The Watchers: A Novel

by A. E. W. Mason

  Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive

  Transcriber's Notes:

  1. Page scan source: https://www.archive.org/details/watchersnovel00masorich

  THE WATCHERS

  THE

  WATCHERS

  A Novel

  BY

  A. E. W. MASON

  AUTHOR OF "THE COURTSHIP OF MORRICE BUCKLER," ETC.

  NEW YORK

  FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

  PUBLISHERS

  _Copyright, 1899_.

  _By Frederick A. Stokes Company_.

  CONTENTS

  CHAP.

  I. TELLS OF A DOOR AJAR AND OF A LAD WHO STOOD BEHIND IT.

  II. DICK PARMITER'S STORY.

  III. OF THE MAGICAL INFLUENCE OF A MAP.

  IV. DESCRIBES THE REMARKABLE MANNER IN WHICH CULLEN MAYLE LEFT TRESCO.

  V. THE ADVENTURE IN THE WOOD.

  VI. MY FIRST NIGHT UPON TRESCO.

  VII. TELLS OF AN EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENT IN CULLEN MAYLE'S BEDROOM.

  VIII. HELEN MAYLE.

  IX. TELLS OF A STAIN UPON A WHITE FROCK AND A LOST KEY.

  X. IN WHICH I LEARN SOMETHING FROM AN ILL-PAINTED PICTURE.

  XI. OUR PLANS MISCARRY UPON CASTLE DOWN.

  XII. I FIND AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND.

  XIII. IN THE ABBEY GROUNDS.

  XIV. IN WHICH PETER TORTUE EXPLAINS HIS INTERVENTION ON MY BEHALF.

  XV. THE LOST KEY IS FOUND.

  XVI. AN UNSATISFACTORY EXPLANATION.

  XVII. CULLEN MAYLE COMES HOME.

  XVIII. MY PERPLEXITIES ARE EXPLAINED.

  XIX. THE LAST.

  THE WATCHERS

  CHAPTER I

  TELLS OF A DOOR AJAR AND OF A LAD WHO STOOD BEHIND IT

  I had never need to keep any record either of the date or place. Itwas the fifteenth night of July, in the year 1758, and the place wasLieutenant Clutterbuck's lodging at the south corner of BurleighStreet, Strand. The night was tropical in its heat, and though everywindow stood open to the Thames, there was not a man, I think, who didnot long for the cool relief of morning, or step out from time to timeon to the balcony and search the dark profundity of sky for the firstflecks of grey. I cannot be positive about the entire disposition ofthe room: but certainly Lieutenant Clutterbuck was playing at ninepinsdown the middle with half a dozen decanters and a couple of silversalvers; and Mr. Macfarlane, a young gentleman of a Scottish regiment,was practising a game of his own.

  He carried the fire-irons and Lieutenant Clutterbuck's sword under hisarm, and walked solidly about the floor after a little paper ballrolled up out of a news sheet, which he hit with one of theseinstruments, selecting now the poker, now the tongs or the sword withgreat deliberation, and explaining his selection with even greaterearnestness; there was besides a great deal of noise, which seemed tobe a quality of the room rather than the utterance of any particularperson; and I have a clear recollection that everything, from thecandles to the glasses on the tables and the broken tobacco pipes onthe floor, was of a dazzling and intolerable brightness. Thisbrightness distressed me particularly, because just opposite to whereI sat a large mirror hung upon the wall between two windows. On eachside was a velvet hollow of gloom, in the middle this glittering oval.Every ray of light within the room seemed to converge upon itssurface. I could not but look at it--for it did not occur to me tomove away to another chair--and it annoyed me exceedingly. Besides,the mirror was inclined forward from the wall, and so threw straightdown at me a reflection of Lieutenant Clutterbuck's guests, as theyflung about the room beneath it.

  Thus I saw a throng of flushed young exuberant faces, and in thebackground, continually peeping between them, my own, very white anddrawn and thin and a million years old. That, too, annoyed me verymuch, and then by a sheer miracle, as it seemed to me, the mirrorsplintered and cracked and dropped in fragments on to the floor,until there was only hanging on the wall the upper rim, a thincurve of glass like a bright sickle. I remember that the noise andhurley-burley suddenly ceased, as though morning had come unawaresupon a witches' carnival and that all the men present stood likestatues and appeared to stare at me. Lieutenant Clutterbuck broke thesilence, or rather tore it, with a great loud laugh which crumpled uphis face. He said something about "Old Steve Berkeley," and smackedhis hand upon my shoulder, and shouted for another glass, which hefilled and placed at my elbow, for my own had disappeared.

  I had no time to drink from it, however, for just as I was raising itto my lips Mr. Macfarlane's paper ball dropped from the ceiling intothe liquor.

  "Bunkered, by God!" cried Mr. Macfarlane, amidst a shout of laughter.

  I looked at Macfarlane with some reserve.

  "I don't understand," I began.

  "Don't move, man!" cried he, as he forced me back into my chair, anddropping the fire-irons with a clatter on to the floor, he tried toscoop the ball out of the glass with the point of Clutterbuck'ssword-sheath. He missed the glass; the sheath caught me full on theknuckles; I opened my hand and----

  "Sir, you have ruined my game," said Mr. Macfarlane, with considerableheat.

  "And a good thing too," said I, "for a sillier game I never saw in allmy life."

  "Gentlemen," cried Lieutenant Clutterbuck, though he did notarticulate the word with his customary precision; but his intentionswere undoubtedly pacific. He happened to be holding the last of hisdecanters in his hand, and he swung it to and fro. "Gentlemen," herepeated, and as if to keep me company, he let the decanter slip outof his hand. It fell on the floor and split with a loud noise. "Well,"said he, solemnly, "I have dropped a brooch," and he fumbled at hiscravat.

  Another peal of laughter went up; and while it was still ringing, aman--what his name was I cannot remember, even if I ever knew it; Isaw him for the first time that evening, and I have only once seen himsince, but he was certainly--more sober than the rest--stooped over mychair and caught me by the arm.

  "Steve," said he, with a chuckle,--and from this familiarity to a newacquaintance I judge he was not so sober after all,--"do you noticethe door?"

  The door was in the corner of the room to my right. I looked towardsit: the brass handle shone like a gold ball in the sun. I looked backat my companion, and, shaking my arm free, I replied coldly:

  "I see it. It is a door, a mere door. But I do not notice it. It isnot indeed noteworthy."

  "It is unlatched," said my acquaintance, with another chuckle.

  "I suppose it is not the only door in the world in that predicament."

  "But it was latched a moment ago," and with his forefinger he gentlypoked me in the ribs.

  "Then someone has turned the handle," said I, drawing myself away.

  "A most ingenious theory," said he, quite unabashed by my reserve,"and the truth. Someone _has_ turned the handle. Now who?" He winkedwith an extreme significance. "My dear sir, who?"

  I looked round the room. Mr. Macfarlane had resumed his game. Twogentlemen in a corner through all the din were earnestly playing puttwith the cards. They had, however, removed their wigs, and theirshaven heads gleamed unpleasantly. Others by the window werevociferating the chorus o
f a drinking song. Lieutenant Clutterbuckalone was near to the door. I was on the point of pronouncing his namewhen he lurched towards it, and instantly the door was closed.

  "It was someone outside," said I.

  "Precisely. Steve, you are not so devoid of sense as your friendswould have me believe," continued my companion. "Now, who will beLieutenant Clutterbuck's timorous visitor?" He drew his watch fromhis fob: "We may hazard a guess at the sex, I think, but for therest---- Is it some fine lady from St. James's who has come in herchair at half-past one of the morning to keep an appointment which hercareless courtier has forgotten?"

  "Hardly," I returned. "For your fine lady would hurry back to herchair with all the speed her petticoats allowed. She would not staybehind the door, which, I see, has again been opened."

  The familiar stranger laid his hand upon my shoulder and held me backin my chair at arm's length from him.

  "They do you wrong, my dear Steve," said he, gravely, "who say yourbrains are addled with drink. Your"--his tongue stumbled over a longword which I judged to be "ratiocination"--"is admirable. Never waslogician more precise. It is not a fine lady from St. James's. It willbe a flower-girl from Drury Lane, and may I be eternally as drunk as Iam to-night, if we do not have her into the room."

  With that he crossed the room, and seizing the handle suddenly swungthe door open. The next instant he stepped back. The door was in aline with the wall against which my chair was placed, and besides itopened towards me so that I could not see what it was that so amazedhim.

  "Here's the strangest flower-girl from Drury Lane that ever I saw,"said he, and Lieutenant Clutterbuck turning about cried:

  "By all that's wonderful, it's Dick Parmiter," and a lad of fifteenyears, with a red fisherman's bonnet upon his head and a blue jerseyon his back, stepped hesitatingly into the room.

  "Well, Dick, what's the news from Scilly?" continued Clutterbuck. "Andwhat's brought you to London? Have you come to see the king in hisgolden crown? Has Captain Hathaway lost his _Diodorus Siculus_ andsent you to town to buy him another? Come, out with it!"

  Dick shifted from one foot to another; he took his cap from his headand twisted it in his hands; and he looked from one to another ofLieutenant Clutterbuck's guests who had now crowded about the lad andwere plying him with questions. But he did not answer the questions.No doubt the noise and the lights, and the presence of theseglittering gentlemen confused the lad, who was more used to the lonelybeaches of the islands and the companionable murmurs of the sea. Atlast he plucked up the courage to say, with a glance of appeal toLieutenant Clutterbuck:

  "I have news to tell, but I would sooner tell it to you alone."

  His appeal was received with a chorus of protestations, and "Where areyour manners, Dick," cried Clutterbuck, "that you tell my friends flatto their faces they cannot keep a secret?"

  "Are we women?" asked Mr. Macfarlane.

  "Out with your story," cried another.

  Dick Parmiter shrank back and turned his eyes towards the door, butone man shut it to and leaned his shoulders against the panels, whilethe others caught at the lad's hesitation as at a new game, andcrowded about him as though he was some rare curiosity brought by atraveller from outlandish parts.

  "He shall tell his story," cried Clutterbuck. "It is two years since Iwas stationed at the Scilly Islands, two years since I dined in themess-room of Star Castle with Captain Hathaway of his Majesty'sInvalids, and was bored to death with his dissertations on _DiodorusSiculus_. Two years! The boy must have news of consequence. There isno doubt trouble with the cray fish, or Adam Mayle has broken the headof the collector of the Customs House----"

  "Adam Mayle is dead. He was struck down by paralysis and never movedtill he died," interrupted Dick Parmiter.

  The news sobered Clutterbuck for an instant. "Dead!" said he, gapingat the boy. "Dead!" he repeated, and so flung back to his noise andlaughter, though there was a ring of savagery in it very strange tohis friends. "Well, more brandy will pay revenue, and fewer ships willcome ashore, and very like there'll be quiet upon Tresco----"

  "No," interrupted Parmiter again, and Clutterbuck turned upon him witha flush of rage.

  "Well, tell your story and have done with it!"

  "To you," said the boy, looking from one to other of the faces abouthim.

  "No, to all," cried Clutterbuck. The drink, and a certain anger ofwhich we did not know the source, made him obstinate. "You shall tellit to us all, or not at all. Bring that table, forward, Macfarlane!You shall stand on the table Dick, like a preacher in his pulpit," hesneered, "and put all the fine gentlemen to shame, with a story of therustic virtues."

  The table was dragged from the corner into the middle of the room. Theboy protested, and made for the door. But he was thrust back, seizedand lifted struggling on to the table, where he was set upon his feet.

  "Harmony, gentlemen, harmony!" cried Clutterbuck, flapping his handupon the mantelshelf. "Take your seats, and no whispering in the sideboxes, if you please. For I can promise you a play which needs noprologue to excuse it."

  It was a company in which a small jest passed easily for a high strokeof wit. They applauded Lieutenant Clutterbuck's sally, and drew uptheir chairs round the table and sat looking upwards towards the boy,with a great expectation of amusement, just as people watch abear-baiting at a fair. For my part I had not moved, and it was nodoubt for that reason that Parmiter looked for help towards me.

  "When all's said, Clutterbuck," I began, "you and your friends are apack of bullies. The boy's a good boy, devil take me if he isn't."

  The boy upon the table looked his gratitude for the small mercy of myineffectual plea, and I should have proceeded to enlarge upon it had Inot noticed a very astonishing thing. For Parmiter lifted his arm highup above his head as though to impress upon me his gratitude, and hisarm lengthened out and grew until it touched the ceiling. Then itdwindled and shrank until again it was no more than a boy's arm on aboy's shoulder. I was so struck with this curious phenomenon that Ibroke off my protest on his behalf, and mentioned to those about mewhat I had seen, asking whether they had remarked it too, andinquiring to what cause, whither of health or malady, they weredisposed to attribute so sudden a growth and contraction.

  However, Lieutenant Clutterbuck's guests were only disposed that nightto make light of any subject however important or scientific. For somelaughed in my face, others more polite, shrugged their shoulders witha smile, and the stranger who had spoken to me before clapped his handin the small of my back as I leaned forward, and shouted some ill-bredword that, though might he die of small-pox if he had ever met mebefore, he would have known me from a thousand by the tales he hadheard. However, before I could answer him fitly, and indeed, while Iwas still pondering the meaning of his words. Lieutenant Clutterbuckclapped his hands for silence, and Dick Parmiter, seeing no longer anyhope of succour, perforce began to tell his story.

  It was a story of a youth that sat in the stocks of a Sunday morningand disappeared thereafter from the islands; of a girl named Helen; ofa negro who slept and slept, and of men watching a house with a greattangled garden that stood at the edge of the sea. Cullen Mayle,Parmiter called the youth who had sat in the stocks, son to that Adamwhose death had so taken Lieutenant Clutterbuck with surprise. But Icould not make head or tail of the business. For one thing I havealways been very fond of flowers, and quite unaccountably the polishedfloor of the room blossomed into a parterre of roses, so that myattention was distracted by this curious and pleasing event.

  For another, Parmiter's story was continually interrupted by intricatequestions intended to confuse him, his evident anxiety was made theoccasion of much amusement by those seated about the table, and he wasinduced on one excuse and another to go back to the beginning againand again and relate once more what he had already told. But Iremember that he spoke with a high intonation, and rather quickly andwith a broad accent, and that even then I was extremely sensible ofthe unfamiliar parts from which he came. His words seemed t
o havepreserved a smell of the sea, and through them I seemed to hear veryclearly the sound of waves breaking upon a remote beach--near in aword to that granite house with the tangled garden where the menwatched and watched.

  Then the boy's story ceased, and the next thing I heard was a sound ofsobbing. I looked up, and there was Dick Parmiter upon the table,crying like a child. Over against him sat Lieutenant Clutterbuck, witha face sour and dark.

  "I'll not stir a foot or lift a finger," said he, swearing an oath,"no, not if God comes down and bids me."

  And upon that the boy weakened of a sudden, swayed for an instant uponhis feet, and dropped in a huddle upon the table. His swoon put everyone to shame except Clutterbuck; everyone busied himself about theboy, dabbing his forehead with wet handkerchiefs, and spilling brandyover his face in attempts to pour it into his mouth--every one exceptClutterbuck, who never moved nor changed in a single line of his face,from his fixed expression of anger. Dick Parmiter recovered from hisswoon and sat up: and his first look was towards the lieutenant, whoseface softened for an instant with I know not what memories of daysunder the sun in a fishing boat amongst the islands.

  "Dick, you are over-tired. It's a long road from the Scillies toLondon. Very like, too, you are hungry," and Dick nodded "yes" to eachsentence. "Well, Dick, you shall eat here, if there's any food in mylarder, and you shall sleep here when you have eaten."

  "Is that all?" asked Parmiter, simply, and Clutterbuck's face turnedhard again as a stone.

  "Every word," said he.

  The boy slipped off the table and began to search on the ground. Hiscap had fallen from his hand when he fell down in his swoon. He pickedit up from beneath a chair. He did not look any more at Clutterbuck;he made no appeal to anyone in the room; but though his legs stillfaltered from weakness, he walked silently out of the door, and in alittle we heard his footsteps upon the stone stairs and the banisterscreaking, as though he clung to them, while he descended, for support.

  "Good God, Clutterbuck!" cried Macfarlane "he's but a boy."

  "With no roof to his head," said another.

  "And fainting for lack of a meal," said a third.

  "He shall have both," I cried, "if he will take them from me," and Iran out of the door.

  "Dick," I cried down the hollow of the staircase, "Dick Parmiter," butno answer was returned, save my own cry coming back to me up the wellof the stairs. Clutterbuck's rooms were on the highest floor of thehouse; the stone stairs stretched downwards flight after flightbeneath me. There was no sound anywhere upon them; the boy had gone. Icame back to the room. Lieutenant Clutterbuck sat quite still in hischair. The morning was breaking; a cold livid light crept through theopen windows, touched his hands, reached his face and turned it white.

  "Good-night," he said, without so much as a look.

  His eyes were bent upon memories to which we had no clue. We left himsitting thus and went down into the street, when we parted. I saw noroses blossoming in the streets as I walked home, but as I looked inmy mirror at my lodging I noticed again that my face was drawn andhaggard and a million years old.