As Horace North battled with his thoughts, Moredock chuckled and went
on:
"They drinks it, doctor, the idiots, and all the time they say it's
horrid to eat a bit o' churchyard mutton. Squire Luke didn't care,
though. He wouldn't have said no to a bit o' mutton 'cause it was
pastured in the churchyard. But he has to send they sheep right t'other
side o' the county to sell 'em. Folks 'bout here wouldn't touch a bit
o' churchyard mutton. Such stuff! Keeps the graves nibbled off clean
and neat. Don't hurt they. Mutton's sweet enough, and so they goes on
drinking the water all round the yard, as is piled up with dead folk as
I've buried, and my father and grandfather before me. Ay, they drinks
the water, but wouldn't touch the mutton; they'd rather starve. Damp
churchyard; and squire 'll lay snug on his dry shelf, and me--some day--
in the cold, wet ground."
"It all comes to the same thing, Moredock," said the doctor, rousing
himself.
"May be, doctor: may be as you're right," said the old man, shaking his
head solemnly--"`Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;' but there's a deal o'
differ, and it takes a deal longer to come to that. I say, doctor,
'member what I said to you 'bout squire drinking himself to death?" said
the old man, stooping to pick up a crowbar that he had let fall a few
minutes before.
"Yes," said North, gazing thoughtfully at the old man, and hardly
realising what he said.
"More strange things happen than what I told you. I knowed it wouldn't
be long before he drank himself to death."
"The squire died from an accident, Moredock," said the doctor sternly.
"Ay, but what made the accident?" said the old man, with a chuckle.
"Was it steps, was it bottles, was it corks? Nay, it were something
inside the bottle. Drop o' brandy's good, but when you gets too much,
it's poison."
The doctor did not speak, only stood just inside the chancel door,
gazing fixedly at the old man, with his thoughts wandering from the
mausoleum built by the vestry, to the squire's remains lying up at the
Hall, and his strange schemes, by which humanity might, perhaps, be
spared much pain and care.
"I've took the last o' that there physic, doctor."
"Perhaps be of incalculable benefit to coming generations," mused the
doctor, as he went on dreaming, standing there with one hand resting on
the tomb rail, and seeming to look through the present in the shape of
the crabbed and gnarled old sexton to a future where all was health and
strength.
"It was rare stuff, doctor," continued old Moredock, with a chuckle, as
he glanced sidewise at the dreaming man. "Mussy me! a drop o' that
allus seemed to make my toes tingle, and it went right up into the roots
of my hair."
"Why not--why not try?" It seemed a great experiment, but how little as
compared with what had been done of old! "Why not--why not try?"
"You'll let me have another bottle, doctor. It does me a sight of
good."
"I must. It seems like fate urging me on. It is for her--to do
something to distinguish myself. Here is the opportunity, and I
hesitate."
"One day I took a dose, doctor, and I thought it was trubble nasty, but
five minutes after I said to myself, this beats brandy from the inn.
They sperrets don't make your fingers go cricking and your toes tingle.
Rare stuff, doctor. What's he gone to sleep?"
"Yes, I will do it; but how? No; it is impossible."
"You'll let me have another bottle o' that there physic, doctor, won't
yer?"
"Physic, Moredock? Physic?" said the doctor, starting. "You don't
require more now."
"Ah! but I do. See what a lot o' good last lot did me. I'm a deal
stronger than I used to were. You'll let me have another bottle,
doctor?"
"Well, well, I'll see. Terrible job this, Moredock."
"Ay, it be trubble job, doctor. I'm going to open the morslem. Say,
doctor, 'member what I said 'bout my Dally. Be strange thing if she got
to be missus up at Hall now. Why, he be dreaming like again," he added
to himself.
"Remember what?" said the doctor. "Your Dally--the Rectory maid?"
"Ay, doctor; seems as if them as is maids may be missuses. Who knows,
eh?"
"Who knows, you old wretch!" cried the doctor angrily. "You look
sharply after your grandchild, for fear trouble should come."
"All right, doctor, I will. I'll look out, and I'm not going to quarrel
with you. I arn't forgot what you did when I cut my hand with the
spade."
"And suffered from blood poisoning, eh? Ah! I saved your life then,
Moredock."
"And you will again, won't you, doctor?" said the old man smoothly; "for
I've a deal to do yet. Don't be jealous, doctor. If my gal gets to be
my lady you shall 'tend her. You're a clever one, doctor; but there, I
must go on, for I've a deal to do."
The old man gave the doctor a ghoul-like smile, and went off to busy
himself, doing nothing apparently, though he was busier than might have
been supposed; while, as if unable to tear himself away, Horace North
stood holding on to the railing of the tomb in the chancel--the tomb
where the founder of the family lay--the next in descent of the line of
baronets having preferred to build the noble mausoleum on the opposite
side, where it looked like a handsome chapel of the fine old
ecclesiastical structure; and it would be there that the last dead
baronet would in a few days lie.
North gazed straight before him, as he held on by that metal rail of the
Candlish tomb, with a dark plunge before him, and beyond that, after
battling with the waters of discovery, a wonderland opening out, wherein
he was about to explore, to find fame and win the woman he told himself
he loved, and who, he believed, loved him as dearly in return. And yet
all the while, as, from time to time, Moredock looked in with a smile,
after pottering about the entrance to the mausoleum, whose keys he held,
the doctor seemed to be staring at the Candlish tomb, which took up so
much of the chancel, just as its occupant had taken up space when he was
alive.
It was a curious structure, that tomb, curious as the railings which the
doctor held. The edifice resembled nothing so much as an ornamental,
extremely cramped, four-post bedstead, built in marble, with the
palisade to keep the vulgar from coming too close to the stony effigy of
the great Sir Wyckeley Candlish, Baronet, of the days of good King
James; the more especially that, in company with his wife, Dame
Candlish, he had apparently gone to bed with all his clothes on. He had
been, unless the sculptor's chisel had lied, a man like a bull-headed
butcher who had married a cook, and she was represented in her puffs and
furbelows, and he in his stuffed breeches and rosetted shoes, feathered
cap, and short cape. His feet had the appearance of ornaments, not
members for use; and his lady's hands, joined in prayer, were like small
gloves, as they lay there side by side. A pair of ornaments upon which
their posterity might gaze what time they came to read the eulogy in
Latin carved in a panel of the stone bedstead, with arms and
escutcheons, and mottoes and puffs that were not true, after the fashion
of the time.
It was a curious specimen of old-world vanity, so large that it seemed
as if it were the principal object of the place--an idol altar, with its
gods, about which the chancel had been built for protection.
"What trash!" exclaimed North, when he suddenly seemed to awaken to the
object at which he gazed, "as if a Candlish was ever of any value in
this world--ever did one good or virtuous act."
"Any good in this world? Why not at last. Everything seems to point to
it. Even the worst of the race might do some good. I'll hesitate no
longer. He can't refuse me."
"Doctor! Been asleep?"
"Asleep, man? No. Never more thoroughly awake."
"I asked you to let me have another bottle of that--the tingling stuff.
It done me a mort o' good."
"Yes, yes," said North huskily. "You shall have some more, old man!"
"Ay; that's right," said the old fellow, giving his hands a rub.
"Couldn't tell me what it is, could you, so as I might get some of it
myself without troubling you?"
"What is it? One of my secrets, Moredock, just as you have yours.
Trust me, and you shall have as much as is for your good."
"Hah! that's right, doctor; that's right," chuckled the old fellow
horribly. "I mean to live a long time yet, and may as well do it
comfortably. I'll come round to your surgery to-night, and--hist!" he
whispered; "is there anything I can bring?"
"No--no," said the doctor hastily; "but, Moredock, I do want you to do
something for me."
"Eh? I do something for you, doctor? It isn't money, is it?"
"Money, man? No; I'll tell you what I want."
"Hist! parson!" said the old man, giving him a nudge, as a familiar step
was heard upon the gravel path of the churchyard; and, directly after,
the tall figure of the curate darkened the door.
"Ah! North; you here? Having a look round?"
"Yes," said the doctor; "and a chat with my old patient."
"Ah!" said the curate, shaking his head at the sexton.
"Doctor's going to let me have another bottle of the stuff as I told you
'bout, sir."
"Indeed!" said Salis, rather gruffly. "I wish you could do without so
many bottles of stuff, Moredock. But, there, I wanted to see you about
the preparations."
"Don't you trouble yourself about that, sir," grumbled the old fellow.
"It ain't the first time a Candlish has died, and I've put things ready.
That'll be all right, sir. That's my business. You shan't have no
cause to complain."
"Be a little extra particular about the church and the yard, Moredock;
and, above all, have those sheep out. Mr May writes me word that he
shall come down from town on purpose to read the service over Sir Luke,
and he hates to see sheep in the churchyard."
"'Member what I said, doctor?" chuckled the old man. "But what am I to
do, sir? Churchwarden Sir Luke had 'em put there; who's to order 'em to
be took away?"
"I will!" said the curate sharply. "There, that will do."
Moredock trudged away.
"I'm afraid I have a morbid antipathy to that old man," said the curate.
"Ah, he's a character."
"Yes, and a bad one, too: I'm glad we have his grandchild away from
him."
"So am I, and if I were you, Salis, I'd keep a sharp look-out on the
girl."
"Yes, of course!" said the curate impatiently. "But you heard what I
said about May coming down?"
"Yes; but what does that matter?"
"Only a long series of lectures to me, which makes my blood boil. I've
had another unpleasantly, too. I went up to the Hall to see--Sir
Thomas--I suppose I must call him now, and he sent me out an insolent
message; at least, I thought it so."
"Never mind, old fellow; we all have our troubles."
"Not going to trouble," said the curate quietly. "Coming my way?"
"No. I want another word with Moredock, and then I'm going home."
"Ah, he's a queer old fellow," said the curate, glancing towards the
sexton as he went round the chancel with a crowbar over his shoulder,
the old man turning to give both a cunning, magpie-like look, as he went
out of sight.
The two friends parted, and then North followed the sexton.
"I don't like it," he muttered. "Salis would be horrified; he would
never forgive me; and yet to win the sister's, I am risking the
brother's love. Oh, but it is more than that," he said excitedly; "far
more than that. It is in the service of science and of humanity at
large. I can't help it. I must--I will!"
There was tremendous emphasis on that "I will!" and, as if now fully
resolved, he went to where the old sexton was scraping and chopping
about the entrance of the mausoleum, and sometimes stooping to drag out
a luxuriant weed.
"Ah, doctor," he said; "back again? Parson's a bit hard on me. I hope
he hasn't been running me down."
"Nonsense! No. Look here, Moredock, you have always expressed a desire
to serve me?"
"Yes, doctor; of course."
"Then, look here," said North, bending down towards the old man. "I
want you to--"
He finished his speech in a low voice by the old man's ear.
"You want what?" was the reply.
The doctor whispered to him again more earnestly than before.
The old man let the crowbar fall to his side, his jaw dropped, and he
stood in a stooping position, staring.
"You want me to do that, doctor?" he whispered, with a tremble in his
voice.
"Yes, I want your help in this."
"No, no, doctor; I couldn't indeed!"
"You could, Moredock; and you will!"
The old man shivered.
"I've done a deal," he whispered; "and I've seen a deal; but oh, doctor!
don't ask me to do this."
"I don't ask you," said the doctor sternly. "I only say you must--you
shall!"
Volume 2, Chapter II.
"A FINE BERRIN'."
Boom!
The big tenor bell made the louvres rattle in the tower windows, as it
sent forth its sonorous note to announce far and wide that the Candlish
mausoleum was open and ready to receive the remains of the last owner of
the title conferred by King James.
_Boom_! again: so heavy and deep a sound that it seemed to strike the
cottage windows and rebound like a wave, to go quivering off upon the
wind and collect the people from far and near.
It was early yet, but one little trim-looking body was astir, in the
person of Dally Watlock, who stole out of the back door at the Rectory,
made her way into the meadows, hurried down to the river, and along
behind the Manor House, and so reached the churchyard at the back, where
the vestry door in the north-east corner was easily accessible.
Dally walked and ran, looking sharply from side to side to see if she
were noticed, gave a quick glance at the steps leading down to the
mausoleum, and longed to peep in, but refrained, and darted in at the
vestry door.
She knew the vestry would be empty, for she had left the curate at home,
and she had heard that the Reverend Maurice May would not be over for
nearly an hour, so there was an excellent chance for her to obtain the
seat she wished, and see the funeral, and to that end she had come.
"How tiresome!" she cried, giving the oaken door in the corner of the
vestry an angry thump. "Locked!"
_Boom_! went the big bell.
"And gran'fa's got the key," she cried. "I'll make him give it to me."
Dally looked a good deal like a big black rabbit turned by a fairy into
a girl, as she darted out of the vestry, and dodged in and out among the
tombstones and old vaults on her way round to the big west door in the
tower, from which came another loud boom to fly quivering away upon the
air.
The big door was ajar, and yielded readily to her touch as she thrust,
and the next minute she had entered, and pushed it to, to stand facing
old Moredock, as he dragged away at the rope and brought forth from the
big tenor another heavy boom.
The old man was in his shirt-sleeves, and his coat hung up behind the
door, with his cap above it, so that it bore a strong resemblance to the
old sexton, who had apparently been bringing his existence to an end by
means of a piece of rope belonging to a bell.
"Hallo, Dally!" said the old man, giving her one of his ghoulish grins,
as if proud of the yellow tooth still left; "what have you come for?"
"I want to see squire's funeral, gran'fa. To get a good place."
"Ah, I know'd you'd come," said the old man. "I say, Dally; Sir Tom
Candlish, eh? Have you tried how it sounds?"
"What nonsense, gran'fa! and do a-done. You'll have some one hear you."
"He--he--he! Let 'em," chuckled the old man; "let 'em. Sir Thomas
Candlish, eh?"
"I don't know what you mean," said the girl, giving her head a vain
toss.
_Boom_! went the bell, after the rope had rattled; and the old man
groaned with the effort.
"He--he--he! No, no, you don't know," he chuckled, moving sidewise, and
giving the girl a sharp nudge with his elbow. "But, my word, Dally, you
do look pretty this morning."
"Don't, gran'fa. What stuff!"
"Oh, but you do," said the old man, looking at her critically; "and fine
and smart too for coming to a funeral."
"Why, you wouldn't have had me wear black, gran'fa, would you?"
They were quite alone in the belfry, and as the old man talked, he from
time to time gave a steady pull at the rope, and a heavy, jarring _boom_
was the result.
"Ah, and I might have said wear black, if I'd ha' thought of it," said
the old man, examining the girl from top to toe.
"Then I hadn't got any black, and if I had I would not have worn it,
because it makes one look so ugly," said the girl, giving her head
another toss. "Now do tell me where to go. I want to see well. Can't
you put me up in that loft place over the vestry?"
"What! where you could see down into squire's pew?" said the old man,
giving another tug at the rope.
"Yes, gran'fa; it's a nice snug place, where no one could see me."
"Oh, yes, they could," said the old man, chuckling. "Anybody looked up
from the squire's pew he could see your bonny face."
"I'm sure I didn't know," said the girl; "and you're very fond of
calling it a bonny face all at once. You said one day I was an ugly
little witch."
"Did I?" said the old man, whose voice was nearly drowned by the boom he
produced from the bell. "I s'pose I was cross that day. But, Dally,
why didn't you come and ask your old grandfather for some money to buy
black?"
"Because he'd have called me an idle hussy, and told me to go about my
business," said the girl pertly.
"No, he wouldn't, my dear," said the old man, tugging at the rope.
"He'd have given you enough to buy a new silk dress, and a bonnet and
feather--black 'uns, so that you might have come to the berrin' looking
as well as the best of 'em."
"Would you, gran'fa?" cried the girl, with her eyes sparkling.
"Ay, that I would, my chuck, and the noo squire could have seen you,
and--hist!"--_boom_!--"he'd have thought more of you than ever."
"Oh, for shame, gran'fa," said Dally. "You shouldn't. But will you
give me the money now?"
"It's too late, my chucky."
"No, no, it isn't, gran'fa."
"But you must mind what you're doing, Dally."
Another tug at the bell-rope, and a loud _boom_! made the place quiver.
"I don't understand you, gran'pa."
"Oh, yes, you do. There, you come and see me to-night--no, to-morrow
morning, and I'll see what I can do."
"You dear old gran'fa!" cried the girl. "But make haste; I want to go
into that loft. You've got the key."
"Have I?"
"Yes, and if you don't make haste, Mr Salis and Mr May will be here,
and I can't get through the vestry."
"Ah well, you feel in my pocket there--in the coat behind the door.
It's the littlest key."
The girl darted to the old coat, and the next minute had drawn out four
keys, all polished by long usage, the littlest being a great implement,
big enough to use for a weapon of war.
"There," said old Moredock, chuckling; "bring it back to me when you've
done."
"Yes, gran'fa."
"And mind young squire don't see you."
"Oh, gran'fa, of course I will."
Rope rattle, boom, and a loud chuckle.
"Ah, that you will, Dally. There, be off, and don't forget to come to
me to-morrow morning."
"I shan't forget, gran'fa," cried the girl, hurrying out, and going
round by the back of the church to the vestry door, as another loud boom
rang out from the church tower.
People were gathering, but Dally was not seen, and passing into the
vestry, she opened the old oaken door in the corner, drew out the key to
insert it on the other side, draw it to after her and lock herself in,
and stand panting for a few moments before ascending the narrow,
corkscrew staircase, which led to the traceried opening in the side of
the chancel, from which place she could have an excellent view of all
that was about to take place.