THE SUMMONS
Cleek left that house of anger in a strange frame of mind, rather glad
to be back again in his own sunny room at the Three Fishers, and away
from an influence which seemed somehow horribly malign. The pitched
battle that had taken place between father and son--egged on by a
designing woman who did not mind to what depths she stooped so that her
ends were eventually reached, gave him an eery feeling. There was
something venomous about the whole affair, something that reminded him
of an asp about to strike. He could not shake that feeling from him. The
premonition held firm hold of his faculties.
A walk with Dollops over the moors certainly acted as a refresher, for
the lad's ready humour had the true Cockney bite in it and he had seen,
with his keen eyes, how the master he loved and reverenced was brooding
under the shadow of something he sensed although he could not see. And
so his comical faculties were put to good work. Until--tea-time at
length reached--Cleek returned to the Inn of the Three Fishers, a little
less clouded in heart and brain, and with some of the moody depression
shaken from him.
He spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening reading and
thinking by the open window of his room, looking out now and then at the
whole massive structure of Aygon Castle, with its great gateway, above
which Rhea du Macduggan stood everlasting guard. Gad! anything might
happen there--and the world be no wiser! It was an appalling thought at
best. What secrets had that place held in the past and never revealed to
the light of day? What secrets might it not hold in the future?
And those dungeons. The thing he had seen there.... And that
handkerchief--so obviously belonging to Ross Duggan, and which now lay
in his inner pocket. He fumbled for it and brought it out to the light,
examining it minutely. Fine linen, finely monogrammed. Very obviously
the handkerchief of an extravagant gentleman. But what on earth _he_
should be doing down there, amidst _that_, was something which sent the
grim lines fleeting about Cleek's mouth and eyes. It couldn't be he--the
son of a proud old house like this one! The thing seemed impossible. And
yet--there was the handkerchief to prove that fact; and then this
electricity business, which obviously ate up a good many private funds.
H'm. It would want close looking into, if nothing further proceeded with
Miss Duggan's part of the affair.
For an hour or two he sat pondering and dreaming there, the book he had
caught up absent-mindedly from the billiard-room book-case lying open in
his lap.
The dinner-gong sounding through that quiet house brought him quickly to
his feet, a sense of sharpened appetite lending pleasing colour to the
thought of what the dining-hall afforded, for mine host believed in
setting a good table, and his hospitality was by no means frugal.
Dollops was already standing by his table, expectant eye upon the trim
maid who waited upon them, for during this little sojourn in the
Highlands Cleek had expressed a wish for the lad's company during meals,
and old Fairnish had told his spouse that "Misthair Deland were an unco'
queer pairrson tu wish the company of his mon wi' 'im at meal-time, but
so lang as he paid his bill prampt, 'twere nought of hees business."
And that was why Dollops was waiting now with that hungry eye of his
upon the plate of steaming soup which the maid was bringing to the
table. Only his respect for the man who had raised him to his present
status kept him from dropping into his seat and gulping the stuff down
straightaway.
Cleek smiled as he saw the lad's eager eye.
"Sit down, sit down, Dollops, and set to," he said with a laugh, laying
a hand upon the boy's sleeve with something of tenderness in the
gesture. "Your eyes are like hard-boiled eggs, they're popping out of
your head so. Hungry, I'll be bound."
"'Ungry--I means hungry, sir? ... starved's more like it!" gave back
Dollops between mouthfuls of hot soup. "Why, I'm that 'ungry me
backbone's well-nigh come rahnd to me front! Nuffink since tea--although
I must say as I nabbed a roll from the kitchen table when the cook
wasn't lookin', and there was a cold sossidge fairly talkin' ter me from
the plate in the larder. And so, as there weren't no one around, I just
whistled to 'im, and he 'opped off his platter quite tame-like. But fer
anything else!..." The last spoonful went down with a gulp.
"Dollops, Dollops! You'll be eating the wake up at your own funeral, you
young gourmand!" threw in Cleek laughingly. "You've a constitution like
an ostrich. I'm sure, if you were actually starving, you'd manage to
gnaw an umbrella--spokes and all!... Heigho! This is a queer world,
isn't it? Here's me sitting here in this little inn-place, on the top of
the Highlands, with the heart of me wandering away in other places, and
the soul of me sometimes hungry for the sight of other worlds across the
sea--to which I've closed the door of my own accord and shut the sight
of their dear blessedness forever from me! And there's those people up
at Aygon Castle. Bitter, cruel, hard to each other. Pulling this way and
that, until their hearts must break with the strain of the fray--and
with the whole structure of their dear inheritance forever with them, so
that they need never hunger and thirst for a sight of it as--as others
do. Heigho! but it's a topsy-turvy, crazy sort of a world we live in,
isn't it?"
Something in the tone of Cleek's voice caused Dollops instantly to
pause. Eyes wide, mouth open, face gone suddenly pale, he set down his
knife and fork and reaching a shaking hand across the table laid it upon
Cleek's.
"Guv'nor," he said, in a scared, hushed sort of voice, "you ain't
a-wishin' ter go back--to all them Maurevanian royalties, are yer? Wiv a
throne an' a crahn and a bloomin' spectur in yer 'and? You ain't
a-pinin' fer the Crash Pots, I 'opes? For as sure as I know anyfink of
anybody, they'd never let sich folks as Mr. Narkom an'--an'--me come
within twenty miles of yer. And you ain't--ain't wishin' ter l-lose us,
are yer, sir? It would fair break my 'eart if I thought _that_."
Cleek put back his head and laughed, laughed heartily, with his eyes
wet. There was a sob in the boy's voice as he spoke, and the look of
injured worship in his eyes would have wrung tears from a stone. Cleek
stopped laughing suddenly, and sat forward and looked straight at the
boy.
"Dollops," he said quietly, "I wouldn't barter _this_ inheritance--of
Love--which the good Lord has given me, for all the thrones and
'specturs' and 'crash-pots' that the world could hold. For true
friendship is the best inheritance of all. But there are times when a
man must be allowed to go down into the deeps of his memory and take a
maudlin joy in counting over the hidden pearls there. I've no doubt you
do it yourself, lad--and shed a tear in solitude for the days when you
had a mother to care for you, and you weren't just a frightened little
sinner of an orphan boy."
"An' that's where you're dead wrong, sir," gave back Dollops with a
vigorous nod of the head. "Fer I never does anyfink of the sort. Me
muvver--Gawd 'elp 'er!--were a bruiser an' a footballer in one, an'
there weren't an inch o' me poor little body which didn't 'ave a score
of bruises upon it. As for me farver--well, I doesn't remember 'im, and
no doubt it's a good fing, too.... No, sir, you've bin and gone and
missed the bull's eye this time. I ain't no Wistful Willie, I ain't.
You've been Muvver and Farver and Big Bruvver and all the whole darn
Fambly ter me, an' if ever I finks o' the blinkin' parst, it's just that
I didn't live clean and strite an'--an' _decent_, so's I could be a bit
more worvy uv yer precious kindness.... Lord! listen ter me a-torkin'
like a bloomin' sermonizer! But them's my sentiments--strite! An' so
long as yer ain't wishin ter go back to--_them_----"
"No, I'm not wishing that at all, boy," said Cleek quietly, with an odd
little smile. "So don't you worry your ginger head over such fool
notions as that. The day I want to get rid of you all--Miss Lorne,
yourself, and Mr. Narkom--is the day that sees me in my grave. And then
I'll only be waiting to wring your hands across the Big Beyond. And if
you ever mention royalties and 'specturs' and 'crash-pots' to me again,
Dollops, I'll--I'll cut you out of my will.... Finished?"
"Yessir."
"Well, then, come along upstairs and smoke a weed with me. Unless you've
something better to do. I've need of a man's company to-night, for my
mood's maudlin, and a chat over old times will straighten things out for
me."
"_Rar_ver!" Then to himself: "Missin' Miss Ailsa, like any uvver
bloomin' lovesick strain," thought Dollops to himself, with a shake of
the head. "Well, orl I kin s'y is, Dollops me lad, it's a good thing you
ain't in love yerself. You love yer tummy better'n the gels--and a
fairer deal it is, too. Fer yer _can_ tell when you're proper fed up,
and starve a bit in consequence. But the lydies!--well, they never lets
yer leave 'em alone! 'E ain't 'ad no letter this mornin'--that's wot the
trouble is, bless 'is 'eart!"
So Dollops followed Cleek upstairs to his room, and in the short
twilight of the summer evening sat with him, curled up on a cushion at
his feet, and smoked and talked and gazed at the great Castle in front
of them, almost lost in the twilight mists, like the true little
_gamin_ he was, until the lonesomeness had gone from Cleek's soul, and
the night had thrown her mantle over the sky.
Then:
"Time for you to be getting into your little 'downy', old chap," he
said, with a stretch and a yawn and a smile down into the eager young
face that rested against his knee, as a dog might do, faithfulness in
the attitude. "Or we'll be having no salmon-fishing to-morrow, for
you'll be over-sleeping yourself, and the fish will have swum to other
waters, getting tired of waiting for you. Cut along now, there's a good
boy."
"Orl right, Guv'nor. Thank yer, sir, for this--this rippin' fine
evenin'. And fer lettin' me pertend I was for the moment, like, a real
pal to yer. I shan't never ferget that. Good-night, sir, and pleasant
dreams."
"Good-night, Dollops. Close the door softly behind you. There's an old
lady in the room beyond, and I fancy she's just gone off to bed. I'll
sit here a few minutes longer, and then nip in between the sheets
myself."
But the few minutes lengthened into an hour before Cleek, about to rise
from his chair by the open window to knock out the ashes of his pipe
upon the sill, happened to glance up and out of it. Then he stopped of a
sudden, sucked in his breath, and stood stock-still, staring out in
front of him as though he had gone suddenly mad.
For the darkness of that dark night had been cut suddenly by a ray of
red light swung to and fro several times from the particular bit of
darkness which Cleek knew was Aygon Castle; extinguished; re-lit; sent
swinging across the darkness again like an arc of crimson light; and
when this was done for a third time, Cleek knew that it was a signal--a
signal from Maud Duggan to him--a signal, too, which meant distress.
Something had happened out there in that grim darkness beyond the rim of
hill and valley in that great, gaunt edifice of mediaeval stone,
something so serious that she had signalled for him to come, as she said
she would.
He drew out his spotlight, and sent it zigzagging in the direction of
the red light, just to let her know she had been seen and understood.
Then, swinging round swiftly, he caught up his dark overcoat, slipped
his arms into it, drew a cap low down over his head, and was off into
the shadows and pelting away down the narrow tortuous lane as fast as
his swift feet could carry him.