Septimus Hardon leaped to his feet, as suddenly a key turned and the
bedroom-door opened; there was a sharp scuffling noise, as of a swarm of
rats leaping hurriedly from the bed, and tearing over one another, in
their haste to reach the hole; a wild shriek from a woman, a heavy fall,
and then all was again silent.
As soon as he could recall his scattered energies, Septimus Hardon
raised the woman's head and bathed her face, when she soon opened her
eyes and sat up, gazing at him with a horrified aspect.
"Hush!" he said softly; "don't be alarmed. My name is Hardon; I came to
see my father for the last time. I think I used to know you in the
town?"
"O, yes; I remember you now, sir," stammered the woman; "but you gave me
a dreadful turn."
"Hush! Come down-stairs now," whispered Septimus, and he motioned her
to follow him to the door.
The woman was about to obey, but, glancing round the room, she pointed
to the freshly-gnawed wood and the heap of chips.
Septimus shuddered, and they went together and closed the coffin-lid.
"Stop a minute, sir, please," said the woman--a poor cottager's wife
from the town, who followed the same road in Somesham adopted by Mrs
Sims of Lincoln's-inn,--"stop a minute, sir, please, and I'll be back
directly." The poor thing trembled so that her teeth chattered, as she
hurried away; but she returned in a few minutes with a huge black cat,
which struggled from her arms and ran, with dilated eyes, towards the
rats' hole, where it softly couched, motionless but for the writhings of
its lithe tail, as it sat there watching for the coming of its enemies.
There were funeral cake and wine upon the table below, and an extra
supply of the former was cut up and sealed in squares of paper, bearing
a couple of verses of a psalm, and the pastrycook's name and address as
a serious advertisement.
After waiting a couple of hours, most of which he spent wandering about
the old house, Septimus Hardon took his old place in the little
dining-room, opposite to the sealed-up bureau and cupboards. The
undertaker and his man had arrived, and soon after came Doctor Hardon's
rival, who had been called in to the deceased. The undertaker knew
Septimus and bowed; the surgeon, too, knew him again and shook hands,
not being at all surprised to see him there; while he invited him to
dinner before he should leave the town. But although Doctor Hardon, who
came soon after, well knew Septimus Hardon, he _was_ surprised to see
him there, and did not shake hands, but started as though someone had
struck him a violent blow. Mr Keening--Keening and Keening--then
entered the room, when the gentlemen all took wine in a heavy,
impressive way, and talked in a low tone about matters as far removed as
possible from the purpose for which they had met together.
Then came the undertaker to ask in a subdued way if any gentleman wished
to go up-stairs; but no gentleman save the son wished to go; and he
stole away to stand and gaze for a few moments upon the calm pale
features, and then returned to where the undertaker was distributing
gloves of the best black kid, asking the size each gentleman took with a
smooth oily courtesy. Scarves were then produced of the richest and
stiffest corded-silk, cloaks were tied on, and as each mourner was
dressed for his part of the performance, he was inspected all round, and
from top to toe, by the undertaker before he was allowed to reseat
himself. Then more wine, and more subdued conversation followed,
interrupted by the grating of wheels upon the gravel drive. Heavy
footsteps overhead now; trampling; someone slipping upon the stairs, and
the balustrade heard to creak loudly as an exclamation was heard; a
shuffling noise; more footsteps heavily descending; a sharp pattering of
feet on the passage oilcloth, and much rustling past the room-door,
followed by an interval of a few minutes, and the noise of wheels going
and wheels coming; and then the undertaker stood bowing in the open
door, and motioned Septimus Hardon to follow.
This was almost too much for Doctor Hardon, who had ordered that
everything possible to make the funeral impressive should be done. The
large hearse and two mourning-coaches had been hired expressly from the
county-town; velvet and ostrich plumes were in plenty; and, as chief
mourner, the doctor had reckoned upon a very imposing spectacle, one
that should to a certain extent erase the horrors of his brother's end,
and help to raise him, the doctor, in the estimation of the inhabitants
of Somesham. But now this was spoiled by the coming of the shabby, worn
son, towards whom the undertaker had leaned in the belief, in his
ignorance, that he was the chief mourner.
Septimus rose, and moved towards the door, while Doctor Hardon hesitated
to obey the beckoning finger of the undertaker; but the dread of drawing
attention to his tremor made him more himself, and, putting a
white-cambric kerchief to his face, he followed his nephew, to be
directly after shut up with him in the mourning-coach. But Septimus
noticed him not, as he sat stern and with knitted brow, no muscle
betraying the wild emotions struggling within.
The surgeon and solicitor followed in the next coach; and then the
funeral procession moved slowly off towards the town, making as great a
show as the undertaker's strict adherence to his employer's orders could
effect. Doctor Hardon said he wished to keep up appearances for his
dear brother's sake; but he had not reckoned upon the presence of the
stern, careworn man by his side, and he shrank into his corner of the
mourning-coach, angry, but at the same time fearful lest a scene might
ensue which should damage his reputation in the good town of Somesham;
besides, it would have been so painful to the feelings of his three
daughters--he only thought of three, even though one was married and two
resided at a distance. Nothing could have been more unfortunate than
the appearance of Septimus at such a time, and during the silent ride
the doctor's wishes were anything but loving towards his nephew; while
upon reaching the church the gall of bitterness was made more bitter,
for the doctor again found himself made of secondary importance by
Septimus, who seemed to have roused himself into action for the time,
and strode on in front, close behind the coffin, to take his place in
the church so crowded with familiar recollections. There, bowed down in
the same pew, but with very different thoughts, uncle and nephew
listened to the service ere they stood together by the bricked vault
prepared for the remains of old Octavius, and here again the doctor
seemed to have shrunk into a nonentity, for every eye was fixed upon the
shabby mourner by his side.
The clergyman had concluded, and, closing his book, was slowly walking
away; the clerk had followed, and at the church-gate the foremost
mourning-coach stood waiting, with a crowd of children and idlers
around, the hearse being drawn up at a distance, already half denuded of
its plumes by one of the deputies of the furnisher. There was a crowd,
too, thickly clustered amidst grave and tombstone in the churchyard, for
plenty of interest attached to the death of old Octavius Hardon, and the
people of Somesham seemed bound to see the matter to the end.
Nothing now remained for the mourners but to take a last glance at the
coffin and come away. Septimus had stood for a few moments looking down
into the vault, with the stern aspect of resolution fading from his
face, to give way to one of helpless misery, when, turning to leave, he
encountered the mourning brother advancing with drooping head and raised
handkerchief to take his farewell look.
Septimus Hardon shrank back as from a serpent, and made room for his
uncle to pass; but the next moment a sudden rage possessed him, and,
stepping forward, he laid a hand upon the doctor's shoulder, whispering
a few words in his ear.
Hastily confronting his nephew, the doctor turned, when, shaking a
threatening finger in his face, Septimus exclaimed: "Hypocrite! I
know--" But before he could finish the sentence, the doctor started back
as if to avoid the threatening hand; his foot slipped upon the very edge
of one of the boards, and the next moment, before a hand could be
stretched out to save him, he fell with a crash into the vault.
For a while no one moved, a thrill of horror running through the
assembled crowd; but soon help in plenty was there to raise the fallen
man from the coffin upon which he lay, apparently senseless, and amidst
a buzz of suggestions the sexton nimbly descended, rope in hand, and,
slipping the strong cord around the doctor's chest, he was dragged out
and borne to the waiting coach.
Septimus, shocked, and almost paralysed at the effect of his threatening
gesture, stood for a few minutes looking on, till, seeing relief
afforded to the fallen man, he turned slowly away, people giving place
right and left to allow him to pass. On reaching the second coach, he
hastily disencumbered himself of his trappings of woe, and threw them to
the astonished man at the door, who had never before witnessed such
unseemly conduct at a funeral. Then, after another hasty glance towards
the crowd around his uncle, Septimus strode off in the direction of the
County Arms; while, gaping, talking, and wondering, the people slowly
dispersed, saving such as followed the coach to the doctor's residence
in the High-street, where they hung about, clinging helplessly to the
iron railings, and staring at the dining-room windows, until Mr Brande,
the surgeon, and Mr Keening, the solicitor, came out together, looking
very important, and walked down the street; when several of the railing
barnacles followed at a distance, as if the gentlemen had brought out a
printed account of the gossip-engendering scene in their pockets ready
for distribution.
With his mourning habiliments Septimus Hardon seemed to have cast off
the interest the crowd might be supposed to have taken in him; for no
one followed the thin shabby man in dusty clothes and battered hat, as
he strode on, till abreast of the old inn, where he paused, as if about
to enter; but the next moment, shaking his head wearily, he walked on,
and was soon past the first mile-stone on his way to the great city.
Volume Two, Chapter IV.