"Nonsense, Hartley, she is as quiet as a lamb."
"I'm not so sure of that," said the curate, who looked rather anxiously
at a handsome, weedy grey cob just led round to the front.
His sisters were standing ready to go and make a call, and his brow
wrinkled a little as he noted a peculiar fidgety expression about the
mare's ears.
"Why, Hartley, how foolish you are!" cried Leo. "You stop indoors
reading till you are as nervous as Mrs Berens."
"Eh? Yes. Well, I suppose I am," said the curate good-humouredly.
"But be careful; I'm always a little uncomfortable about strange mares.
Will you have an extra rein?"
"Absurd!" said Leo. "There, you shall be humoured. Tell him to buckle
it lower down."
The girl looked very handsome and animated, and, since the scene in the
wood with Tom Candlish, had been so penitent and patient that her
brother had shrunk from checking her in any way.
The mare had duly arrived, and, apparently bending to her brother's
will, Leo had patiently seen it put in harness--degraded, as she called
it--and as it went very well they were going on the present morning
drive.
Hartley Salis tried to hide his anxiety, and turned to chat with Mary,
who looked rather pale--the consequence of a headache, as she said; and
as he talked he felt more and more between the horns of a dilemma.
Mary did not want to go, he knew. He did not want her to go, but,
paradoxical as it may sound, he did want her to go. For choice he would
have gone himself; but he knew that if he did Leo would look upon it as
distrust--not of her power to manage the new mare, but of her word. For
she had as good as promised him that she would see Tom Candlish no more,
and he felt that he was bound to show in every way possible that he
enjoyed a confidence that he really did not feel. With Mary to bear Leo
company he knew that she was safe, and even that would bear the aspect
of espionage; but the girl had accepted the position, and they were
ready to start.
The trio were on their way to the gate when the new mare uttered a loud
whinnying noise which was answered from a distance. There was the sound
of hoofs, and directly after North trotted up.
Mary drew a deep breath, and her nervousness in connection with her ride
was killed by one greater, which forced her to rouse all, her energies,
so as to be calm during the coming encounter.
"Morning," cried the doctor merrily, as he shook hands with all in turn.
"Going to try the new mare?"
"Yes," said the curate eagerly, while Leo was quiet and distant, and
Mary her own calm self. "What do you think of her?"
The doctor, who, like most country gentlemen who keep a nag, considered
himself a bit of a judge, looked the mare over, and grew critical.
"Well bred," he said, at the end of a few moments.
"Oh! I am glad," said Mary, eager to break the chilly silence that
prevailed.
"I meant by descent," said the doctor merrily. "I don't know how she
behaves."
"Oh!" ejaculated Mary, in a disappointed tone, while Leo looked on
scornfully.
"But she seems quiet?" said the curate anxiously.
"Ye-es," replied the doctor dubiously, as he continued his examination.
"Rather a wicked look about one eye."
"Don't, pray, Dr North," said Leo petulantly. "My brother is quite
fidgety enough about the mare. She is of course a little more
mettlesome than our poor old plodding horse; but a child might drive
her."
"Oh, yes, of course," said the doctor, in a tone which seemed to say,
"But I would not answer for the consequences." Then aloud: "Bit swollen
about that hock. May mean nothing. Nice-looking little thing, Salis."
"I'm glad you like her," said the curate eagerly.
"I did not say I liked her, old fellow," replied North. "I said she was
well bred."
"But you don't think she is dangerous for ladies?"
"Oh, Hartley! How absurd!" cried Leo.
"Dangerous? surely not," said the doctor. "Have tried her yourself, of
course?"
"Well, no," replied the curate. "I have been so busy: but the man has
driven her several times."
"And says she goes very quietly," said Leo pettishly. "Hartley never
has any confidence in my driving."
"Indeed, yes," said the curate, smiling at his sister affectionately.
"I know that you drive well, and are a clever horsewoman. I am only
anxious about your driving a strange horse."
"But Leo will be very careful," said Mary, interposing to end a scene
which was agony to her. "I am quite ready, Leo."
"Yes, let's go," said the latter. "Hartley wants to sell you the horse
at a profit, Dr North," she added banteringly. "Good morning all."
The curate said no more, but handed his sisters into the light low
phaeton, Leo taking the reins in the most business-like manner before
mounting, and then sitting upright on the raised seat in a way that
would have satisfied the most exacting whip.
The mare started off at a touch, with her neck arched and her head well
down, the wheels spinning merrily in unison with the sharp trot of the
well-shaped hoofs.
"An uncommonly pretty little turn-out, old fellow," said the doctor, as
he sat in the saddle watching critically till the chaise turned the
corner; "and your sister drives admirably."
"Yes," said the curate rather dolefully; "she drives like she rides."
"And that's better than any lady who follows our pack of hounds," cried
the doctor. "Now, if I had been anything of a fellow, I should have
cantered along by their side, and shown myself off."
"You would," assented the curate; and his countenance seemed to say, "I
wish you had."
"But, there, I am not anything of a fellow, and I have patients waiting,
so here goes."
He pressed his horse's flanks, and went off in the other direction at a
trot, while the curate, with his troubled look increasing, walked into
the house.
"I suppose the mare's quite safe," he said; "and it pleases her. May
take her attention off him. Poor Leo! It is very sad."
Meanwhile the doctor continued his way till he reached the stocks--a
dilapidated set, as ancient-looking as the whipping-post which kept them
company, and both dying their worm-eaten death, as the custom of using
them had died generations before.
But they had their use still, the doctor's horse stopping short by them,
as if he knew his goal, and his master dismounting, and throwing his
rein over the post before entering a low cottage, with red tile sides
and thick thatch roof. The door was so low that he had to stoop his
head to enter a scrupulously clean cottage room, with uneven red brick
floor, brightly-polished stove, with a home-made shred hearthrug in
front, and for furniture a well-scrubbed deal table, a high Windsor
chair, a beautifully--carved old oaken chest or coffer, and a great,
old-fashioned, eight-day clock, whose heavy pendulum, visible through a
glazed hole in its door, swung ponderously to right and said _chick_!
and then to left and said _chack_!
Empty as the old room was in one respect it was full in another, and
that was of a faint ancient smell of an indescribable nature. It was
not very unpleasant; it was not the reverse; but it had one great
peculiarity--to wit, that of exciting a desire on the part of a visitor
to know what it was, till his or her eye rested upon the occupant of the
tall armed Windsor chair, in which sat Jonadab Moredock, clerk and
sexton of Duke's Hampton, when the idea came that the strange ancient
odour must be that of decay.
"Well, old chap, how are we this morning?" said the doctor cheerily.
The red-eyed, yellow-skinned, withered old man placed his hands on the
arms of his chair, raised himself an inch or two, gave his head a bob,
and subsided again, as he shook his head.
"Bad, doctor--mortal bad; and if you goes away again like that you'll
find me dead and buried when back you comes."
"Nonsense, Moredock; there are years upon years of good life in you
yet."
"Nay, doctor, nay," moaned the old fellow.
"But I say yes. Why, you're only ninety."
"Ninety-three, doctor--ninety-three, and 'most worn out."
"Nonsense; there's a deal of work to be got out of you yet. Had your
pipe?"
"Pipe? No. How can a man have a pipe who has no tobacco?"
"Ah well, never mind," said the doctor, "I've brought you some physic."
"Then I won't take it," cried the old man angrily. "I won't take it,
and I won't pay for it, not a penny."
"Wait till you're asked," said the doctor drily, as he threw a packet of
tobacco in the old fellow's lap. "There's your medicine. Now say you
will not take it if you dare."
The old man's red-rimmed eyes twinkled at the sight of the shredded-up
weed, around which his hand closed like the claws of a hawk. Then
rising slowly, he took down from the chimneypiece a curious-looking old
tobacco-box, which seemed as if it had been hammered out of a piece of
sheet lead, and began to stuff the tobacco in.
"Where did you get that leaden box? Moredock?" said the visitor.
"I--I made it," said the old man, with a furtive look.
"Made it! I thought as much. Coffin lead, eh?"
"Never you mind about that, doctor. I found the lead when I was
digging."
"And did you find that oak chest when you were digging, you old rascal?"
"Nay, nay, nay, that's nowt to do wi' you, doctor. Physic's your
business, and not bits o' furnitur' in people's houses."
"Ah, well, we won't quarrel about that, Moredock; only I've taken a
fancy to that old chest. I'll buy it of you."
"Nay, you won't, doctor; it isn't for sale."
"Then leave it to me in your will."
"Nay, and I shan't do that. It's for my grandchild, Dalily, who's up
yonder at the Rectory, you know--her as had the measles when she was
seventeen."
"Ah, yes, I know--the dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked hussy. Lucky girl to
inherit that chest."
"Ay, but I don't know as she'll get it, doctor. Hussy! Yes, that's it.
That's what she is, and if I see her talking to young Squire Luke
Candlish's brother, Tom Candlish, again, she shan't have the chest."
"Then I'll set Tom Candlish to talk to her again, and then you'll leave
it to me."
"Nay, you won't, doctor. I know you better than that. But he's a bad
'un. So's the squire. They're both bad 'uns. I know more about 'em
than they think, and if Squire Luke warn't churchwarden, I could say a
deal."
"And you will not?" said the doctor. "Well, I must be going. I say,
though, did you get me that skull?"
"Nay, nay, nay," said the old man, shaking his head, as he lit his pipe,
and began smoking very contentedly, with his eyes half closed. "I
couldn't get no skulls, doctor. It would be sackerlidge and
dessercation, and as long; as I'm saxton there shall be nothing of that
kind at Duke's Hampton. Bowdles doos it at King's Hampton: but no such
doings here."
"But I want it for anatomical purposes, my good man."
"Can't help it, sir. I couldn't do it."
"Now what nonsense; it's only lending me a bone."
"You said sell it to you," said the old man sharply.
"Well, sell it. I'll buy it of you."
"Nay, nay, nay. What would Parson Salis say if I did such a thing?
He'd turn me out of being saxton, neck and crop."
"Ah, well, I won't worry you, old fellow; and I must go now."
"Nay, don't go yet, doctor," cried the old man querulously. "You
haven't sounded me, nor feeled me, nor nothing."
"Haven't I given you some comforting medicine?"
"Yes, doctor; bit o' 'bacco does me good; but do feel my pulse and look
at my tongue."
"Ah, well, let's look," said the doctor, and he patiently examined
according to rote. "It's Anno Domini, Moredock--Anno Domini."
"Is it, now, doctor? Ah, you always did understand my complaint. If it
hadn't been for you, doctor--"
"We should have had a new sexton at Duke's Hampton before now, eh?"
"Yes, doctor," said the old man, with a shudder.
"Well, without boasting, old chap, I think I did pull you through that
last illness."
"Yes, doctor, you did, you did; and don't go away again. You were away
seven days--seven mortal days of misery to me."
"Oh, but you're all right," said the doctor, looking curiously at the
old man.
"Nay, nay, nay. I thought I should have died before you come back,
doctor; that I did."
"But you're better now."
"Yes, I'm better now, doctor. I feel safer-like, and I've got so much
to do that I can't afford to be ill."
"And die?"
"Nay, nay, nay; not yet, not yet, not yet, doctor!"
"Ah, well, I'm glad I do you good, Moredock; but I think you might have
lent me that skull."
"You said sell, doctor," cried the old man.
"Of course I should have paid you. But I suppose I must respect your
scruples."
"Ay, do, doctor, and come oftener. Anno Domini, is it?"
"Yes."
"'Tain't a killing disease, is it, doctor?"
"Indeed but it is, old fellow. But, there, I'll come in now and then
and oil your works, and keep you going as long as I can."
"Do, doctor, do, please. I shall feel so much safer when you've been."
"All right. Good-day, Moredock."
"Good-day, doctor," said the old man, gripping his visitor's arm tightly
with a hook-like claw.
"Good-day; and if you do overcome your scruples, I should like that
skull. It would be useful to me now."
The old man kept tightly hold of his visitor's arm, and hobbled to the
door to look out, and then, still gripping hard at the arm, he said in a
strange, cachinnatory way, as he laid down his pipe:
"He-he-he! hi-hi-hi! I've got it for you, doctor."
"What? The skull?"
"Hush! Of course I have; only one must make a bit o' fuss over it.
Sackerlidge and dessercation, you know."
"Oh! I see."
"I wouldn't do such a thing for any one but a doctor, you know. Anno
Domical purposes, eh?"
"You're getting the purpose mixed up with your disease, Moredock," said
the doctor, as the old man took out a key from the pocket of his coat,
and, after blowing in it and tapping it on the table, prior to drawing a
pin from the edge of his waistcoat and treating the key as if it were a
periwinkle, he crossed to the old oak coffer.
"Just shut that door, doctor," he said. "That's right. Now shove the
bolt. Nobody aren't likely to come unless Dally Watlock does, for she
always runs over when she aren't wanted, and stops away when she is.
Thankye, doctor."
He stooped down, looking like some curious old half-bald bird, to unlock
the chest, and then, after raising the lid a short distance, in a
cunningly secretive way, he thrust in one arm, and brought out a
dark-looking human skull.
"Ha! yes," cried the doctor, taking the grisly relic of mortality in his
hands. "Yes, that's a very perfect specimen; but it's a woman's,
evidently. I wanted a man's."
"You said sell you a skull," said the old man angrily. "You never said
nowt about man or woman."
"No. It was an oversight. There, never mind."
"Ay, but I do mind," grumbled the old man. "I like to sadersfy my
customers. Give it me back."
"But this will do."
"Nay, nay, nay; it won't do," cried the old man peevishly. "Give it to
me."
The doctor handed back the skull, and the old man hastily replaced it in
the coffer, hesitated a few moments, and then brought out another skull.
"Ah! that's right," cried the doctor eagerly; "the very thing. How
much?"
"Nay, nay, nay; I'm not going to commit sackerlidge and dessercation. I
can't sell it."
"But you are not going to give it to me?"
"Nay; I only thought as you might put anything you like on the
chimbley-piece."
"I see," said the doctor, smiling, and placing a small gold coin there,
the old man watching eagerly the while. "But I say, Moredock, how many
more have you got in that chest?"
"Got?--there?" said the old man suspiciously. "Oh! only them two.
Nothing more--nothing more." But the next instant, as if won over to
confidence in his visitor, or feeling bound to trust him, he screwed up
his face in a strange leering way and opened the coffer wide.
"You may look in," he said. "You're a doctor, and won't tell. They're
for the doctors."
"Your customers, eh?"
"Customers?" said the old man sharply; "who said a word about
customers?"
"You did. So you deal in those things?"
"No, no; not deal in 'em. I find one sometimes--very old--very old.
Been in the earth a mort o' years."
As he spoke he watched the doctor curiously while he inspected the
specimens of osteology in the oak chest. Then, taking up a tin canister
from the bottom, he gave it a shake, the contents rattling loudly, and
upon opening it he displayed it half full of white, sound teeth.
"Dentists," he said, with a grin, which showed his own two or three
blackened fangs. "They uses 'em. False teeth. People thinks they're
ivory. So they are."
"Why, Moredock, what a wicked old wretch you are," said the doctor. "I
don't wonder you feel afraid to die."
"Wicked? No more wicked than my neighbours, doctor. Every one's afraid
to die, and wants to live longer. Wicked! How could I save a few
pounds together, to keep me out o' the workus when I grow's old, if I
didn't do something like this?"
"Ah, how indeed?" said the doctor, looking half-wonderingly at the
strange old being.
"And my grandchild, Dalily, up at the Rectory. Man must save--must
save. Besides, it's doing good."
"Good, eh?"
"Yes," said the old fellow, with a hideous grin. "Lots o' them never
did no good in their lives, and maybe they're thankful now they're dead
to find that, after all, they're some use to their fellow-creatures."
"Ah! Moredock, people are always ready to find an excuse for their
wrong-doing. Seems to me that I ought to expose you up at the Rectory."
"Nay, you won't tell the parson, doctor?" said the old man, with a
chuckle.
"No, I shall say nothing, Moredock."
"No, doctor, you can't. You're in it. You set me to get that for you."
"There, stop that confounded laugh of yours, and take this quietly to
the Manor House to-night. Shall you be well enough?"
"Have--have you got any more o' that Hollands gin, doctor?" whispered
the old man, with a leer.
"About another glassful, I dare say."
"Then I shall be well enough to come, doctor. Nobody shall see what it
is. And look here: you keep me alive and well, and you shall have
anything you want, doctor. Parson's master in the church, but I'm
master outside, and in the tombs, and in the old Candlish morslem. Like
to see in it, doctor?"
"Pah! not I. See enough of the miserable breed alive without seeing
them dead. Good morning."
He remounted his horse, and rode out of the village by the main road, to
draw rein at a pretty ivy-covered villa, whose well-kept garden and
general aspect betokened wealth and some refinement.
"Mrs Berens at home?" he asked, as the drag at a bell sent a silvery
tinkle through the house.
The neat maid-servant drew back with a smile, and the doctor entered,
and was shown into a pretty drawing-room, where he stood beating his
boot with his riding-whip, and looking scornfully at the ornaments,
lace, and gimcracks around.