CHARLIE’S MISSION.
Early on the next morning, accordingly, Charlie set out for Abingford.
It was with difficulty he escaped a general superintendence of his
toilette, and prevailed upon his mother to content herself with brushing
his coat, and putting into something like arrangement the stray locks of
his hair; but at last, tolerably satisfied with his appearance, and
giving him many anxious instructions as to his demeanour towards Miss
Anastasia, Mrs Atheling suffered him to depart upon his important
errand. The road was the plainest of country roads, through the wood and
over the hill, with scarcely a turn to distract the regard of the
traveller. A late September morning, sunny and sweet, with yellow leaves
sometimes dropping down upon the wind, and all the autumn foliage in a
flush of many colours under the cool blue, and floating clouds of a
somewhat dullish yet kindly sky. The deep underground of ferns, where
they were not brown, were feathering away into a rich yellow, which
relieved and brought out all the more strongly the harsh dark green of
these vigorous fronds, rusted with seed; and piles of firewood stood
here and there, tied up in big fagots, provision for the approaching
winter. The birds sang gaily, still stirring among the trees; and now
and then into the still air, and far-off rural hum, came the sharp
report of a gun, or the ringing bark of a dog. Charlie pushed upon his
way, wasting little time in observation, yet observing for all that,
with the novel pleasure of a town-bred lad, and owning a certain
exhilaration in his face, and in his breast, as he sped along the
country road, with its hedges and strips of herbage; that straight,
clear, even road, with its milestones and fingerposts, and one
market-cart coming along in leisurely rural fashion, half a mile off
upon the far-seen way. The walk to Abingford was a long walk even for
Charlie, and it was nearly an hour and a half from the time of his
leaving home, when he began to perceive glimpses through the leaves of a
little maze of water, two or three streams, splitting into fantastic
islands the houses and roofs before him, and came in sight of an old
gateway, with two windows and a high peaked roof over it, which strode
across the way. Charlie, who was entirely unacquainted with such
peculiarities of architecture, made a pause of half-contemptuous boyish
observation, looking up at the windows, and supposing it must be rather
odd to live over an archway. Then he bethought him of asking a loitering
country lad to direct him to the Priory, which was done in the briefest
manner possible, by pointing round the side of the gate to a large door
which almost seemed to form part of it. “There it be,” said Charlie’s
informant, and Charlie immediately made his assault upon the big door.
Miss Rivers was at home. He was shown into a large dim room full of
books, with open windows, and green blinds let down to the floor,
through which the visitor could only catch an uncertain glimpse of
waving branches, and a lawn which sloped to the pale little river: the
room was hung with portraits, which there was not light enough to see,
and gave back a dull glimmer from the glass of its great bookcases.
There was a large writing-table before the fireplace, and a great
easy-chair placed by it. This was where Miss Anastasia transacted
business; but Charlie had not much time, if he had inclination, for a
particular survey of the apartment, for he could hear a quick and
decided step descending a stair, as it seemed, and crossing over the
hall. “Charles Atheling--who’s _Charles_ Atheling?” said a peremptory
voice outside. “I know no one of the name.”
With the words on her lips Miss Anastasia entered the room. She wore a
loose morning-dress, belted round her waist with a buckled girdle, and a
big tippet of the same; and her cap, which was not intended to be
pretty, but only to be comfortable, came down close over her ears, snow
white, and of the finest cambric, but looking very homely and familiar
indeed to the puzzled eyes of Charlie. Not her homely cap, however, nor
her odd dress, could make Miss Anastasia less imperative or formidable.
“Well sir,” she said, coming in upon him without very much ceremony,
“which of the Athelings do you belong to, and what do you want with me?”
“I belong to the Old Wood Lodge,” said Charlie, almost as briefly, “and
I want to ask what you know about it, and how it came into Aunt
Bridget’s hands.”
“What I know about it? Of course I know everything about it,” said Miss
Anastasia. “So you’re young Atheling, are you? You’re not at all like
your pretty sisters; not clever either, so far as I can see, eh? What
are you good for, boy?”
Charlie did not say “stuff!” aloud, but it was only by a strong effort
of self-control. He was not at all disposed to give any answer to the
question. “What has to be done in the mean time is to save my father’s
property,” said Charlie, with a boyish flush of offence.
“Save it, boy! who’s threatening your father’s property? What! do you
mean to tell me already that he’s fallen foul of Will Atheling?” said
the old lady, drawing her big easy-chair to her big writing-table, and
motioning Charlie to draw near. “Eh? why don’t you speak? tell me the
whole at once.”
“Lord Winterbourne has sent us notice to leave,” said Charlie; “he says
the Old Wood Lodge was only Aunt Bridget’s for life, and is his now. I
have set the girls to look up the old lady’s papers; we ourselves know
nothing about it, and I concluded the first thing to be done was to come
and ask you.”
“Good,” said Miss Anastasia; “you were perfectly right. Of course it is
a lie.”
This was said perfectly in a matter-of-course fashion, without the least
idea, apparently, on the part of the old lady, that there was anything
astonishing in the lie which came from Lord Winterbourne.
“I know everything about it,” she continued; “my father made over the
little house to my dear old professor, when we supposed she would have
occasion to leave me: _that_ turned out a vain separation, thanks to
_him_ again;” and here Miss Rivers grew white for an instant, and
pressed her lips together. “Please Heaven, my boy, he’ll not be
successful this time. No. I know everything about it; we’ll foil my lord
in this.”
“But there must have been a deed,” said Charlie; “do you know where the
papers are?”
“Papers! I tell you I am acquainted with every circumstance--I myself.
You can call me as a witness,” said the old lady. “No, I can’t tell you
where the papers are. What’s about them? eh? Do you mean to say they are
of more consequence than me?”
“There are sure to be documents on the other side,” said Charlie; “the
original deed would settle the question, without needing even a trial:
without it Lord Winterbourne has the better chance. Personal testimony
is not equal to documents in a case like this.”
“Young Atheling,” said Miss Rivers, drawing herself up to her full
height, “do you think a jury of this county would weigh _his_ word
against mine?”
Charlie was considerably embarrassed. “I suppose not,” he said, somewhat
abruptly; “but this is not a thing of words. Lord Winterbourne will
never appear at all; but if he has any papers to produce proving his
case, the matter will be settled at once; and unless we have
counterbalancing evidence of the same kind, we’d better give it up
before it comes that length.”
He said this half impatient, half despairing. Miss Rivers evidently took
up this view of the question with dissatisfaction; but as he persevered
in it, came gradually to turn her thoughts to other means of assisting
him. “But I know of no papers,” she said, with disappointment; “my
father’s solicitor, to be sure, he is the man to apply to. I shall make
a point of seeing him to-morrow; and what papers I have I will look
over. By the by, now I remember it, the Old Wood Lodge belonged to her
grandfather or great-grandfather, dear old soul, and came to us by some
mortgage or forfeit. It was given back--_restored_, not bestowed upon
her. For her life!--I should like to find out now what he means by such
a lie!”
Charlie, who could throw no light upon this subject, rose to go,
somewhat disappointed, though not at all discouraged. The old lady
stopped him on his way, carried him off to another room, and
administered, half against Charlie’s will, a glass of wine. “Now, young
Atheling, you can go,” said Miss Anastasia. “I’ll remember both you and
your business. What are they bringing you up to? eh?”
“I’m in a solicitor’s office,” said Charlie.
“Just so--quite right,” said Miss Anastasia. “Let me see you baffle
_him_, and I’ll be your first client. Now go away to your pretty
sisters, and tell your mother not to alarm herself. I’ll come to the
Lodge in a day or two; and if there’s documents to be had, you shall
have them. Under any circumstances,” continued the old lady, dismissing
him with a certain stateliness, “you can call _me_.”
But though she was a great lady, and the most remarkable person in the
county, Charlie did not appreciate this permission half so much as he
would have appreciated some bit of wordy parchment. He walked back
again, much less sure of his case than when he set out with the hope of
finding all he wanted at Abingford.