THE GLEANERS
When Bessie and Robert returned to Highfield; when the people discovered
how the light railway, which originally had been a matter of
electricity, and then had degenerated into an affair of steam, was in
fact a proposal of gas entirely; when Windward House remained empty and
unswept, with the giant tortoise lord of the manor; and when the
niggardly Dyer was attacked on all sides as the confederate of the
public enemy--there unfortunately existed no genius of the lamp
competent to continue the parochial record from the point where Captain
Drake had closed it. Genii of the lantern undoubtedly did exist, and
these made another story, a kind of fairy tale, which was not told
outside the village. All the water was spilt near the pump. Nobody took
part in the revolution which followed, causing an alteration in the
landscape; at least nobody in particular; but there was not a man,
woman, or child of destructive age who did not give a hand towards the
general rubbing of the lamp. When the furniture failed to arrive at the
banks of the Drivel, and inquiry elicited the fact that all had passed
into the hands of dealers, Kezia fell into a state of melancholy which
not even her favourite Sunday walk around the cemetery was able to
relieve; and when the cruel truth of George's unassailable title to
Windward House was broken gently room by room, despondency increased
upon her to such an extent that she actually paid a visit to the
electric theatre.
Miss Yard laughed merrily at the humorous idea of buying new furniture,
and told everybody about her provincial escape from the fire which had
destroyed everything she possessed, and how a young gentleman called
Sidney had rescued her from the flames at great personal risk. She was
so grateful that she suggested he might become engaged to Nellie, and he
had done so at once; which showed how absurd it was to say that young
men of the present day were rude and disobedient. Of course it was
understood that the engagement was only to continue during her lifetime.
As for Nellie, she breathed a great sigh of relief. The loss of the
furniture might be a serious matter, so far as Kezia's future and Miss
Yard's banking account were concerned; but it meant the total eclipse of
George. He could not show his face either in Highfield or Drivelford; he
had done for himself completely. She refused to listen to Sidney's
proposal of instructing Hunter to institute proceedings.
"By doing nothing we get rid of him for ever," she said.
"Anyhow, we can take action against the people who bought the things,"
he urged.
"We shall do nothing of the kind. It would worry the old lady into her
grave; and I believe that's your object."
"I want to punish the brute for bullying you and preaching at me."
"You can't make a thick-skinned creature like George feel anything," she
answered. "If he were put in prison, he would congratulate himself upon
living free of expense. And if he refunded the money, he would insist
upon coming here and living with Miss Sophy. It would be no use turning
him out. He would come back like a cat and make us all miserable. Leave
him alone, and we shall hear no more of him."
She prophesied truly. Those who had been honoured by the society, and
somewhat doubtful friendship, of George Drake were not privileged to
look upon him--or on his like--again. After gathering in his harvest, he
retired into the privacy of lodgings, having a sum of sixteen hundred
pounds to his credit, and spent a couple of years drinking tea, smoking
cigars, and trying to make up his mind whether his landlady's daughter
"would do."
This young lady was of a more orthodox type than Nellie. She possessed a
head of golden hair, upon which much time and dye had been expended; her
eyes were dull; her countenance was flaming. George secretly admired
that style of beauty. The young woman could make tea, arrange cushions,
fetch and carry slippers, stand in a deferential attitude; she showed
unmistakable signs of honesty, and obeyed the call of her mother
instantly; she had no conversation, the possession of which was a gift
that marred so many women; she giggled respectfully when addressed; nor
did she shrink from admitting that gentlemen of Mr. Drake's magnificence
unhappily grew scarcer every year.
George became highly delighted with Matilda which, he remarked, was a
sweet, old-fashioned name, suggesting to him somehow the odour of lilac
and honeysuckle. He congratulated himself frequently upon having thrown
over that designing young woman, Nellie, just in time; and, at the
expiration of eighteen months of indolence, he informed her--for in such
a matter he disdained all questions--of the social position that awaited
her. She was capable of improvement, he admitted, and no doubt she would
improve. Grace she would acquire by watching him. The heavy tramping
about the house might be exchanged for a gentle footfall by the use of
more appropriate footwear. He begged her to bear these things in mind,
and above all never to forget that out of all the women in the world he
had selected her.
Matilda appeared quite satisfied. So did her mother, who was deep in
debt, and had no scruples against adding to the burden, when informed by
her future son-in-law that his resources were practically unlimited.
"It has just occurred to me I have a property on Dartmoor worth a couple
of thousand," he said in the grand manner, well suited to his wealth and
indolence. "I have not been near it for the last two years. It's a fine
house--a beautiful Elizabethan mansion--but it has a somewhat peculiar
history," he added.
"Is there a ghost?" asked Matilda's mother, who was greatly impressed by
everything George said.
"There are several ghosts," he replied.
"Don't ye ask me to live there then," said Matilda, with her giggle
which ought to have been illegal.
"Nothing would induce me to go near the place," said George with perfect
truth. "I ought to have sold it long ago, but these little things escape
one's memory. I will dispose of it at once, and buy a cottage, with a
bit of land. I shall keep bees and prune the rose trees; while you look
after the poultry and the cow, do the cooking, mind the house, and
attend to me."
Matilda was a poor mathematician, but even to her this did not appear a
fair division of labour. Already she was running up a little account
against her future husband. His courtship was not of that vigorous order
she had a right to expect; his indolence seemed to her a type curable
only by the constant application of a broomstick; his craving for tea
and tobacco, unless checked, might easily become morbid. Matilda
possessed some wits; not many, but ingenious ones; and, until George was
safely tied to her by matrimony, she was going to pretend she had no
conversation.
When George observed that the Dartmoor property had just occurred to his
memory, he intended perhaps to say he had thought of little else during
the last two years. He had almost succeeded in believing that his
disposal of the furniture had come perilously near actual dishonesty; by
which he meant to imply his action had been unbusinesslike and foolish;
though he had the satisfaction of knowing that Nellie had been justly
punished for her offences. He had planned to sell, or to let, Windward
House immediately; but had reckoned without his cowardly nature, which
conjured up visions of all manner of people seeking vengeance against
him. Bessie and Robert would be clamouring for his arrest; Kezia might
have taken her scraps of paper to some solicitor; Nellie might have
placed the matter in the hands of Hunter; the dreary Dyer might be
forced to bring an action for conspiracy to clear his own mean
character. George had been so terrified by these fancies that, for
several months, he hardly dared to stir from his lodgings, and could not
look a policeman in the face.
But now that two years had passed, and nobody had tapped him on the
shoulder, he decided it would be perfectly safe to emerge from his
obscurity to the extent of communicating with a land agent in Exeter,
which city was a satisfactory distance from Highfield, and instructing
him to offer the property for sale by public auction or, should an
opportunity arise, to dispose of it at once by private treaty. For sake
of convenience George requested that letters should be addressed to him
at a certain post office, as he still thought it advisable to protect
the sanctity of his private residence.
The land agent replied that a sale by auction was generally the most
lucrative manner of disposing of a property, and suggested the despatch
of a clerk skilled in valuation to inspect the premises. He mentioned
also that applications for houses in the Highfield district reached his
office continually, and he would be pleased to issue orders to view the
property which by the description appeared a valuable one.
George agreed to everything, but was inclined to lay stress upon the
private sale if possible, as he did not wish the local inhabitants to
know that the ownership of the house was about to change hands. Included
in the sale, he mentioned, would be a giant tortoise--or the animal
might be offered separately--more than half a thousand years old. This
reptile, which would appeal alike to animal lovers and to antiquarians,
was a fixture with the garden, above which it browsed one half of the
year, and below which it slept for the other half.
Some days passed, during which George became a prey to various emotions.
Then came a letter which puzzled him exceedingly. The land agent would
be much obliged if Mr. Drake could make it convenient to call at his
office in order that certain misunderstandings might be removed. He did
not care to say anything more definite at the moment, as it was quite
possible he had read Mr. Drake's instructions wrongly. If this was not
the case, something very mysterious had happened.
George thought of all manner of things, but above all he suspected
treachery. If he entered the office, he might find himself trapped; with
Bessie in one corner, Kezia in another, Dyer in the third, and Nellie in
the fourth; with that notorious oppressor of widows and orphans, Hunter
himself, standing vindictively in the centre; not to mention a horde of
howling Highfielders outside the office. So he decided to take Matilda
with him. It would be a nice outing for the girl. He could send her into
the office to spy out the land; and, if necessary, he could sacrifice
her to the violence of the mob.
However, no precaution was required for, upon reaching the office and
peering anxiously through the glass portion of the door, George
discovered one clerk sprawling over a desk asleep, and another reading a
newspaper. Reassured by these peaceful signs of business as usual, he
told Matilda to go and look at the shops, and to cultivate a gift of
imagination by selecting those articles of dress and adornment which she
most desired; then entered, and asked the clerk, who seemed more capable
of action, whether his master was disengaged. The reply being
favourable, George gave his name, though with less noise than usual, and
was immediately invited to step upstairs and to open the first door that
occurred. He did so, reproaching himself bitterly for the shameful
timidity which had kept him in hiding for two years, and entirely
convinced that the purloining of the furniture was a very ordinary and
straightforward piece of business.
But this fine humour was knocked out of shape when the land agent, after
a few preliminary remarks concerning hurricanes and
anticyclones--appropriate under the circumstances--remarked courteously:
"In what part of Highfield parish is the property situated?"
"Near the end of the village street, just above the post office,"
answered the astounded George.
"So I judged from your description. It sounds a very remarkable thing to
say, Mr. Drake, but--we can't find it."
"What the deuce do you mean?" George stuttered. "Not find it! Not find
Highfield House! Why, it's the only gentleman's residence in the
village. It stands out by itself. It hits you in the eye. It's as
obvious as Exeter Cathedral."
"Then you have no explanation to offer?"
"Explain! What do you want me to explain?"
"Why my clerk, also a possible purchaser, both acting on the same day
though independently, were unable to locate the property. And why the
local residents have no knowledge of its existence."
"Of course, they went to the wrong village."
"There is only one Highfield in Devonshire. I will tell you precisely
what happened. Upon receiving your instructions, I directed my valuation
clerk to go to Highfield and inspect the property. I also displayed a
notice in the window. Houses on Dartmoor are selling well just now, as
very few are available, and the district has become highly popular as
it is said to be the healthiest part of England. Hardly was the notice
in the window, when a gentleman called and asked for an order to view
the property; and he travelled in the same train as my clerk, though
neither was aware of the other's existence; nor did they meet in
Highfield, as my clerk had left the village--supposing that a mistake
had been made--before the gentleman arrived. Since then several people
have inquired after the property, but I had to put them off until I had
seen you. Now, Mr. Drake, surely you can explain the mystery."
"Mystery--there can't be one. There's the house simply blotting out the
landscape! If they couldn't find it they must have been blind and
paralysed," George shouted.
"My clerk could see no signs of a gentleman's residence in the village,
and when he asked one or two of the inhabitants they knew nothing about
Windward House. He did not press his inquiry, as he naturally supposed
you had somehow sent the wrong instructions."
"I should like to know what part of the world he did go to," George
muttered.
"The gentleman who went to view the property, returned here in a pretty
bad temper, as he thought I had made a fool of him," continued the
agent.
"He too inquired of the local inhabitants where Windward House might be
situated, and received the same answer. They either did not know, or
would not tell him."
"Are you making this up? Have you received instructions from people
answering to the names of Hunter, Mudge, Dyer, Blisland, Kezia, Brock,
to humbug me?" cried George.
"Certainly not, sir," said the agent sharply.
"Then I'm confounded! I don't believe in magic, ghosts, witches, evil
eye, Aladdin's lamp, or pixies. Have you ever heard of such a thing in
your life? Have you ever known a fine, big, well built, modern residence
to vanish off the face of the earth, together with the ground it stood
on, and the garden around it? Do you believe such a thing is possible?
Because, if you do believe it, I am ruined."
And having thus spoken George wiped away the most genuine moisture that
had ever dimmed his vision.
"I cannot offer any explanation, Mr. Drake, but it's certain your house
has disappeared. Don't you think the best thing you can do is to go
there yourself and find out what really has happened?"
"I won't go near the place," cried George. "I wouldn't be seen in it.
I--I might disappear too."
"Then will you put the matter into the hands of the police?"
"I'll have nothing to do with them either," declared George.
"Shall I go myself and make inquiries of the vicar or some other
reliable person?"
"All right," said George heavily. "It means more expense, but that's
nothing to me now. If my house has gone, I may as well go to my last
home at once. It's no use trying to kick against the powers of
darkness," he muttered.
So the agent travelled to Highfield and collected a few details from
certain inhabitants, who did not altogether approve of the local
revolution, but were not going to make themselves unpopular by refusing
to take a rub at the lamp themselves. Having learnt so much, it was easy
to add to his information by assuming hostility to George and expressing
approval of the punishment which had been meted out to him.
"Mr. Drake said one thing and meant another all the time he wur here,"
explained the Dumpy Philosopher. "Us didn't mind that, but when he
started to treat us as human volks wur never meant to be treated, us had
to learn 'em a serious lesson. His uncle promised to build us a railway,
and they do say he left money vor it; but Mr. Drake did all he could to
stop it from a-running. American gentlemen come here--a lot of 'em--to
make the railway; but he said us didn't want it, and he drove 'em away,
and he wouldn't let 'em spend a shilling. Said they'd come here to buy
cloam. Said he'd rather see us all starve. Said he'd build the railway
himself out of his own pocket, and he'd put a big waterwheel atop o'
Highfield hill to draw the trains up; though us knew he couldn't, vor
there ain't enough water coming over in summer to draw up a wheelbarrow.
Said he'd make Highfield House a station and put a terminus in the back
garden. I don't know what else he warn't going to do, but he wur talking
childish day by day. And when he'd deceived us more than us could bear,
he run away."
"What he done to poor and honest volk don't hardly seem possible," said
the Gentle Shepherd. "Mrs. Drake left 'en Highfield House, and all the
furniture she left to Bessie Mudge what married Robert Mudge who works
vor Arthur Dyer. They ses she left part of the furniture to Kezia, but
Bessie ses that part o' the will be so mixed up it can't be hardly
legal. Mr. Drake kept on going away, and coming back again; and one day
he come back, and drove Miss Yard and Kezia out of the place; and he
goes to Dyer and bribes 'en to send Robert and Bessie away vor a
holiday; and when they'm gone he brings up vans and clears out all the
furniture; and he breaks into Robert's house and steals a lot of his
furniture, what he bought and paid vor wi' his own money; and he sells
the lot by auction avore us could recover from the shock; and he ain't
never been seen nor heard of since. And I fancy 'tis the most
disgraceful deed what can ha' happened since the creation of the world."
"But he couldn't take the house, nor yet look after it, vor us wasn't
going to have him back again after the way he'd used us, and us wasn't
going to have 'en letting or selling the place neither, and making money
out of our misfortunes," said the Wallower in Wealth. "He tried to ruin
us all, he ha' brought the Mudges to awful poverty, and he ha' pretty
near drove the Dyers into the asylum, and he stole a musical box what
ha' been in my family vor generations out o' mind. It wur a fine house,
sure enough, but 'tis all gone now. There's nought left but foundations,
and there's not much o' them, and you can't see 'em, vor they'm covered
wi' grass. The trees be all cut down, and the shrubs ha' got moved, and
the garden wall ain't there no longer. The house warn't there one day,
and gone the next, as some volk say. It seemed to go so gradual that no
one noticed it really was a leaving us. Us all knew why it wur going,
and how it wur going; but us didn't talk about it much, vor what be
everybody's business ain't nobody's business."
"The youngsters started it," said Squinting Jack. "They smashed the
windows and got inside. They sort o' took possession of the place and
played there every day. They played at soldiers mostly. One lot o'
children climbed up into the roof, and defended themselves wi' tiles and
laths, while another lot attacked 'em wi' doors and window frames. And
when they'd finished play, they took home all the broken stuff vor
firewood. That wur the beginning, but in an amazing short time the house
began to alter; it wur never the same place after the children got
playing in it. When an old woman wanted wood vor the fire, she just went
vor it; and when any one wanted a new door or window, they knew where
one wur handy. Then one or two started building a cottage, and as the
cottages went up Windward House come down. Some mornings us missed a bit
o' wall what seemed to ha' fallen in the night, but nobody asked
questions, vor us all had a hand in it, but there's no evidence to prove
it. You won't find anything worth taking away now, not if you was to
search wi' a miscroscope. The house didn't vanish away suddenly, not by
no manner of means."
"It seemed to me," said the Gentle Shepherd, "as if it melted."
"It vanished in small pieces," added the Dumpy Philosopher.
The Wallower in Wealth had nothing more to say. The giant tortoise had
transferred itself to his garden, having apparently engaged a
wheelbarrow for that purpose. Either it was anxious to adopt the
Wallower in Wealth, or he desired to study its habits in order that he
too might attain eternal life. Or possibly he was determined to obtain
some compensation for the lost musical box, through the possession of a
genuine antique, which might with some propriety be styled the sole
remaining item of the Captain's furniture.
The Dismal Gibcat said nothing whatever, although at one time he had
been exceedingly loquacious. His was the only voice raised in protest
against those who pillaged windows and door posts, or flitted at
moonlight with joists and floorings. He publicly rebuked a poor old dame
whom he caught staggering homeward with her apron full of laths. He
explained the law as to wilful damage and petty larceny, and he dealt
with the moral aspect of the matter till all were weary. Finally he
announced his intention of protecting the property of the absentee owner
by taking care of it for him: and he removed at least one half of the
material and, by judicious guardianship of the same, succeeded in
doubling the accommodation of his house.
George had no difficulty in speaking like a whale, but when he tried to
talk like a sprat he made a mess of things. Therefore he could not bring
Matilda and her mother to understand how a rascally trustee, whose name
was Hunter, had sold his property and made off with the cash. They were
sorry but firm; Matilda asserting it cost very little to keep a woman;
while her mother pointed out with considerable fluency that matrimony
was always less expensive than breach of promise actions. George gave
way--having a horror of the fierce light of publicity which beats upon
law courts--and became very melancholy. Nor was he much restored to
gaiety by the joys of married life; for Matilda rapidly developed a flow
of small talk which astounded him; when George ordered her to bring him
a cup of tea she prescribed herself a glass of beer; and when he called
for his slippers she threw the dirty boots at his head and told him to
clean them. Matrimony was not all bee-keeping and rose-pruning for
George.
Still more tragic were affairs at Drivelford, where Nellie and Sidney
had come to realise that, for them at least, the married state was
unattainable. Old ladies can be very selfish sometimes, and in that
stimulating atmosphere, which shared with many others the distinction of
being the healthiest in the land, Miss Yard grew no weaker daily. She
suffered from a slight cold last winter, but was all the better for it
in the spring. Indeed in merry May-time she made the shocking suggestion
that Sidney should teach her to ride the bicycle.
With such dispiriting examples as the Yellow Leaf, whose longevity was
becoming a public scandal, and whose conduct was disgraceful, as he
would not be refused his right to wed the youngest grandchild of one of
his middle-aged connections; and the giant tortoise, who found fresh
lettuces more luscious than the weeds of his fifteenth century diet; and
the eternal obstacle, Miss Yard, who was continually giving children's
parties because she felt so young herself; with such monuments of senile
selfishness before them, Nellie and Sidney did indeed appear condemned
to single blessedness.
But happily, according to the latest report from Drivelford, Miss Yard
was not feeling very well. She was suffering from broken chilblains.
THE END