JANET ILCHESTER
I was a prisoner, captured by fraud, and with five shillings and a
penny still remaining to me for an assurance of my power to enjoy
freedom. Osric and Kiomi did not show themselves on the road, they
answered none of my shouts.
'She is afraid to look me in the face,' I said, keeping my anger on
Kiomi.
'Harry, Harry,' said my aunt, 'they must have seen me here; do you
grieve, and you have me, dear?'
Her eager brown eyes devoured me while I stood panting to be happy, if
only I might fling my money at Kiomi's feet, and tell her, 'There, take
all I have; I hate you!' One minute I was curiously perusing the soft
shade of a moustache on my aunt's upper lip; the next, we jumped into
the carriage, and she was my dear aunt Dorothy again, and the world
began rolling another way.
The gipsies had made an appointment to deliver me over to my aunt;
Farmer Eckerthy had spoken of me to my grandfather; the tramp had
fetched Mr. Rippenger on the scene. Rippenger paid the tramp, I dare
say; my grandfather paid Rippenger's bill and for Saddlebank's goose;
my aunt paid the gipsies, and I think it doubtful that they handed the
tramp a share, so he came to the end of his list of benefits from not
asking questions.
I returned to Riversley more of a man than most boys of my age, and
more of a child. A small child would not have sulked as I did at
Kiomi's behaviour; but I met my grandfather's ridiculous politeness
with a man's indifference.
'So you're back, sir, are you!'
'I am, sir.'
'Ran like a hare, 'stead of a fox, eh?'
'I didn't run like either, sir.'
'Do you ride?'
'Yes, sir; a horse.'
That was his greeting and how I took it. I had not run away from him,
so I had a quiet conscience.
He said, shortly after, 'Look here; your name is Harry Richmond in my
house—do you understand? My servants have orders to call you Master
Harry Richmond, according to your christening. You were born here, sir,
you will please to recollect. I'll have no vagabond names here'—he
puffed himself hot, muttering, 'Nor vagabond airs neither.'
I knew very well what it meant. A sore spirit on my father's behalf
kept me alive to any insult of him; and feeling that we were
immeasurably superior to the Beltham blood, I merely said, apart to old
Sewis, shrugging my shoulders, 'The squire expects me to recollect
where I was born. I'm not likely to forget his nonsense.'
Sewis, in reply, counselled me to direct a great deal of my attention
to the stables, and drink claret with the squire in the evening, things
so little difficult to do that I moralized reflectively, 'Here's a way
of gaining a relative's affection!' The squire's punctilious regard for
payments impressed me, it is true. He had saved me from the disgrace of
owing money to my detested schoolmaster; and, besides, I was under his
roof, eating of his bread. My late adventurous life taught me that I
incurred an obligation by it. Kiomi was the sole victim of my anger
that really seemed to lie down to be trampled on, as she deserved for
her unpardonable treachery.
By degrees my grandfather got used to me, and commenced saying in
approval of certain of my performances, 'There's Beltham in
that—Beltham in that!' Once out hunting, I took a nasty hedge and ditch
in front of him; he bawled proudly, 'Beltham all over!' and praised me.
At night, drinking claret, he said on a sudden, 'And, egad, Harry, you
must jump your head across hedges and ditches, my little fellow. It
won't do, in these confounded days, to have you clever all at the wrong
end. In my time, good in the saddle was good for everything; but now
you must get your brains where you can—pick here, pick there—and sell
'em like a huckster; some do. Nature's gone—it's damned artifice rules,
I tell ye; and a squire of our country must be three parts lawyer to
keep his own. You must learn; by God, sir, you must cogitate; you must
stew at books and maps, or you'll have some infernal upstart taking the
lead of you, and leaving you nothing but the whiff of his tail.' He
concluded, 'I'm glad to see you toss down your claret, my boy.'
Thus I grew in his favour, till I heard from him that I was to be the
heir of Riversley and his estates, but on one condition, which he did
not then mention. If I might have spoken to him of my father, I should
have loved him. As it was, I liked old Sewis better, for he would talk
to me of the night when my father carried me away, and though he never
uttered the flattering words I longed to hear, he repeated the story
often, and made the red hall glow with beams of my father's image. My
walks and rides were divided between the road he must have followed
toward London, bearing me in his arms, and the vacant place of Kiomi's
camp. Kiomi stood for freedom, pointing into the darkness I wished to
penetrate that I might find him. If I spoke of him to my aunt she
trembled. She said, 'Yes, Harry, tell me all you are thinking about,
whatever you want to know'; but her excessive trembling checked me, and
I kept my feelings to myself—a boy with a puzzle in his head and hunger
in his heart. At times I rode out to the utmost limit of the hour
giving me the proper number of minutes to race back and dress for
dinner at the squire's table, and a great wrestling I had with myself
to turn my little horse's head from hills and valleys lying East; they
seemed to have the secret of my father. Blank enough they looked if
ever I despaired of their knowing more than I. My Winter and Summer
were the moods of my mind constantly shifting. I would have a week of
the belief that he was near Riversley, calling for me; a week of the
fear that he was dead; long dreams of him, as travelling through
foreign countries, patting the foreheads of boys and girls on his way;
or driving radiantly, and people bowing. Radiantly, I say: had there
been touches of colour in these visions, I should have been lured off
in pursuit of him. The dreams passed colourlessly; I put colouring
touches to the figures seen in them afterward, when I was cooler, and
could say, 'What is the use of fancying things?' yet knew that fancying
things was a consolation. By such means I came to paint the mystery
surrounding my father in tender colours. I built up a fretted cathedral
from what I imagined of him, and could pass entirely away out of the
world by entering the doors.
Want of boys' society as well as hard head-work produced this mischief.
My lessons were intermittent. Resident tutors arrived to instruct me,
one after another. They were clergymen, and they soon proposed to marry
my aunt Dorothy, or they rebuked the squire for swearing. The devil was
in the parsons, he said: in his time they were modest creatures and
stuck to the bottle and heaven. My aunt was of the opinion of our
neighbours, who sent their boys to school and thought I should be sent
likewise.
'No, no,' said the squire; 'my life's short when the gout's marching up
to my middle, and I'll see as much of my heir as I can. Why, the lad's
my daughter's son: He shall grow up among his tenantry. We'll beat the
country and start a man at last to drive his yard of learning into him
without rolling sheep's eyes right and left.'
Unfortunately the squire's description of man was not started. My aunt
was handsome, an heiress (that is, she had money of her own coming from
her mother's side of the family), and the tenderest woman alive, with a
voice sweeter than flutes. There was a saying in the county that to
marry a Beltham you must po'chay her.
A great-aunt of mine, the squire's sister, had been carried off. She
died childless. A favourite young cousin of his likewise had run away
with a poor baronet, Sir Roderick Ilchester, whose son Charles was now
and then our playmate, and was a scapegrace. But for me he would have
been selected by the squire for his heir, he said; and he often
'confounded' me to my face on that account as he shook my hand,
breaking out: 'I'd as lief fetch you a cuff o' the head, Harry
Richmond, upon my honour!' and cursing at his luck for having to study
for his living, and be what he called a sloppy curate now that I had
come to Riversley for good.
He informed me that I should have to marry his sister Janet; for that
they could not allow the money to go out of the family. Janet Ilchester
was a quaint girl, a favourite of my aunt Dorothy, and the squire's
especial pet; red-cheeked, with a good upright figure in walking and
riding, and willing to be friendly, but we always quarrelled: she
detested hearing of Kiomi.
'Don't talk of creatures you met when you were a beggar, Harry
Richmond,' she said.
'I never was a beggar,' I replied.
'Then she was a beggar,' said Janet; and I could not deny it; though
the only difference I saw between Janet and Kiomi was, that Janet
continually begged favours and gifts of people she knew, and Kiomi of
people who were strangers.
My allowance of pocket-money from the squire was fifty pounds a year. I
might have spent it all in satisfying Janet's wishes for riding-whips,
knives, pencil-cases, cairngorm buttons, and dogs. A large part of the
money went that way. She was always getting notice of fine dogs for
sale. I bought a mastiff for her, a brown retriever, and a little
terrier. She was permitted to keep the terrier at home, but I had to
take care of the mastiff and retriever. When Janet came to look at them
she called them by their names; of course they followed me in
preference to her; she cried with jealousy. We had a downright quarrel.
Lady Ilchester invited me to spend a day at her house, Charley being
home for his Midsummer holidays. Charley, Janet, and I fished the river
for trout, and Janet, to flatter me (of which I was quite aware), while
I dressed her rod as if she was likely to catch something, talked of
Heriot, and then said:
'Oh! dear, we are good friends, aren't we? Charley says we shall marry
one another some day, but mama's such a proud woman she won't much like
your having such a father as you've got unless he's dead by that time
and I needn't go up to him to be kissed.'
I stared at the girl in wonderment, but not too angrily, for I guessed
that she was merely repeating her brother's candid speculations upon
the future. I said: 'Now mind what I tell you, Janet: I forgive you
this once, for you are an ignorant little girl and know no better.
Speak respectfully of my father or you never see me again.'
Here Charley sang out: 'Hulloa! you don't mean to say you're talking of
your father.'
Janet whimpered that I had called her an ignorant little girl. If she
had been silent I should have pardoned her. The meanness of the girl in
turning on me when the glaring offence was hers, struck me as
contemptible beyond words. Charley and I met half way. He advised me
not to talk to his sister of my father. They all knew, he said, that it
was no fault of mine, and for his part, had he a rascal for a father,
he should pension him and cut him; to tell the truth, no objection
against me existed in his family except on the score of the sort of
father I owned to, and I had better make up my mind to shake him off
before I grew a man; he spoke as a friend. I might frown at him and
clench my fists, but he did speak as a friend.
Janet all the while was nibbling a biscuit, glancing over it at me with
mouse-eyes. Her short frock and her greediness, contrasting with the
talk of my marrying her, filled me with renewed scorn, though my heart
was sick at the mention of my father. I asked her what she knew of him.
She nibbled her biscuit, mumbling, 'He went to Riversley, pretending he
was a singing-master. I know that's true, and more.'
'Oh, and a drawing-master, and a professor of legerdemain,' added her
brother. 'Expunge him, old fellow; he's no good.'
'No, I'm sure he's no good,' said Janet.
I took her hand, and told her, 'You don't know how you hurt me; but
you're a child: you don't know anything about the world. I love my
father, remember that, and what you want me to do is mean and
disgraceful; but you don't know better. I would forfeit everything in
the world for him. And when you're of age to marry, marry anybody you
like—you won't marry me. And good-bye, Janet. Think of learning your
lessons, and not of marrying. I can't help laughing.' So I said, but
without the laughter. Her brother tried hard to get me to notice him.
Janet betook herself to the squire. Her prattle of our marriage in days
to come was excuseable. It was the squire's notion. He used to remark
generally that he liked to see things look safe and fast, and he had,
as my aunt confided to me, arranged with Lady Ilchester, in the girl's
hearing, that we should make a match. My grandfather pledged his word
to Janet that he would restore us to an amicable footing. He thought it
a light task. Invitations were sent out to a large party at Riversley,
and Janet came with all my gifts on her dress or in her pockets. The
squire led the company to the gates of his stables; the gates opened,
and a beautiful pony, with a side-saddle on, was trotted forth, amid
cries of admiration. Then the squire put the bridle-reins in my hands,
bidding me present it myself. I asked the name of the person. He
pointed at Janet. I presented the pony to Janet, and said, 'It's from
the squire.'
She forgot, in her delight, our being at variance.
'No, no, you stupid Harry, I'm to thank you. He's a darling pony. I
want to kiss you.'
I retired promptly, but the squire had heard her.
'Back, sir!' he shouted, swearing by this and that. 'You slink from a
kiss, and you're Beltham blood? Back to her, lad. Take it. Up with her
in your arms or down on your knees. Take it manfully, somehow. See
there, she's got it ready for you.'
'I've got a letter ready for you, Harry, to say—oh! so sorry for
offending you,' Janet whispered, when I reached the pony's head; 'and
if you'd rather not be kissed before people, then by-and-by, but do
shake hands.'
'Pull the pony's mane,' said I; 'that will do as well. Observe—I pull,
and now you pull.'
Janet mechanically followed my actions. She grimaced, and whimpered, 'I
could pull the pony's mane right out.'
'Don't treat animals like your dolls,' said I.
She ran to the squire, and refused the pony. The squire's face changed
from merry to black.
'Young man,' he addressed me, 'don't show that worse half of yours in
genteel society, or, by the Lord! you won't carry Beltham buttons for
long. This young lady, mind you, is a lady by birth both sides.'
'She thinks she is marriageable,' said I; and walked away, leaving loud
laughter behind me.
But laughter did not console me for the public aspersion of him I
loved. I walked off the grounds, and thought to myself it was quite
time I should be moving. Wherever I stayed for any length of time I was
certain to hear abuse of my father. Why not wander over the country
with Kiomi, go to sea, mount the Andes, enlist in a Prussian regiment,
and hear the soldiers tell tales of Frederick the Great? I walked over
Kiomi's heath till dark, when one of our grooms on horseback overtook
me, saying that the squire begged me to jump on the horse and ride home
as quick as possible. Two other lads and the coachman were out scouring
the country to find me, and the squire was anxious, it appeared. I rode
home like a wounded man made to feel proud by victory, but with no one
to stop the bleeding of his wounds: and the more my pride rose, the
more I suffered pain. There at home sat my grandfather, dejected,
telling me that the loss of me a second time would kill him, begging me
to overlook his roughness, calling me his little Harry and his heir,
his brave-spirited boy; yet I was too sure that a word of my father to
him would have brought him very near another ejaculation concerning
Beltham buttons.
'You're a fiery young fellow, I suspect,' he said, when he had
recovered his natural temper. 'I like you for it; pluck's Beltham. Have
a will of your own. Sweat out the bad blood. Here, drink my health,
Harry. You're three parts Beltham, at least, and it'll go hard if
you're not all Beltham before I die. Old blood always wins that race, I
swear. We're the oldest in the county. Damn the mixing. My father never
let any of his daughters marry, if he could help it, nor'll I, bar
rascals. Here's to you, young Squire Beltham. Harry Lepel Beltham—does
that suit ye? Anon, anon, as they say in the play. Take my name, and
drop the Richmond—no, drop the subject: we'll talk of it by-and-by.'
So he wrestled to express his hatred of my father without offending me;
and I studied him coldly, thinking that the sight of my father in
beggar's clothes, raising a hand for me to follow his steps, would draw
me forth, though Riversley should beseech me to remain clad in wealth.