by James Payn
CHAPTER XVIII.
FOUND.
Now, when Marmaduke junior, who was named also Peter, to mark the regardwhich both its parents had for my poor self, became of the ripe age offourteen weeks or so, and the spring had so far advanced upon the summeras to admit of open-air rejoicings, it was determined that the advent ofthe heir of Fairburn should be celebrated with all due honour. Thiswould have been done before, for Lady Heath had soon recovered herstrength, and the child was reported to be a miracle of health andplumpness, had it not been for the backwardness of the season. The Hallhad, of course, made merry upon the matter long ago, and if all thepoor in the place had not done so, it was from no want of materials inthe way of creature-comfort supplied by the young Squire. But whatMarmaduke had waited for was settled fine weather, in order that theChase might be filled by merrymakers, whose happiness should cleanse itfrom all memories of woe and wrong. Much of these, it is true, had beeneffaced already; a portion of the Park had been given up to thevillagers for cricket and other sports, a grant common enough now, butone almost unexampled in those days, and the right of way which SirMassingberd had spent so many hundreds in opposing, had been voluntarilysurrendered. Oliver Bradford still retained his office, but being almostbedridden, inspired less terror than of yore among evil-doers; this wasnot so much to be regretted, however, since there was now little want,and therefore few poachers in Fairburn, while the general popularity ofthe young Squire lessened even those. I am afraid that if the new ownerhad heard a gun discharged at night in the Home Spinney itself, it isdoubtful whether he would have laid down his book, or hesitated morethan usual in his vain attempt to checkmate his wife at chess, in orderto listen for the second barrel. The terror of the Lost Baronet had longbeen fading from his old domain; and upon this occasion, when old andyoung were all invited to make holiday in those once almost unknownretreats of hare and deer, there was no urchin but was determined--by nomeans single-handed, however--to explore them thoroughly. The veryWolsey Oak which the ravens had made their quarters was not shunned, butin the great space about it, races were run, and dances danced, and itsvast trunk was made the very headquarters of childish merriment. Theseyoung folks did not affect the company of their elders, except when thegongs gave signal from the various marquees that there was food afoot,when they flocked to meet their parents at the heaped-up boards with adutiful celerity. The higher class of tenantry were upon the lawn, andamong them mixed with stately condescension a goodly number of thecounty aristocracy. I remember that some of the latter introduced uponthis occasion the new dance called the quadrille, which had just arrivedfrom Paris at that time. It had come over in the bad company of thewaltz; but that lively measure was held to be too indecorous to beimported to Fairburn under its new _regime_. Everybody, when out ofearshot of the host and hostess, was talking about the change that hadtaken place in this respect.
"How odd this all seems," quoth Squire Broadacres to his neighbour, Mr.Flinthert, heir of the late lamented admiral. "None of _us_, I suppose,have been at the Hall here for this quarter of a century."
"Ay, that at least," quoth the other. "Of course, it is a great matterto see people in the Heaths' position properly conducted as to morals.But I doubt whether this young fellow may not go astray in another andeven a still more dangerous direction. They say his politics are, dearme, shocking."
"Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Broadacres. "It isn't in the Heath bloodto be radical. But his wife, she rules the roost, you see--and adevilish pretty woman too; I could find it in my heart to forgive heranything."
"But that fellow, Harvey Gerard, her father--why, he's a downright_sans-culotte_, sir."
"The Gerards are bound to be, my dear sir," returned the jolly squire."All these things are a question of family; it's nothing but that. I amtold there is some French blood in him."
"We want nothing of that sort down in Midshire," responded Mr.Flinthert, shaking his head.
"But we have got it, you see, my friend, and therefore we must make thebest of it. It was all very well to ignore Gerard while he was anew-comer at the Dovecot, although, mind you, he was always a gentleman,every inch of him, notwithstanding his queer opinions; but now that heis become so nearly connected with Sir Marmaduke, and living at the Hallhalf his time, why, the county must make up its mind to receive him."
"I shall let him perceive, however, that it does so--so far at least asI am concerned--upon sufferance, and, as it were--what is the word?--ay,vicariously."
"Very good," observed Mr. Broadacres, dryly. "I am not quite clear as toyour meaning; but if you intend to put Harvey Gerard down, I do notthink you will meet with any very triumphant success. Why, SirMassingberd here, who would have grappled with the devil, was tripped upand thrown by this man with the greatest ease."
"Nevertheless, I shall give him the cold shoulder," observed Mr.Flinthert, stiffly; "although I shall studiously avoid being rude."
"Faith, I would recommend your doing that, my friend," laughed the jollySquire. "If you turned your back upon Harvey Gerard instead of yourshoulder, my belief is that he'd kick you."
"That he'd do what?" exclaimed Mr. Barnardistone Flinthert, latehigh-sheriff and present magistrate and _custos rotulorum_ of Midshire.
"That he'd take advantage of the opportunity, that's all," returned Mr.Broadacres, quietly. "No, no, sir, with a man like Gerard, all goodTories should keep on good terms. One can't hang him, you know, like aradical tailor, and therefore it's quite worth while to make ourselvesappear to the best advantage. A stupid slight to a clever man has oftendone more harm to the cause of good government than a whole regiment ofdragoons can remedy."
"Oh curse his cleverness!" responded Mr. Flinthert, savagely. "I'm forno such milk-and-water measures. I think it's the duty of somebody totell young Marmaduke----"
"Well, say it _yourself_," interrupted Mr. Broadacres.
"It's a positive duty, I say, that somebody should go to the baronet,and tell him frankly that all this leniency to poaching fellows, andliberty to the rabble, cannot but lead to harm. 'You're a young man,' heshould be told, 'and don't understand these things; but that is theopinion of the county, and it behoves you to know it.'"
"That would do more harm than good, Mr. Flinthert. You may depend uponit that Marmaduke Heath thinks for himself in these matters,notwithstanding that I dare say Gerard and his pretty daughter have hadsome influence. The young fellow naturally goes exactly counter to allthat his uncle did before him. This holiday-making and mixture of highand low here, are themselves enough to make Sir Massingberd turn in hisgrave."
"Ay, if he _is_ in his grave," responded Mr. Flinthert, darkly. "But whoknows whether he may not turn up some day after all; tell me that."
"I can't tell you that," responded Mr. Broadacres; "but I'll bet you tenguineas to one that he never does."
"Ay, but if he did!" replied the other, gloomily. "If he was to appearthis very day, for instance, what a scene it would be--what a revolutionfor some people!"
"Well, if he did, he'd find the property greatly improved--except thatthat right of way has been reopened through the Park; all his thievingservants dismissed; all his debts settled; and his mad gipsy wife amplyprovided for, and well content, I am told, among her vagabond friends."
Conversations somewhat similar to the above were being held all over thelawn, for its denizens were not, like the lower classes, so bent uponmere physical enjoyment as to be dead to the delights of scandal. Butwhen the great bell rang for their afternoon repast, which was to bepartaken of in one enormous tent, and at one gigantic table, the upperpart of which was reserved for the gentlefolks, such talk was hushed, ofcourse, and congratulations of host and hostess and the infant heir wasthe only wear for every countenance. Not a word about the uncertainty ofSir Marmaduke's tenure of Fairburn was whispered over the good cheer, ora suggestion hazarded regarding the last proprietor's possiblereappearance. Far less, we may be certain, was any hint at such matterslet fall when the health of the future Sir Peter--two gene
rations fromSomebody, and not to be associated with him upon any account--wasproposed by Mr. Broadacres, and drunk with a genuine enthusiasm thatbrought the tears into his mother's eyes, who with many a fair countydame graced the banquet as spectators. Then Mr. Long rose up and spokeof Marmaduke as one whom he had known and loved from his youth up, andthe cheering rose tumultuous (but especially at the tenants' table,because they knew him best), and was heard afar by the peasantry whowere dining likewise elsewhere, and who joined in it uproariously,although they had already paid due honours to their lord; so that allthe Park was filled with clamour. To both these toasts, Sir Marmaduke,aglow with happiness and excitement, the handsomest man by far in thatgreat company, with a grateful smile upon his student lips, gaveeloquent response.
But when Lucy's health was proposed by Mr. Arabel, who dwelt, in homelybut fitting terms, upon her total lack of pride, her kindliness to allthat needed help, her beauty, which was sunshine to them all, then theyoung Squire lost his self-command. He rose to speak with evidentembarrassment; he saw herself before him, watching him with eyes thathad plenty of pride for _him_ in them, and listening for his words asthough his tongue dropped jewels; he knew that he could not contradictone word of praise that had been showered upon her, he could notmitigate in modesty a single phrase of her eulogium, because it was alltrue, and none but he knew how much more she was deserving of. "While hestood there silent for a moment, but radiant with lips just parting forhis opening sentence, there was a commotion at the far end of the tent.With that mysterious swiftness wherewith ill news pervades the minds ofmen, all knew at once some terrible occurrence had taken place. Severalof the tenants rose, as if to intercept some person coming up towardsthe upper table, but others cried, "Go on, it must be told." For aninstant, Lucy's glance flashed round to see that her child was safe inits nurse's arms, then made her way swiftly and silently to herhusband's side. Before she reached it, before the man who bore thetidings could get nearly so far, the whisper had gone round, "SirMassingberd is found."
I shall never forget Marmaduke's face when he heard those words: hiscolour fled, his eyes wandered timidly hither and thither, his lipsmoved, but no sound came from them. At the touch of his wife's hand uponhis arm, however, a new life seemed to be instilled into him, and as avillage boy came forward bearing a rusty something in his hand, hestretched his hand out for it, murmuring, "What is this? Why do youbring this to me?" The boy was bashful, and gave no answer; but FarmerArabel stepped forward very gravely, and spoke as follows:--
"Why, Mr. Marmaduke, you see," he said, unconsciously reserving thetitle for the man he had in his mind, "that is the life-preserver SirMassingberd always went about with in his woods at night; I know it bythe iron ring by which a leathern strap fastened it round his wrist.Where did you find it, eh, boy?"
"Well, sir, we was a-playing at Hide--me and Bill Jervis, and HarryJones, and a lot of us--and the Wolsey Oak was Home. So while it was theother side's turn to hide, and we was waiting for them to cry "Whoop,"we began to knife the tree a bit, to pass the time; and digging away atthe bottom of the trunk, we made a hole, and presently came upon thehead of this thing here, and dragged it out. Then we made a bigger hole,and please, sir, there was great big bones, and we couldn't pull themthrough. Then we was frightened, and called to Jem Meyrick, the keeper,as was in the booth close by; and he climbed up to the fork of the tree,and cried out that the Wolsey Oak was hollow, and there was a skeletonin it, standing up; and they do say as it's Sir Massingberd."
While the boy was yet speaking, a knot of men came slowly up from thedirection of the Oak, bearing something among them, and followed at alittle distance by a vast crowd, all keeping an awful silence. When theygot near the opening of the tent, they set their ghastly burden downupon the lawn; and we all went forth to look at it, including Marmadukehimself, with a face as pale as ashes, and clutching Lucy by the hand,as though he feared some power was about to tear her from him. I heardher whisper to him, "This may not be Lost Sir Massingberd after all."
Dr. Sitwell heard her also, and at once officiously replied: "Oh, but itis, my lady; there has no man died in Fairburn for these thirty years,except the late baronet, who could have owned those bones. I will pledgemy professional reputation that yonder man, when clothed in flesh andblood, was six feet four. What a large skull, and what giganticthigh-bones!"
"Ay," quoth Mr. Remnant, the general dealer, who was kneeling downbeside the skeleton and examining it with minuteness, as though it hadbeen offered to him for sale, "here is something hard and dry, with ironnails upon it, which was once a shooting-shoe, one of a pair, or I ammuch mistaken, which I sold to Sir Massingberd myself."
"And, here," quoth Jem Meyrick, stepping forward, "is summat as I thinkmust have been the Squire's great gold chain, which I found at thebottom of the trunk. The Wolsey Oak is quite hollow, Sir Marmaduke,although none of us knew it. It is my belief that Sir Massingberd musthave climbed up into the fork to look about him, for he seemed to beexpecting poachers on that night, and that the rotten wood gave waybeneath him, and let him down feet foremost into the trunk."
Without doubt, this was the true explanation of the matter. The skeletonwas found with the arms above the head, a position which had precludedself-extrication, although it was evident that the wretched man hadmade great efforts to escape from his living tomb, since what remainedof the shoe of the right foot was much turned up, and retained deepmarks of the pressure of the buckle. As I looked at these relics ofhumanity, the gipsy's curse recurred to my mind with dreadfuldistinctness: "_May he perish, inch by inch, within reach of the aidthat shall never come, ere the God of the poor take him into his hand_."
It was a singular feature in the case, and one which was of course madeto point its moral among the villagers, that had Sir Massingberd notclosed the Park, and refused the right of way, he could scarcely havethus miserably perished, since the footpath, as I have said, absolutelyskirted the tree in question; and people would have passed close by itat all hours. It reminded me of the evil fate of James I. of Scotland,who might have escaped his murderers in the Blackfriar's Abbey at Perth,but for the simple fact that he had caused the mouth of a certain vaultto be bricked up, because his tennis-balls were wont to roll through it.How long the wretched Squire had suffered before Death released him fromhis fangs, it was impossible to guess, or whether that terrible cryheard by Dick Westlock that same night, and by myself next morning, wasindeed from the throat of Sir Massingberd in his agony.
We were the two persons who had been nearest to the Wolsey Oak betweenthe period of his entombment and the search instituted throughout theChase. He must have been dead before _that_, for the seekers passedclose beside the tree without the least suspicion of the ghastly Thingit held; unless, indeed, he had heard our voices, but, choked by thattime: by the falling dry-rot, was unable to reply. No wonder the ravenshad sought the Wolsey Oaky and croaked forth Doom therefrom so long!
CHAPTER XIX.
L'ENVOI.
Weeks elapsed before Marmaduke Heath recovered from the shock of thisdiscovery; but when he once began to do so, he grew up to be quiteanother man in body and mind.
It was only by this change--when we saw him so strong and cheerful--thatwe got to estimate how powerful had been that sombre influence which hadso long overshadowed him, and what great exertion it must have cost himto let it appear to us so little. The uncertainty of his tenure inFairburn Hall had secretly affected him very deeply, in spite of thewand of the good fairy. He went to France for a little trip with hisfather-in-law, for a thorough change, and there it was he had that duelthrust upon him of which we have incidentally made mention; let us notjudge him harshly in that matter, for men of his day were as wanting inmoral courage as they were ignorant of physical fear. Yet what arisk--ay, and what a selfish risk--he ran therein, let alone theunchristian wickedness of that wicked adventure!
He never dared to reveal to Lucy what he had done; but he confessed itto Harvey Gerard, who rebuked him roundly for the crim
e; observing,however, to myself, not without some pride, that he had always averredMarmaduke was a fine fellow, and entertained a proper contempt for allbullies and scoundrels. The young baronet acted weakly, doubtless; butthe duellist's blood was surely upon his own head. At all events, thatwas the view Marmaduke himself took of the matter, and there was now nota happier man in all Midshire than he; discharging the duties of hisrank and position in a manner that won the applause of all hisneighbours, sooner or later--although Mr. Flinthert's applause came verylate indeed.
Year after year, I was a frequent guest at Fairburn Hall, and never setfoot in a house with inmates more blessed in one another. Year by year,Lucy seemed to grow in goodness, and even, as it seemed to me, inbeauty. I saw her last with silver hair crowning her still unwrinkledbrow; and since that day no fairer sight has met these failing eyes.
Death has long released the noble soul of Harvey Gerard, but his name isborne not unworthily by a grandson as fearless as himself, and after itthe hard-won letters V.C. In a sunny spot in the little church-yard atFairburn lies my dear old tutor--far from the iron rails which enclosethe bones of the long-missing baronet.
Sir Peter...--But why should I further speak of death, and make paradeof loss and change?--an old man like me should, having told his tale, besilent, and not court stranger ears to "gain the praise that comes toconstancy."
The last time I saw Fairburn, it lay in sunshine. There was no trace ofthat bad man whose deeds once overshadowed it, save that in one greatspace, close to the public footway through the park, there was a vastbare ring, where grass, it was said, had never grown, although theWolsey Oak, which had once stood above it, had been cut down for fortyyears and more.
The place was cursed, so village gossip told, by Lost Sir Massingberd.This may be true or not. My tale itself may be open to suspicion ofuntruth, and this and that, which have been therein narrated, havealready been pronounced "improbable," "impossible," "absurd." To criticsof this sort, I have only to express my regret that the mission of theauthor has in my case been reversed, and facts have fallen into suchclumsy hands as to seem fiction.
Let me add one extract from the works of an author popular in my youngdays, but now much oftener quoted than perused. He is describing apicture sale attended by the _dilettanti_. A carking _connoisseur_ isabusing some effort of an unhappy artist to portray nature. "Thisfellow," cries he, "has even had the audacity to attempt to paint afly! _That_ a fly, forsooth!" and he flips at it with contemptuousfingers.
The fly flew away. _It was a real one!_
THE END.
