itself might have loved Mr. Clement-Pell. Deputations asked for his
portrait to hang up in public buildings; individuals besought his
photograph. Mrs. Clement-Pell was less liked: she was extravagant and
haughty. It was said she was of very high family indeed, and she could
not have looked down upon common people with more scorn had she been
born a duchess. I'm sure no duchess ever gave herself the airs that Mrs.
Clement-Pell did, or wore such fine bonnets.
When Mr. Clement-Pell opened a little branch Bank at Church Dykely (as
he had already done at two or three other small places), the parish at
once ascended a few feet into the air. As Church Dykely in its humility
had never possessed a Bank before, it was naturally something to be
proud of. The Bank was a little house near to Duffham's, the doctor,
with a door and one window; no larger premises being obtainable. The
natives collected round to gaze, and marvel at the great doings destined
to be enacted behind that wire blind: and Mr. Clement-Pell was followed
by a tail of admiring rustics whenever he stepped abroad.
Church Dykely only had its branch in what might be called the later
years, dating from the beginning of the Clement-Pell dynasty, and when
he had made a far and wide reputation, and was in the full tide of his
prosperity. It was after its establishment that he took Parrifer Hall.
This little branch Bank was found to be a convenience to many people. It
had a manager and a clerk; and Mr. Clement-Pell would condescend to be
at it occasionally, chiefly on Mondays. He was popular with all classes:
county gentlemen and rich farmers asked him to dinner; the poor got from
him many a kind word and handshake. Mrs. Clement-Pell dined with him at
the gentlemen's tables, but she turned up her nose at the farmers, and
would not go near them. In short, take them for all in all, there was
no family so grand in the county, or who made so much noise as the
Clement-Pells. Their income was something enormous; and of course they
might launch out if they liked. It had grown to be a saying amongst us,
"As rich as the Clement-Pells."
* * * * *
Mrs. Todhetley had said she supposed the entertainment would be
something like a fancy-fair. We had not had a great experience of
fancy-fairs in our county; but if they were all like this, I shouldn't
mind going to one twice a week. The sky was unclouded, the wind still,
the leaves of the trees scarcely stirred. On the lawn the sun blazed hot
and brilliant: but the groves were cool and shady. Since the place came
into Mr. Clement-Pell's occupancy, he had taken-in part of a field, and
made the grounds more extensive. At least, Mrs. Clement-Pell had done
so, which came to the same: spending money went for nothing with her.
And why should it, when they had so much? If you climbed to the top
of an artificial rockery you could see over the high hedge. I did so:
and took a look at the chimneys of George Reed's cottage. You've not
forgotten him; and his trouble with Major Parrifer. But for that
trouble, the Clement-Pells might never have had the chance of occupying
Parrifer Hall.
It was as good as fairy-land. Flags hung about; banners waved; statues
had decked themselves in garlands. The lawns and the walks were alive
with company, the ladies sported gala dresses all the colours of the
rainbow. Dancing, shooting, flirting, talking, walking, sitting; we were
as gay as birds of paradise. There was a tent for the band, and another
for refreshments, and no end of little marquees, dotted about, for
anything. One was a post-office; where love-letters might be had for
the asking. When I look back on that day now through the mist of
years, it stands out as the gayest and sunniest left to memory. As to
refreshment--you may think of anything you like and know it was there.
There was no regular meal at all throughout the afternoon and evening;
but you could begin eating and drinking when you went in if you chose,
and never leave off till you left. The refreshment tent communicated
with one of the doors of the house, through which fresh supplies came
as they were wanted. All was cold. Besides this, there was a tea and
coffee marquee, where the kettles were kept always on the boil. No one
could say the Clement-Pells spared pains or expense to entertain their
guests right royally.
Tod and I strolled about, to take in the whole scene. The Clement-Pell
carriages (the big barouche and the small affair that Mrs. Todhetley
had called a shell) came dashing up at intervals, graciously despatched
to bring relays of guests who did not keep carriages of their own. Mrs.
Clement-Pell stood on the lawn to receive them; the Miss Clement-Pells
with her. If I were able to describe their attire I would do so; it beat
anything for gorgeousness I had ever seen. Glistening silk skirts under
robes of beautiful lace; fans in their hands and gossamer veils in their
hair.
"I say, Tod, here they come!"
A sober carriage was driving slowly in. We knew it well: and its steady
old horses and servants too. It was Sir John Whitney's. Rushing round a
side path, we were up with it when it stopped. Bill Whitney and his two
sisters came tumbling out of it.
"It's going on to your house now, with the trunk," said Helen, to us.
"William has been most awfully tiresome: he would put his every-day
boots and coat in our box, instead of bringing a portmanteau for
himself."
"As if a fellow wanted a portmanteau for just one night!" exclaimed
Bill. "What you girls can have in that big trunk, amazes me. I should
say you are bringing your bed and pillows in it."
"It has only our dresses for to-morrow morning in it, and all that,"
retorted Helen, who liked to keep Bill in order and to domineer over
him. "The idea of having to put in great clumsy boots with _them_, and
a rough coat smelling of smoke!"
"This is to be left here, I think, Miss Helen," said the footman,
displaying a small black leather bag.
"Why, yes; it contains our combs and brushes," returned Helen, taking it
and giving it to one of the Clement-Pell servants, together with two
cloaks for the evening.
Tod went up to the postillion. "Look here, Pinner: the Squire says you
had better stop at the Manor to rest the horses. You will find the groom
there, I dare say."
"Thank you, sir," said Pinner. "They'll be a bit done up if we goes
straight off back."
The girls and Bill went up to the Clement-Pell group, and were made
much of. It was the first time they had visited the Pells, and their
coming was regarded as a special honour. Sir John and Lady Whitney had
declined: and it was arranged that Bill and his sisters should sleep
at our house, and the carriage come for them the next day.
Escaping from the Pells, we all sat down on a bench. Helen Whitney began
whispering about the Miss Pells' dresses.
"I never saw such beauties," she exclaimed. "I wonder what they cost?"
"Millions, I should say," cried Bill.
"These are plain ugly old things beside them," grumbled Helen.
She meant her own dress and Anna's. They wore white spotted muslins, and
blue ribbons. One of those gorgeous robes was worth fifty times as much:
but I know which set of girls looked the most lady-like.
"They are very beautiful," sighed Helen, with a spice of envy. "But too
much for an affair like this."
"Not for them," said Bill stoutly. "The Clement-Pells could afford robes
of diamonds if they liked. I'm not sure but I shall go in for one of the
girls."
"Don't talk nonsense," reproved Helen.
We went into the fortune-telling tent. It was full of people, screaming
and laughing. A real gipsy with a swarthy skin and black flowing locks
was telling fortunes. Helen had hers told when she could make a
place, and was promised a lord for a husband, and five-and-thirty
grandchildren. At which the tent roared again, and Helen laughed too.
"And now it is your turn, my pretty little maid," said the sibyl to Anna
Whitney. And Anna, always modest and gentle, turned as red as a rose,
and said she already knew as much of her own fortune as she desired to
know at present.
"What's in _this_ hand?" cried the gipsy, suddenly seizing upon Tod's
big one, and devouring its lines with her eyes. "Nay, master; don't draw
it away, for there's matter here, and to spare. You are not afraid, are
you?"
"Not of you, my gipsy queen," gallantly answered Tod, resigning his palm
to her. "Pray let my fate be as good as you can."
"It is a smooth hand," she went on, never lifting her gaze. "Very
smooth. You'll not have many of the cares and crosses of life.
Nevertheless, I see that you have been in some peril lately. And I
should say it was connected with money. Debt."
There were not many things could bring the colour to Joseph Todhetley's
face; but it matched then the scarlet mantle the gipsy wore slung over
her right shoulder. You might have heard a pin drop in the sudden hush.
Anna's blue eyes were glancing shyly up through their long lashes.
"Peril of debt, or--perhaps--of--steeple-chasing," continued the sibyl
with deliberation; and at that the shouts of laughter broke out again
through the tent, and Anna smiled. "Take you care of yourself, sir; for
I perceive you will run into other perils before you settle down. You
have neither caution nor foresight."
"_That's_ true enough, I believe," said Tod. "Any more?"
"No more. For you are just one of those imprudent mortals who will
never heed a friendly warning. Were I you, I'd keep out of the world
till I grew older."
"Thank you," said Tod, laughing as much as the rest of them: and he drew
away his hand.
"Johnny, that was a near shave," he whispered, putting his arm within
mine when we had pushed our way out. "Was it all guesswork? Who the
deuce is the woman?"
"I know who _I_ think she is. The Pells' English governess, Miss
Phebus."
"Nonsense!"
"I do. She has got herself up in character and dyed her skin and hair."
"Then, by George, if it _is_, she must have gathered an inkling of that
matter in London."
"I don't see how."
"Nor I. Johnny, some of these days I shall be bursting out with it to
the Pater, and so get the weight off my mind."
"I shouldn't wonder. She says you have no caution."
"It's not pleasant, I can tell you, youngster, to live in dread that
somebody else will bring it out to him. I'll go in for this next dance,
I think. Where's Anna?"
Anna did not say no. She would never say no to anything _he_ asked her,
if I possessed the gift of divination. They joined the dancers; Bill and
Helen went to the archery.
"And how are _you_ enjoying it, pray, Johnny Ludlow?"
The voice nearly shot me off the arm of the bench. For it was Mr.
Brandon's. I don't think there was any living man I should have been so
surprised at seeing at the fête as he.
"Why! is it you, sir?"
"Yes, it is, Johnny. You need not stare as if you thought me an
intruder. I was invited."
"Yes, of course, sir. But I--I fancied you never came to such parties."
"Never was at one like this--unless I went to it in my sleep," he said,
standing with me before the bench, and casting his eyes around. "I came
to-day to look after you."
"After me, sir!"
"Yes, after you. And perhaps a little bit after your friend, Todhetley.
Mr. Pell informed us the entertainments would include fortune-telling:
I didn't know but there might be a roulette-table as well. Or cards,
or dice, or billiards."
"Oh no, sir; there's nothing of that sort."
"It's not the fault of the young Pells, I expect, then. That choice
companion of yours, called Gusty, and the other one in scarlet."
"Neither of them is here, Mr. Brandon. Gusty has gone to the Highlands
for grouse-shooting; and Fabian sent word he couldn't get leave to come
down. I have not seen the eldest son yet, but I suppose he is somewhere
about."
"Oh," said Mr. Brandon--and whenever he spoke of the Pells his voice
was thinner than ever, and most decidedly took a mocking sound--"gone
grouse-shooting, is Gusty! And the other can't get leave. A lieutenant,
is he not?"
"Yes, a lieutenant. His sister Constance has just told us she does not
believe it is true that he could not get leave. She thinks he never
asked for it, because he wanted to stay in London."
"Ah. It's fine to be the Pells, Johnny. One son off to shoot grouse;
another living his fast London life; the rest holding grand doings down
here that could hardly be matched by the first nobleman amongst us. Very
fine. Wonder what they spend a year--taking it in the aggregate?"
"Have you been here long, sir?"
"Half-an-hour, or so--I've been looking about me, Johnny, and listening
to the champagne corks popping off. Squire here?"
"No. He and Mrs. Todhetley did not come."
"Sensible people. Where's young Joe?"
"He is with the Whitneys. Dancing with Anna, I think."
"And he had better keep to that," said Mr. Brandon, with a little nod.
"He'll get no harm there."
We sat down, side by side. Taking a side-glance at him, I saw his eyes
fixed on Mrs. and the Miss Clement-Pells, who were now mixing with the
company. He did not know much about ladies' dress, but theirs seemed to
strike him.
"Showy, Johnny, is it not?"
"It looks very bright in the sun, sir."
"No doubt. So do spangles."
"It's real, sir, that lace. Helen Whitney says so."
"A great deal too real. So is the rest of it. Hark at the music and the
corks and the laughter! Look at the people, and the folly!"
"Don't you like the fête, sir?"
"Johnny, I hate it with my whole heart."
I was silent. Mr. Brandon was always more queer than other people.
"Is it in _keeping_ with the Pells, this upstart grandeur and profusion?
Come, Johnny Ludlow, you've some sense in your head: answer me. They
have both risen from nothing, Johnny. When he began life, Pell's
ambition was to rise to a competency; an el dorado of three or four
hundred a year: and that only when he had worked for it. I have seen her
take in the milk for their tea from the milkman at the door; when they
kept one servant to do everything. Pell rose by degrees and grew rich;
so much the more credit due to his perseverance and his business
talents----"
"And would you not have them spend their riches, Mr. Brandon?"
"Spend their riches!--of course I would, in a proper way. Don't you
interrupt your elders, Johnny Ludlow. Where would be the use of a man's
getting money unless he spent some of it. But not in _this_ way; not in
the lavish and absurd and sinful profusion that they have indulged in of
late years. Is it seemly, or right, or decent, the way they live in? The
sons apeing the manners and company of their betters, of young fellows
who are born to the peerage and their thousands a year? The mother
holding her head in the air as if she wore an iron collar: the daughters
with their carriages and their harps and their German governesses, and
their costly furbelows that are a scandal on common sense? The world has
run mad after these Pells of late years: but I know this much--I have
been ashamed only to look on at the Pells' unseemly folly."
At that moment Martha Jane Pell--in the toilette that Bill Whitney said
must have cost "millions"--went looming by, flirting with Captain
Connaught. Mr. Brandon looked after them with his little eyes.
"They are too fine for their station, Johnny. They were not born to this
kind of thing; were not reared to it; have only plunged into it of
recent years, and it does not sit well upon them. One can only think of
upstarts all the time. The Pells might have lived as gentlepeople; ay,
and married their children to gentlemen and gentlewomen had they
pleased: but, to launch out in this unseemly way, has been a just
humiliation to themselves, and has rendered them a poor, pitiful
laughing-stock in the eyes of all right-minded people. It's nothing less
than a burlesque on all the proprieties of life. And it may be that we
have not seen the end of it, Johnny."
"Well, sir, they can hardly be grander than----"
"Say more assuming, lad."
"I suppose I meant that, Mr. Brandon. Perhaps you think they'll be for
taking the Marquis's place, Ragley, next, if it should come into the
market. Or Eastnor Castle: or----"
"I did not mean exactly in that way, Johnny," he interrupted again, a
queer look on his thin lips as he got up.
"Are you going into the eating tent, sir?"
"I am going away. Now that I have seen that you and Joe Todhetley are
tolerably safe from gaming tables and the like, there's nothing further
to keep me here. I feel a sort of responsibility in regard to you two,
seeing that that unpleasant secret lies with me, and not with Joe's
father."
"It is early to go, sir. The fun has hardly begun."
"None too early for me. I am a magistrate; looked up to, in a manner,
in the neighbourhood, insignificant though I am. It is not I who will
countenance this upstart foolery by my presence longer than I can help,
Johnny Ludlow."
Mr. Brandon disappeared. The hours went on to twilight and then to dark.
Once during the evening I caught sight of Mr. Clement-Pell: and what
occurred as I did so was like a bit of romance. People crowded the side
paths under the light of the Chinese lanterns. For lanterns were hanging
on the trees and shrubs, and the whole scene was one of enchantment out
of the Arabian Nights. One of the remote walks was not lighted; perhaps
it had been forgotten. I had missed Bill Whitney and was at the end of
the grounds hunting for him, when I saw, through the trees, a solitary
figure pacing this dark walk with his arms folded. It was not very
likely to be Bill: but there was no harm in going to see.
It turned out to be Mr. Clement-Pell. But before I got out of the trees
into the walk--for it was the nearest way back to the lights and the
company--some one pushed through the trees on the opposite side of the
path, and stood in front of him. The moon shone as much as an August
moon ever does shine; and I saw Clement-Pell start as if he had been
told his house was on fire.
"I thought this might be a likely place to find you," said the stranger
in a savage whisper. "You have kept out of my way for two days at the
Bank--too busy to see me, eh?--so, hearing what was going on here, I
took the train and came over."
"I'm sure I am--happy to see you, Mr. Johnson," cried Clement-Pell in
a voice that seemed to tremble a little; and unless the moonlight was
in fault, he had turned as pale as a ghost. "Would have sent you an
invitation had I known you were down."
"I dare say you would! I did not come to attend festivals, Pell, but to
settle business-matters."
"You must be aware I cannot attend to business to-night," interrupted
Clement-Pell. "Neither do I ever enter upon it at my own residence. I
will see you to-morrow morning at eleven at the Bank."
"Honour bright? Or is it a false plea, put forth to shuffle out of me
now?"
"I will see you to-morrow morning at the Bank at eleven o'clock,"
repeated Clement-Pell, emphatically. "We are very busy just now, and I
must be there the first thing. And now, Mr. Johnson, if you will go
into the refreshment tent, and make yourself at home----"
"No refreshments for me, thank you: I must hasten away to catch the
train. But first of all, I will ask you a question: and answer it you
must, whether it is your habit of entering on business at home, or
whether it is not. Is it true that----"
I did not want to hear more secrets, and went crashing through the
trees. I should have gone before, but for not liking they should know
any one was there. They turned round.
"Oh, is it you, Mr. Ludlow?" cried Pell, putting out his hand as I
passed them.
"Yes, sir. I am looking for young Whitney. Have you seen him?"
"I think I saw him at the door of one of the tents, just now. You'll
find him amongst the company, I dare say. The Squire and Mrs. Todhetley
have not come, I hear."
"No sir."
"Ah well--give my very kind regards to them, and say I am sorry. I hope
you are taking care of yourself--in the way of refreshments."
The stranger and I had stood facing each other. He was a very
peculiar-looking man with a wide stare; black hair, white whiskers, and
very short legs. I thought it anything but good manners of him to come
over, as he had confessed to have done, to disturb Clement-Pell at such
a time.
At nine o'clock Giles arrived with the pony-carriage for the young
ladies and two of us: the other and Giles were to walk. But we didn't
see the fun of leaving so early. Giles said he could not wait long: he
must be back to get old Jacobson's gig ready, who was spending the
evening at the Manor. The Jacobsons, being farmers, though they were
wealthy, and lived in good old style, had been passed over when Mrs.
Clement-Pell's invitations went out. So Tod sent Giles and the carriage
back again, with a message that we all preferred walking, and should
follow shortly.
Follow, we did; but not shortly. It was past eleven when we got away.
The dancing had been good, and no one was at hand to say we must leave.
Helen and Anna Whitney came out with their cloaks on. What with the
dancing and the sultriness of the weather, the night was about as hot as
an oven. We were almost the last to leave: but did not mean to say so at
home. It was a splendid night, though; very clear, the moon larger than
usual. We went on in no particular order; the five of us turning out of
the Parrifer gates together.
"Oh," screamed Helen, when we were some yards down the road, "where's
the bag? Anna, have you brought the bag?"
"No," replied Anna. "You told me you would bring it."
"Well--I meant to do so. William, you must run back for it."
"Oh, bother the bag," said Bill. "You girls can't want the bag to-night.
I'll come over for it in the morning."
"Not want it!--Why, our combs and brushes and thin shoes are in it,"
retorted Helen. "It is on a chair in that little room off the hall.
Come, William, go for it."
"I'll go, Helen," I said. "Walk quietly on, and I shall catch you up."
The grounds looked quite deserted: the Chinese lanterns had burned
themselves out, and the doors appeared closed. One of the side windows
was open and gay with light; I thought it would be less trouble to enter
that way, and leaped up the balcony steps to the empty room. Empty, as I
took it to be.
Well, it was a sort of shock. The table had a desk and a heap of papers
on it, and on it all lay a man's head. The face was hidden in his hands,
but he lifted it as I went in.
It was Clement-Pell. But I declare that at the first moment I did not
know him. If ever you saw a face more haggard than other faces, it was
his. He sat bolt upright in his chair then, and stared at me as one in
awful fear.
"I beg your pardon, sir. I did not know any one was here."
"Oh, it is you," he said, and broke out into a smile--which somehow made
the face look even more worn and weary than before. "I thought you had
all left."
"So we have, sir. But Miss Whitney forgot her bag, and I have run back
for it. She left it in the small room in the hall."
"Oh ay, all right," he said. "You can go and get it, and run out this
way again if you like. I dare say the hall-door is closed."
"Good night, sir," I said, coming back with the bag. "We have had a most
delightful day, Mr. Clement-Pell, and I'm sure we ought to thank you for
it."
"I am glad it has been pleasant. Good night."
The trees were pretty thick on this side the house. In passing a grove a
few paces from the window, I saw something that was neither trunks nor
leaves; but Mr. Johnson's face with its black hair and white whiskers.
He was hiding in the trees, his face peeping out to look at the room and
at Clement-Pell.
It made me feel queer. It made me think of treachery. Though what
treachery, or where, I hardly knew. Not a trace was to be seen of the
face now: he drew it in; no doubt to let me pass. Ought I to warn Mr.
Pell that he was being watched? I had distinctly heard the man say he
was going away directly: why had he stayed? Yes, it would be right and
kind. Walking a bit further, I quietly turned back.
Clement-Pell had a pen in his hand this time, and was poring over what
seemed to be a big account-book, or ledger. He looked surprised again,
but spoke quietly.
"Still left something behind you, Mr. Ludlow?"
"No, sir, not this time," I said, speaking below my breath. "I thought
I would come back and tell you, Mr. Pell, that some one outside is
watching this room. If----"
I broke off in sheer astonishment. He started up from his chair and
came creeping to where I stood, to hide himself as it seemed from the
watcher, his haggard cheeks white as death. But he put a good face on it
to me.
"I could not hear you," he whispered. "What did you say? Some one
watching?"
"It is the same man I saw you talking to in the dark walk to-night, with
the black hair and white whiskers. Perhaps he means no harm, sir; he is
hiding in the trees, and just peeping out to look in here."
"You are sure it is that same man?" he asked with a relieved air.