel anything," sheanswered. "If he were put in prison, he would congratulate himself uponliving free of expense. And if he refunded the money, he would insistupon coming here and living with Miss Sophy. It would be no use turninghim out. He would come back like a cat and make us all miserable. Leavehim alone, and we shall hear no more of him."
She prophesied truly. Those who had been honoured by the society, andsomewhat doubtful friendship, of George Drake were not privileged tolook upon him--or on his like--again. After gathering in his harvest, heretired into the privacy of lodgings, having a sum of sixteen hundredpounds to his credit, and spent a couple of years drinking tea, smokingcigars, and trying to make up his mind whether his landlady's daughter"would do."
This young lady was of a more orthodox type than Nellie. She possessed ahead of golden hair, upon which much time and dye had been expended; hereyes were dull; her countenance was flaming. George secretly admiredthat style of beauty. The young woman could make tea, arrange cushions,fetch and carry slippers, stand in a deferential attitude; she showedunmistakable signs of honesty, and obeyed the call of her motherinstantly; she had no conversation, the possession of which was a giftthat marred so many women; she giggled respectfully when addressed; nordid she shrink from admitting that gentlemen of Mr. Drake's magnificenceunhappily grew scarcer every year.
George became highly delighted with Matilda which, he remarked, was asweet, old-fashioned name, suggesting to him somehow the odour of lilacand honeysuckle. He congratulated himself frequently upon having thrownover that designing young woman, Nellie, just in time; and, at theexpiration of eighteen months of indolence, he informed her--for in sucha matter he disdained all questions--of the social position that awaitedher. She was capable of improvement, he admitted, and no doubt she wouldimprove. Grace she would acquire by watching him. The heavy trampingabout the house might be exchanged for a gentle footfall by the use ofmore appropriate footwear. He begged her to bear these things in mind,and above all never to forget that out of all the women in the world hehad selected her.
Matilda appeared quite satisfied. So did her mother, who was deep indebt, and had no scruples against adding to the burden, when informed byher future son-in-law that his resources were practically unlimited.
"It has just occurred to me I have a property on Dartmoor worth a coupleof thousand," he said in the grand manner, well suited to his wealth andindolence. "I have not been near it for the last two years. It's a finehouse--a beautiful Elizabethan mansion--but it has a somewhat peculiarhistory," he added.
"Is there a ghost?" asked Matilda's mother, who was greatly impressed byeverything George said.
"There are several ghosts," he replied.
"Don't ye ask me to live there then," said Matilda, with her gigglewhich ought to have been illegal.
"Nothing would induce me to go near the place," said George with perfecttruth. "I ought to have sold it long ago, but these little things escapeone's memory. I will dispose of it at once, and buy a cottage, with abit of land. I shall keep bees and prune the rose trees; while you lookafter the poultry and the cow, do the cooking, mind the house, andattend to me."
Matilda was a poor mathematician, but even to her this did not appear afair division of labour. Already she was running up a little accountagainst her future husband. His courtship was not of that vigorous ordershe had a right to expect; his indolence seemed to her a type curableonly by the constant application of a broomstick; his craving for teaand tobacco, unless checked, might easily become morbid. Matildapossessed some wits; not many, but ingenious ones; and, until George wassafely tied to her by matrimony, she was going to pretend she had noconversation.
When George observed that the Dartmoor property had just occurred to hismemory, he intended perhaps to say he had thought of little else duringthe last two years. He had almost succeeded in believing that hisdisposal of the furniture had come perilously near actual dishonesty; bywhich he meant to imply his action had been unbusinesslike and foolish;though he had the satisfaction of knowing that Nellie had been justlypunished for her offences. He had planned to sell, or to let, WindwardHouse immediately; but had reckoned without his cowardly nature, whichconjured up visions of all manner of people seeking vengeance againsthim. Bessie and Robert would be clamouring for his arrest; Kezia mighthave taken her scraps of paper to some solicitor; Nellie might haveplaced the matter in the hands of Hunter; the dreary Dyer might beforced to bring an action for conspiracy to clear his own meancharacter. George had been so terrified by these fancies that, forseveral months, he hardly dared to stir from his lodgings, and could notlook a policeman in the face.
But now that two years had passed, and nobody had tapped him on theshoulder, he decided it would be perfectly safe to emerge from hisobscurity to the extent of communicating with a land agent in Exeter,which city was a satisfactory distance from Highfield, and instructinghim to offer the property for sale by public auction or, should anopportunity arise, to dispose of it at once by private treaty. For sakeof convenience George requested that letters should be addressed to himat a certain post office, as he still thought it advisable to protectthe sanctity of his private residence.
The land agent replied that a sale by auction was generally the mostlucrative manner of disposing of a property, and suggested the despatchof a clerk skilled in valuation to inspect the premises. He mentionedalso that applications for houses in the Highfield district reached hisoffice continually, and he would be pleased to issue orders to view theproperty which by the description appeared a valuable one.
George agreed to everything, but was inclined to lay stress upon theprivate sale if possible, as he did not wish the local inhabitants toknow that the ownership of the house was about to change hands. Includedin the sale, he mentioned, would be a giant tortoise--or the animalmight be offered separately--more than half a thousand years old. Thisreptile, which would appeal alike to animal lovers and to antiquarians,was a fixture with the garden, above which it browsed one half of theyear, and below which it slept for the other half.
Some days passed, during which George became a prey to various emotions.Then came a letter which puzzled him exceedingly. The land agent wouldbe much obliged if Mr. Drake could make it convenient to call at hisoffice in order that certain misunderstandings might be removed. He didnot care to say anything more definite at the moment, as it was quitepossible he had read Mr. Drake's instructions wrongly. If this was notthe case, something very mysterious had happened.
George thought of all manner of things, but above all he suspectedtreachery. If he entered the office, he might find himself trapped; withBessie in one corner, Kezia in another, Dyer in the th
ird, and Nellie inthe fourth; with that notorious oppressor of widows and orphans, Hunterhimself, standing vindictively in the centre; not to mention a horde ofhowling Highfielders outside the office. So he decided to take Matildawith him. It would be a nice outing for the girl. He could send her intothe office to spy out the land; and, if necessary, he could sacrificeher to the violence of the mob.
However, no precaution was required for, upon reaching the office andpeering anxiously through the glass portion of the door, Georgediscovered one clerk sprawling over a desk asleep, and another reading anewspaper. Reassured by these peaceful signs of business as usual, hetold Matilda to go and look at the shops, and to cultivate a gift ofimagination by selecting those articles of dress and adornment which shemost desired; then entered, and asked the clerk, who seemed more capableof action, whether his master was disengaged. The reply beingfavourable, George gave his name, though with less noise than usual, andwas immediately invited to step upstairs and to open the first door thatoccurred. He did so, reproaching himself bitterly for the shamefultimidity which had kept him in hiding for two years, and entirelyconvinced that the purloining of the furniture was a very ordinary andstraightforward piece of business.
But this fine humour was knocked out of shape when the land agent, aftera few preliminary remarks concerning hurricanes andanticyclones--appropriate under the circumstances--remarked courteously:
"In what part of Highfield parish is the property situated?"
"Near the end of the village street, just above the post office,"answered the astounded George.
"So I judged from your description. It sounds a very remarkable thing tosay, Mr. Drake, but--we can't find it."
"What the deuce do you mean?" George stuttered. "Not find it! Not findHighfield House! Why, it's the only gentleman's residence in thevillage. It stands out by itself. It hits you in the eye. It's asobvious as Exeter Cathedral."
"Then you have no explanation to offer?"
"Explain! What do you want me to explain?"
"Why my clerk, also a possible purchaser, both acting on the same daythough independently, were unable to locate the property. And why thelocal residents have no knowledge of its existence."
"Of course, they went to the wrong village."
"There is only one Highfield in Devonshire. I will tell you preciselywhat happened. Upon receiving your instructions, I directed my valuationclerk to go to Highfield and inspect the property. I also displayed anotice in the window. Houses on Dartmoor are selling well just now, asvery few are available, and the district has become highly popular asit is said to be the healthiest part of England. Hardly was the noticein the window, when a gentleman called and asked for an order to viewthe property; and he travelled in the same train as my clerk, thoughneither was aware of the other's existence; nor did they meet inHighfield, as my clerk had left the village--supposing that a mistakehad been made--before the gentleman arrived. Since then several peoplehave inquired after the property, but I had to put them off until I hadseen you. Now, Mr. Drake, surely you can explain the mystery."
"Mystery--there can't be one. There's the house simply blotting out thelandscape! If they couldn't find it they must have been blind andparalysed," George shouted.
"My clerk could see no signs of a gentleman's residence in the village,and when he asked one or two of the inhabitants they knew nothing aboutWindward House. He did not press his inquiry, as he naturally supposedyou had somehow sent the wrong instructions."
"I should like to know what part of the world he did go to," Georgemuttered.
"The gentleman who went to view the property, returned here in a prettybad temper, as he thought I had made a fool of him," continued theagent.
"He too inquired of the local inhabitants where Windward House might besituated, and received the same answer. They either did not know, orwould not tell him."
"Are you making this up? Have you received instructions from peopleanswering to the names of Hunter, Mudge, Dyer, Blisland, Kezia, Brock,to humbug me?" cried George.
"Certainly not, sir," said the agent sharply.
"Then I'm confounded! I don't believe in magic, ghosts, witches, evileye, Aladdin's lamp, or pixies. Have you ever heard of such a thing inyour life? Have you ever known a fine, big, well built, modern residenceto vanish off the face of the earth, together with the ground it stoodon, and the garden around it? Do you believe such a thing is possible?Because, if you do believe it, I am ruined."
And having thus spoken George wiped away the most genuine moisture thathad ever dimmed his vision.
"I cannot offer any explanation, Mr. Drake, but it's certain your househas disappeared. Don't you think the best thing you can do is to gothere yourself and find out what really has happened?"
"I won't go near the place," cried George. "I wouldn't be seen in it.I--I might disappear too."
"Then will you put the matter into the hands of the police?"
"I'll have nothing to do with them either," declared George.
"Shall I go myself and make inquiries of the vicar or some otherreliable person?"
"All right," said George heavily. "It means more expense, but that'snothing to me now. If my house has gone, I may as well go to my lasthome at once. It's no use trying to kick against the powers ofdarkness," he muttered.
So the agent travelled to Highfield and collected a few details fromcertain inhabitants, who did not altogether approve of the localrevolution, but were not going to make themselves unpopular by refusingto take a rub at the lamp themselves. Having learnt so much, it was easyto add to his information by assuming hostility to George and expressingapproval of the punishment which had been meted out to him.
"Mr. Drake said one thing and meant another all the time he wur here,"explained the Dumpy Philosopher. "Us didn't mind that, but when hestarted to treat us as human volks wur never meant to be treated, us hadto learn 'em a serious lesson. His uncle promised to build us a railway,and they do say he left money vor it; but Mr. Drake did all he could tostop it from a-running. American gentlemen come here--a lot of 'em--tomake the railway; but he said us didn't want it, and he drove 'em away,and he wouldn't let 'em spend a shilling. Said they'd come here to buycloam. Said he'd rather see us all starve. Said he'd build the railwayhimself out of his own pocket, and he'd put a big waterwheel atop o'Highfield hill to draw the trains up; though us knew he couldn't, vorthere ain't enough water coming over in summer to draw up a wheelbarrow.Said he'd make Highfield House a station and put a terminus in the backgarden. I don't know what else he warn't going to do, but he wur talkingchildish day by day. And when he'd deceived us more than us could bear,he run away."
"What he done to poor and honest volk don't hardly seem possible," saidthe Gentle Shepherd. "Mrs. Drake left 'en Highfield House, and all thefurniture she left to Bessie Mudge what married Robert Mudge who worksvor Arthur Dyer. They ses she left part of the furniture to Kezia, butBessie ses that part o' the will be so mixed up it can't be hardlylegal. Mr. Drake kept on going away, and coming back again; and one dayhe come back, and drove Miss Yard and Kezia out of the place; and hegoes to Dyer and bribes 'en to send Robert and Bessie away vor aholiday; and when they'm gone he brings up vans and clears out all thefurniture; and he breaks into Robert's house and steals a lot of hisfurniture, what he bought and paid vor wi' his own money; and he sellsthe lot by auction avore us could recover from the shock; and he ain'tnever been seen nor heard of since. And I fancy 'tis the mostdisgraceful deed what can ha' happened since the creation of the world."
"But he couldn't take the house, nor yet look after it, vor us wasn'tgoing to have him back again after the way he'd used us, and us wasn'tgoing to have 'en letting or selling the place neither, and making moneyout of our misfortunes," said the Wallower in Wealth. "He tried to ruinus all, he ha' brought the Mudges to awful poverty, and he ha' prettynear drove the Dyers into the asylum, and he stole a musical box whatha' been in my family vor generations out o' mind. It wur a fine house,sure enough, but 'tis all gone now. Ther
e's nought left but foundations,and there's not much o' them, and you can't see 'em, vor they'm coveredwi' grass. The trees be all cut down, and the shrubs ha' got moved, andthe garden wall ain't there no longer. The house warn't there one day,and gone the next, as some volk say. It seemed to go so gradual that noone noticed it really was a leaving us. Us all knew why it wur going,and how it wur going; but us didn't talk about it much, vor what beeverybody's business ain't nobody's business."
"The youngsters started it," said Squinting Jack. "They smashed thewindows and got inside. They sort o' took possession of the place andplayed there every day. They played at soldiers mostly. One lot o'children climbed up into the roof, and defended themselves wi' tiles andlaths, while another lot attacked 'em wi' doors and window frames. Andwhen they'd finished play, they took home all the broken stuff vorfirewood. That wur the beginning, but in an amazing short time the housebegan to alter; it wur never the same place after the children gotplaying in it. When an old woman wanted wood vor the fire, she just wentvor it; and when any one wanted a new door or window, they knew whereone wur handy. Then one or two started building a cottage, and as thecottages went up Windward House come down. Some mornings us missed a bito' wall what seemed to ha' fallen in the night, but nobody askedquestions, vor us all had a hand in it, but there's no evidence to proveit. You won't find anything worth taking away now, not if you was tosearch wi' a miscroscope. The house didn't vanish away suddenly, not byno manner of means."
"It seemed to me," said the Gentle Shepherd, "as if it melted."
"It vanished in small pieces," added the Dumpy Philosopher.
The Wallower in Wealth had nothing more to say. The giant tortoise hadtransferred itself to his garden, having apparently engaged awheelbarrow for that purpose. Either it was anxious to adopt theWallower in Wealth, or he desired to study its habits in order that hetoo might attain eternal life. Or possibly he was determined to obtainsome compensation for the lost musical box, through the possession of agenuine antique, which might with some propriety be styled the soleremaining item of the Captain's furniture.
The Dismal Gibcat said nothing whatever, although at one time he hadbeen exceedingly loquacious. His was the only voice raised in protestagainst those who pillaged windows and door posts, or flitted atmoonlight with joists and floorings. He publicly rebuked a poor old damewhom he caught staggering homeward with her apron full of laths. Heexplained the law as to wilful damage and petty larceny, and he dealtwith the moral aspect of the matter till all were weary. Finally heannounced his intention of protecting the property of the absentee ownerby taking care of it for him: and he removed at least one half of thematerial and, by judicious guardianship of the same, succeeded indoubling the accommodation of his house.
George had no difficulty in speaking like a whale, but when he tried totalk like a sprat he made a mess of things. Therefore he could not bringMatilda and her mother to understand how a rascally trustee, whose namewas Hunter, had sold his property and made off with the cash. They weresorry but firm; Matilda asserting it cost very little to keep a woman;while her mother pointed out with considerable fluency that matrimonywas always less expensive than breach of promise actions. George gaveway--having a horror of the fierce light of publicity which beats uponlaw courts--and became very melancholy. Nor was he much restored togaiety by the joys of married life; for Matilda rapidly developed a flowof small talk which astounded him; when George ordered her to bring hima cup of tea she prescribed herself a glass of beer; and when he calledfor his slippers she threw the dirty boots at his head and told him toclean them. Matrimony was not all bee-keeping and rose-pruning forGeorge.
Still more tragic were affairs at Drivelford, where Nellie and Sidneyhad come to realise that, for them at least, the married state wasunattainable. Old ladies can be very selfish sometimes, and in thatstimulating atmosphere, which shared with many others the distinction ofbeing the healthiest in the land, Miss Yard grew no weaker daily. Shesuffered from a slight cold last winter, but was all the better for itin the spring. Indeed in merry May-time she made the shocking suggestionthat Sidney should teach her to ride the bicycle.
With such dispiriting examples as the Yellow Leaf, whose longevity wasbecoming a public scandal, and whose conduct was disgraceful, as hewould not be refused his right to wed the youngest grandchild of one ofhis middle-aged connections; and the giant tortoise, who found freshlettuces more luscious than the weeds of his fifteenth century diet; andthe eternal obstacle, Miss Yard, who was continually giving children'sparties because she felt so young herself; with such monuments of senileselfishness before them, Nellie and Sidney did indeed appear condemnedto single blessedness.
But happily, according to the latest report from Drivelford, Miss Yardwas not feeling very well. She was suffering from broken chilblains.
THE END
