CHAPTER III
With parchments and papers deep on the table before him, Robert Turoldplunged into the history of his life's task. The long hand of themantelpiece clock slipped with a stealthy movement past the twelve as hecommenced, as though determined not to be taken by surprise, but to keepabreast of him.
An hour passed, but Robert Turold kept steadily on. His hearers displayedsymptoms of boredom like people detained in church beyond the usual time.Humanity is interested in achievement, but not in the manner of itsaccomplishment. And Robert's brother and sister knew much of his story byheart. It had formed the sole theme of his letters to them for many yearspast. Mrs. Pendleton's thoughts wandered to afternoon tea. Her husbandnodded with closed eyes, and recovered himself with convulsive starts.Austin Turold fixed his glance on the ceiling, where a solitary fly wascleaning its wings with its legs. From the window Charles Turold presentedan immobile profile. Only Dr. Ravenshaw seemed to listen with an interestwhich never flagged.
Yet it was a story well worth hearing, that record of indomitablepertinacity which had refused to be baulked by years or rebuffs. Men haveacquired titles more easily. That was apparent as Robert Turold relatedthe history of his long and patient investigation; of scents which had lednowhere; of threads which had broken in his hand; of fruitless burrowingsinto the graves of past generations. These disappointments had lengthenedthe search, but they had never baffled the searcher nor broken his faith.
The story began in the fourteenth century, when the second Edward hadsummoned his trusty retainer Robert Turrald from his quiet home in leafyBuckinghamshire to sit in Parliament as a baron, and by that act of kinglygrace ennobled him and his heirs forever. Successive holders of the titlewere summoned to Parliament in their turn until the reign of the seventhHenry, when one succeeded whose wife brought him three daughters, but nosons. At his death the title went into abeyance among this plurality ofgirls. In peerage law they were his coheirs, and the inheritance could notdescend because not one of them had an exclusive right to it. Thedaughters entered a convent and followed their parents to the grave withina few years, the Crown resumed the estate, and the title had remained inabeyance ever since.
But the last Lord Turrald had a brother Simon, a roystering blade andlawless adventurer, who disappeared some years before his elder brother'sdeath. Little was known of him except that he was supposed to have closeda brawling career on the field of Bosworth, when Richard the Crookback waskilled and the short-lived dynasty of York ended.
The Turolds' family deed-box told a different story. There was amanuscript in monkish hand, setting forth, "in the name of God, Amen," thesecret history of Simon, as divulged by him on his deathbed for theinformation of his two sons. In this confession he claimed kinship withthe last Lord Turrald of Great Missenden. But he had not dared to claimthe title and rich estates on his brother's death, because he was aproscribed man. He had been a Yorkist, and had fought for Richard. Thatmight have been forgiven him if he had not unhorsed his future king atBosworth and almost succeeded in slaughtering him with his own recklesshands. So he had fled, and had remained in obscurity and a safehiding-place after his brother's death, preferring his head without atitle to a title without a head.
On this document, unsigned and undated, with nothing to indicate the placeof its origin, the Turold family based its claim of descent from thebaronial Turralds of Great Missenden. But the Turold history was achequered one. Their branch was nomadic, without territorial ties orwealth, without continuance of chronology. They could not trace their owngenealogy back for two hundred years. There was a great gap of missinggenerations which had never been filled in. It was not even known how thedocument had come into their possession. Simon's two sons and theirdescendants had vanished into unknown graves, leaving no trace. But thefamily clung fast to their belief that they were the lineal descendants ofthe Turralds of Buckinghamshire.
It had remained for Robert Turold to prove it. His father and grandfatherhad bragged of it, had fabricated family trees over their cups, and glowedwith pride over their noble blood, but had let it go at that. Robert was aman of different mould. In his hands, the slender supposition had beenturned into certainty. By immense labour and research he built a bridgefrom the first Turold of whom any record existed, backwards across thedark gap of the past. He traced the wanderings of his ancestors throughdifferent generations and different counties to Robert Turold, whoestablished himself in Suffolk forty years after the last Lord Turrald waslaid to rest in his family vault in the village church of Great Missenden.
The construction of this portion of his family tree occupied Robert Turoldfor ten years. There were scattered records to be collected, forgottenwills to be sought in county offices, parochial registers to be searchedfor births and deaths. A nomadic family has no traditions; Robert Turoldhad to trace his back to the darkness of the Middle Ages. It was a notablefeat to trace the wanderings of an obscure family back so far as he did,but even then he seemed as far away from the attainment of his desire asever. There remained a gap of forty years. To establish his claim to thetitle he had to prove that the Turolds sprang from the younger brother ofthe last Lord Turrald, who had allowed the title to lapse for fear oflosing his head if he came forward to claim it.
It did not seem a great gap to bridge after following a wandering scentthrough four centuries, but the paltry forty years almost beat RobertTurold, and cost him five years additional search. It was a lucky chance,no more, which finally led him to Cornwall, but it was the hand ofProvidence (he said so) which directed his footsteps to the churchtown inwhich Dr. Ravenshaw lived. It was there he discovered the connecting linkin the signature of a single witness on a noble charter which granted tothe monks of St. Nicholas "all wreck of sea which might happen in theScilly Isles except whales." To the eye of Robert Turold's faith theillegible scrawl on this faded scroll formed the magic name of SimonTurrald.
For once, faith was justified by its works. The signature was indeed SimonTurrald's; not the younger brother of the last Lord Turrald, but Simon'sson.
Bit by bit, Robert Turold succeeded in fitting together the last pieces ofthe puzzle which had eluded him for so long. Simon Turrald, the brother,had fled to Cornwall, where he had married a Cornishwoman who had broughthim two sons. The elder, Simon, had taken religious vows, and establisheda priory at St. Fair, a branch of the great priory of St. Germain. Theholy fathers of the order had long since vanished from this earth to reapthe reward of their goodness (it is to be hoped) in another world, but theremains of the priory still stood on a barren headland near Cape Cornwall.And there was a tomb in St. Fair church, behind the altar, marked by ablue slab, with an indent formerly filled by a recumbent figure. On theblue slab was a partly obliterated inscription in monkish Latin, whichyielded its secret to him, and divulged that the remains beneath werethose of Father Simon of St. Fair.
With this important discovery to help him, Robert Turold had very littledifficulty in completing the particulars of the family genealogy. Furthersearch of the churchtown records brought to light that Simon's other son,Robert, left Cornwall as a young man, and after some years of wanderinghad settled in Suffolk. Father Simon, of course, died without family, butRobert married, the family name came to be spelt "Turold," and thus wasfounded that branch of the family of which the last Robert Turold was nowthe head. The family tree was complete.
Such was the substance of Robert Turold's life quest, and the story hadoccupied two hours in telling.
"I have petitioned the King's most excellent majesty to terminate theabeyance in my favour and declare that I am entitled to the peerage," heconcluded. "I have no doubt that my claim will be admitted. I have set outthe facts with great care, and in considerable detail. I have traced aclear line of descent back to Simon Turrald, younger brother of the lastbaron, and there are no coheirs in existence. Ours is the last survivingbranch, or it would, perhaps, be better if I said that Austin and myself,and Austin's son, are the only male members of the family. It is adifficult
matter to give effectual proof of a long pedigree, but my lawyerhas not the least doubt that the House of Lords will admit the validity ofmy claim, and will terminate the abeyance in my favour. The AttorneyGeneral has inspected my proofs, and I am to appear before the Committeefor Privileges next week. In a few weeks at the outside, allowing for theworst of law's delays, I shall be Lord Turrald."
Robert Turold's whole bearing was transfigured as he made thisannouncement. His sound eye gleamed, his shrunken form seemed to expandand fill, and his harsh sallow features took on an expression which wasalmost ecstatic. It was his great moment, the moment for which he hadlived for twenty years, and it compensated him for all his worry, delayedexpectation, fruitless labour, and the bitter taste of the waters ofdespair.
"I shall be Turrald of Great Missenden," he said, and again the expressionof his face showed what the words meant to him.
"Bob! So you've actually succeeded after all!" Mrs. Pendleton steppedquickly across to her brother as he sat regarding his audience from behindhis pile of documents. It was like a sister, at that moment, to slip backto the juvenile name and kiss his elderly face with tears in her eyes.Robert Turold received the caress unmoved, and she went back to the sofa.
"Lord Turrald! It sounds well," murmured her husband, whose ideas weresufficiently democratic to give him a sneaking admiration for a title. Hegazed at his brother-in-law with a new respect, discerning unsuspectedindications of noble blood in his grim visage.
"How do you account for the two forms of spelling your family name?"observed Dr. Ravenshaw. "The House of Lords will require proof on thatpoint, will they not?"
"I shall be able to satisfy them," returned Robert Turold. "The firstRobert Turold reverted to the Norman spelling when he settled in Suffolk.Turrald is the corrupted form, doubtless due to early Saxon difficultieswith Norman names. The Saxons were never very glib at Norman-French, andthere was no standardized spelling of family names at that period."
"It would be interesting to know how the name of Simon came to be bestowedupon the Simon Turrald who fled to Cornwall after Bosworth. The name isBiblical--not Norman. The Normans were pagan, worshipping Woden and Thor,though supposed to be Christianized after Charles the Simple cededNeustria to Rollo."
"Simon was a good mediaeval name in France and was fairly common inEngland from the twelfth century until after the Reformation. It wasNorman, as being that of an apostle, and was never popular among thePuritans."
"It seems a pity that you cannot claim the Turrald estates," put inAustin. "They must have been immensely wealthy."
"It is quite out of the question," replied Robert decisively. "They havebeen alienated for centuries. But it has been part of my life's work toprovide for the upkeep of the title when I gained it. I shall be able toensure my heirs an income of nearly eight thousand pounds a year."
It was Mrs. Pendleton's first intimation of the amount of the fortune herbrother had gained abroad. "Eight thousand a year!" she exclaimed. "Oh,Robert, it is wealth."
"One could live very comfortably on eight thousand a year," remarked herhusband, "very comfortably indeed."
"It's not much to support a title, after the tax-gatherers have takentheir pound of flesh in income tax and super-tax," said Austin. "Robert,with his iron frame, will probably outlive a weakling like myself, but ifhe doesn't I'm sure I shall find it difficult to keep up the title on themoney."
"One word!" said Dr. Ravenshaw, with a quick glance at Robert Turold."This is a barony by writ that you are claiming. Does not your daughtersucceed you if you gain it, and not your brother?"
"No," replied Robert Turold. "The next holder of the title, after me, willbe my brother, and his son will succeed him."
Little Mr. Pendleton looked questioningly at his brother-in-law.
"A similar question was on my lips," he said hesitatingly. "I know verylittle of such matters, but in view of our family's probable entry intothe ranks of the old nobility I have deemed it my duty to make myselfacquainted, to some extent, with the history of the Turrald title andpeerage law. It seems a very complicated business--peerage law, I mean--inthe case of baronies by writ, but I certainly gathered the impression thata sole daughter can succeed, although several daughters are regarded ascoheirs."
"My daughter cannot succeed to the Turrald title," rejoined Robert Turold.The words seemed to be wrung out of him reluctantly.
"It is not for me to question your knowledge--your great knowledge--ofEnglish peerage law, Robert," pursued Mr. Pendleton with a kind of timidpersistence. "But I brought a book down with me in the train in which Iremember reading that the right of a single daughter to succeed to abarony by writ had been well established by the Clifton case and severalothers. I am not precisely aware what the Clifton case is, but I've nodoubt that you are well versed in the particulars of it. As you have noson your daughter has priority of claim over your brother and his son.From what you say I can see that I must be quite wrong, but I'd be glad ifyou would explain to me."
"You have stated the law accurately enough," said Robert Turold, "but mydaughter does not succeed to the title."
"Why not?"
Embarrassment, perceptible as a cloud, deepened on Robert Turold's face.He regained his self-control with an effort.
"There was an informality in my marriage," said he at last. "My daughter'sbirth was irregular."
"Do you mean that she is illegitimate?" asked Dr. Ravenshaw.
Robert Turold inclined his head. "Yes," he said.
At this admission his sister bounced from the sofa with a startled cry."So that was why there was no name plate on the coffin," she exclaimed."Oh, Robert, what a terrible thing--what a disgrace!"
"Spare me your protests until you have heard the explanation," Robertcoldly rejoined. "She"--he pointed a hand in the direction of thechurchyard--"was married before she met me. She kept the fact from me. Itwas apparently a secret passage in her life. During our long associationtogether she gave no hint of it. She confessed the truth on her deathbed.In justice to her memory let me say that she believed her husband dead."
Robert Turold told this with unmoved face in barest outline--etched indry-point, as it were--leaving his hearers to fill in the picture of theunhappy woman who had gone through life tormented by the twin demons ofconscience and fear, which had overtaken her and brought her down beforeshe could reach the safe shelter of the grave.
Mrs. Pendleton, whose robust mind had scant patience with the policy ofcowardice which dictates death-bed confessions, regretted that Alice,having remained silent so long, had not kept silence altogether.
"You do not intend to make this scandal public, Robert?" she saidanxiously.
"I am compelled to do so," was the gloomy response.
"Is it necessary?" she pleaded. "Cannot the story be kept quiet--if notfor Alice's sake, at least for Sisily's? You must consider her above allthings. She is your daughter, your only child."
"I agree with Aunt," said Charles Turold. He rose from the window-seat andapproached the table. "Sisily must be your first consideration," he said,looking at Robert Turold.
"This has nothing to do with you, Charles," interposed Austin hastily.
"I think it has," said his son. "You told me nothing about this, youknow."
"I was not aware of it myself," replied his father.
"Now that I know, I shall have nothing further to do with this," continuedthe young man. "I'm not going to help you wrong Sisily."
"I hardly expected such lofty moral sentiments from you," said Austin,with a dark glance.
His son flushed as though there was a hidden sting behind the jibe. Heappeared to be about to say something more, but checked himself, and wentback to his seat by the window.
"Is there no way of keeping this matter quiet, Robert?" said his sisterimploringly.
"I see none," was the rejoinder. "It is a very painful disclosure, but Ithink it is inevitable. Do you not agree with me, Austin?"
"Do not ask my opinion," his brother coldly replied.
"It is for you todecide."
Robert Turold paused irresolutely. "What do you say, Ravenshaw?" he said,glancing round at the silent figure of the doctor. "I asked you to bepresent this afternoon to have the benefit of your advice. I owe much toyou, so I beg you to speak freely."
"Since you have asked my advice," said Dr. Ravenshaw gravely, "I say thatI entirely agree with Mrs. Pendleton. Your first duty is to Sisily. Sheshould out-weigh all other considerations. If you make her illegitimacypublic you may live to be sorry for having done so."
Mrs. Pendleton cast a moist, grateful glance at the speaker, but AustinTurold turned on him a look of cold hostility.
Robert Turold sat brooding for a few moments in silence. He had askedadvice, but his own mind was made up. The humane views of his sister andDr. Ravenshaw were powerless to affect his decision. The monstrous growthof his single purpose had long since strangled such transient plants ashuman affection and feeling in his heart and mind.
"The facts must be made public," he said inexorably. "The honour of anoble family is in my hands, and I must do my duty. It would be an insultto my Sovereign and my peers, and a grievous wrong to our family, if Iconcealed any portion of the truth. I shall make adequate provision forSisily. You will not refuse to take charge of her, Constance, because ofthis disclosure?"
"You ought to know me better than that, Robert. She'll need somebody totake care of her, poor child! But who is to tell her the truth? For Isuppose she must be told?"
"I want you to tell her," said Robert Turold. "Choose your time. There isno immediate hurry, but she must be in no false hopes about the future.She had better be told before the Investigations Committee meets."
"Bother the Investigations Committee!" exclaimed Mrs. Pendleton. "Really,Robert--"
Mrs. Pendleton broke off abruptly, in something like dismay. She had afleeting impression of a pair of eyes encountering her own through a crackin the doorway, and as swiftly withdrawn. She walked quickly to the doorand flung it open. There was nobody outside, and the passage was empty.
"We have been talking family secrets with the door open," she said,returning to her seat. "I thought I saw one of the servantseavesdropping."
"My servants would not listen at doors," said Robert Turold coldly. "Youmust have imagined it."
Mrs. Pendleton made no rejoinder. She had a strong belief that someone hadbeen watching and listening, but she could not be sure.
"We must really be going," she announced, with a glance at the clock."Joseph"--such was her husband's name--"you had better go and see if thecar is ready, and I will go for Sisily. Is she upstairs in her room,Robert?"
"I believe so," said Robert Turold, bending abstractedly over his papers."But you had better ask Thalassa. He'll tell you. Thalassa will know."
Mrs. Pendleton looked angrily at him, but was wise enough to forbear fromfurther speech. She instinctively realized that her brother was beyondargument or reproof.
She went upstairs to look for her niece, but she was not in her room. Shecame downstairs again and proceeded to the kitchen. Through the half-opendoor she saw the elderly male servant, and she entered briskly.
"Can you tell me where Miss Sisily is, Thalassa?" she asked.
"Miss Sisily is out on the cliffs." Thalassa, busy chopping suet with aknife, made answer without looking up. There was something absurdlyincongruous between the mild domestic occupation and the grim warrior facebent over it.
"When did she go out?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, struck by a sudden thought.
Thalassa threw a swift sidelong glance at her. "It might be an hour ago,"he said.
"Do you know where I am likely to find her?"
Thalassa pointed vaguely through an open window.
"Somewhere along there," he said. "Miss Sisily is fond of the cliffs. Ifyou're going to look for her you'd best not go round by the back of thehouse, or you'll fall over, like as not. It's a savage spot, only fit forsavages--or madmen." He turned his back and bent over his chopping boardagain.
Mrs. Pendleton turned away in perplexity, and walked up the passage to thefront door. There her eye fell on the figure of Charles Turold, loungingmoodily over the gate, smoking a cigarette.
She walked down the flinty path and touched his arm. "Would you mind goingand looking for Sisily?" she said. "She is out on the cliffs, Thalassasays." She pointed a hand in the direction she supposed the girl to be.
The young man's moodiness vanished in eager alacrity. "Certainly," hereplied. "I'll go with pleasure." He tossed away his cigarette anddisappeared around the side of the house.
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