HOME AND FOREIGN.
Six weeks was the average time allowed for the voyage to and fro of the
schooner _Montilla_ (owned by Messrs. Besley of Exeter) from Topsham to
Cadiz, or wherever it might be; and little uneasiness was ever felt, if
her absence extended to even three months. For Spaniards are not in the
awkward habit of cracking whips at old Time, when he is out at grass,
much less of jumping at his forelock; and Iberian time is nearly always
out at grass. When a thing will not help to do itself to-day, who knows
that it may not be in a kinder mood to-morrow? The spirit of worry, and
unreasonable hurry, is a deadly blast to all serenity of mind and
dignity of demeanour, and can be in harmony with nothing but bad
weather. Thus the _Montilla's_ period was a fluctuating numeral.
As yet English produce was of high repute, and the Continent had not
been barb-wired by ourselves, against our fleecy merchandise. The
Spaniards happened to be in the vein for working, and thus on this
winter trip the good trader's hold was quickly cleared of English
solids, and refilled with Spanish fluids; and so the _Montilla_ was
ready for voyage homeward the very day her passenger rejoined. This
pleased him well, for he was anxious to get back, though not at all
aware of the urgent need arising. Luckily for him and for all on board,
the schooner lost a day in getting out to sea, and thus ran into the
rough fringes only of the great storm that swept the English coast and
channel. In fact she made good weather across the Bay of Biscay, and
swang into her berth at Topsham, several days before she was counted
due.
The Sergeant's first duty was, of course, to report himself at
Walderscourt; and this he had done, before he made that auspicious
re-entry upon his own domain. The ladies did not at all expect to see
him, for days or even weeks to come, having heard nothing whatever of
his doings; for the post beyond France was so uncertain then, that he
went away with orders not to write.
When Jakes was shown into the room, Lady Waldron was sitting alone, and
much agitated by a letter just received from Mr. Webber, containing his
opinion of all that had happened at Perliton on Wednesday. Feeling her
unfitness for another trial, she sent for her daughter, before
permitting the envoy to relate his news. Then she strove to look calmly
at him, and to maintain her cold dignity as of yore; but the power was
no longer in her. Months of miserable suspense, perpetual brooding, and
want of sleep, had lowered the standard of her pride; and nothing but a
burst of painful sobs saved her from a worse condition.
The Sergeant stood hesitating by the door, feeling that he had no
invitation to see this, and not presuming to offer comfort. But Miss
Waldron seeing the best thing to do, called him, and bade him tell his
news in brief.
"May it please your ladyship," the veteran began, staring deeply into
his new Spanish hat, about which he had received some compliments; "all
I have to tell your ladyship is for the honour of the family. Your
ladyship's brother is as innocent as I be. He hath had nought to do with
any wicked doings here. He hath not got his money, but he means to have
it."
"Thank God!" cried Lady Waldron, but whether about the money, or the
innocence, was not clear; and then she turned away, to have things out
with herself; and Jakes was sent into the next room, and sat down,
thanking the crown of his hat that it covered the whole of his domestic
interests.
When feminine excitement was in some degree spent, and the love of
particulars (which can never long be quenched by any depth of tears),
was reviving, Sergeant Jakes was well received, and told his adventures
like a veteran. A young man is apt to tell things hotly, as if nothing
had ever come to pass before; but a steady-goer knows that the sun was
shining, and the rain was raining, and the wind was blowing, ere he felt
any one of them. Alike the whole must be cut short.
It appears that the Sergeant had a fine voyage out, and picked up a
good deal of his lapsed Spanish lore, from two worthy Spanish hands
among the crew. Besley of Exeter did things well--as the manner of that
city is--victuals were good, and the crew right loyal, as generally
happens in that case. Captain Binstock stood in awe of his elder
brother, the butler, and never got out of his head its original belief
that the Sergeant was his brother's schoolmaster. Against that idea
chronology strove hazily, and therefore vainly. The Sergeant strode the
deck with a stick he bought at Exeter, spoke of his experience in
transports, regarded the masts as a pair of his own canes--in a word was
master of the ship, whenever there was nothing to be done to her. A
finer time he never had, for he was much too wiry to be sea-sick. All
the crew liked him, whether present or absent, and never laughed at him
but in the latter case. He corrected their English, when it did not suit
his own, and thus created a new form of discipline. Most of this he
recounted in his pungent manner, without a word of self-laudation; and
it would have been a treat to Christie Fox to hear him; but his present
listeners were too anxious about the result to enjoy this part of it.
Then he went to the city to which he was despatched, and presented his
letters to the few he could find entitled to receive them. The greater
part were gone beyond the world of letters, for twenty-five years make a
sad gap in the post. And of the three survivors, one alone cared to be
troubled with the bygone days. But that one was a host in himself, a
loyal retainer of the ancient family, in the time of its grandeur, and
now in possession of a sinecure post, as well as a nice farm on the
hills, both of which he had obtained through their influence. He was
delighted to hear once more of the beautiful lady he had formerly
adored. He received the Sergeant as his guest, and told him all that was
known of the present state of things, concerning the young Count--as he
still called him--and all that was likely to come of it.
It was true that the Count had urged his claim, and brought evidence in
support of it; but at present there seemed to be very little chance of
his getting the money for years to come, even if he should do so in the
end; and for that he must display, as they said, fresh powers of
survivorship. He had been advised to make an offer of release and
quit-claim, upon receipt of the sum originally advanced without any
interest; but he had answered sternly, "either I will have all, or
none."
The amount was so large, that he could not expect to receive the whole
immediately; and he was ready to accept it by instalments; but the
authorities would not pay a penny, nor attempt an arrangement with him,
for fear of admitting their liability. In a very brief, and candid, but
by no means honest manner, they refused to be bound at all by the action
of their fathers. When that was of no avail, because the City-tolls were
in the bond, they began to call for proof of this, and evidence of that,
and set up every possible legal obstacle, hoping to exhaust the
claimant's sadly dwindled revenues. Above all, they maintained that two
of the lives in the assurance-deed were still subsisting, although their
lapse was admitted in their own minutes, and registered in the record.
And it was believed that in this behalf, they were having recourse to
personation.
That scandalous pretext must be demolished, before it could become of
prime moment to the Count to prove the decease of his brother-in-law;
and certain it was that no such dramatic incident had occurred in the
City, as that which her ladyship had witnessed, by means of her
imagination. With a long fight before him, and very scanty sinews of war
to maintain it, the claimant had betaken himself to Madrid, where he had
powerful friends, and might consult the best legal advisers. But his
prospects were not encouraging; for unless he could deposit a good round
sum, for expenses of process, and long enquiry, and even counterbribing,
no one was likely to take up his case, so strong and so tough were the
forces in possession. Rash friends went so far as to recommend him to
take the bull by the horns at once, to lay forcible hands upon the
City-tolls, without any order from a law-court, for the Deed was so
drastic that this power was conferred; but he saw that to do this would
simply be to play into the hands of the enemy. For thus he would
probably find himself outlawed, or perhaps cast into prison, with the
lapse of his own life imminent; for the family of the Barcas were no
longer supreme in the land, as they used to be.
"Ungrateful thieves! Vile pigs of burghers!" Lady Waldron exclaimed with
just indignation. "My grandfather would have strung them up with straw
in their noses, and set them on fire. They sneer at the family of Barca,
do they? It shall trample them underfoot. My poor brother shall have my
last penny to punish them; for that I have wronged him in my heart. Ours
is a noble race, and most candid. We never deign to stoop ourselves to
mistrust or suspicion: I trust Master Sergeant, you have not spoken so
to the worthy and loyal Diego, that my brother may ever hear of the
thoughts introduced into my mind concerning him?"
"No, my lady, not a word. Everything I did, or said, was friendly,
straight-forward, and favourable to the honour of the family."
"You are a brave man; you are a faithful soldier. Forget that by the
force of circumstances I was compelled to have such opinions. But can
you recite to me the names of the two persons, whose lives they have
replenished?"
"Yes, my lady. Señor Diego wrote them down in this book on purpose. He
thought that your ladyship might know something of them."
"For one I have knowledge of everything; but the other I do not know,"
Lady Waldron said, after reading the names. "This poor Señorita was one
of my bridesmaids, known to me from my childhood. _La Giralda_ was her
name of intimacy, what you call her nickname, by reason of her stature.
Her death I can prove too well, and expose any imitation. But the
Spanish nation--you like them much? You find them gentle, brave,
amiable, sober, not as the English are, generous, patriotic,
honourable?"
"Quite as noble and good, my lady, as we found them five and twenty
years agone. And I hope that the noble Count will get his money. A
bargain is a bargain--as we say here. And if they are so honourable----"
"Ah, that is quite a different thing. Inez, I must leave you. I desire
some time to think. My mind is very much relieved of one part, although
of another still more distressed. I request you to see to the good
refreshment of this honourable and faithful soldier."
Lady Waldron acknowledged the Sergeant's low bow, with a kind
inclination of her Andalusian head (which is something in the headway
among the foremost) and left the room with a lighter step than her heart
had allowed her for many a week.
"This will never do, Sergeant; this won't do at all," said Miss Waldron
coming up to him, as soon as she had shut the door behind her lofty
mother. "I know by your countenance, and the way you were standing, and
the side-way you sit down again, that you have not told us everything.
That is not the right way to go on, Sergeant Jakes."
"Miss Nicie!" cried Jakes, with a forlorn hope of frightening her, for
she had sat upon his knee, many a time, ten or twelve years ago, craving
stories of good boys and bad boys. But now the eyes, which he used to
fill with any emotion he chose to call for, could produce that effect
upon his own.
"Can you think that I don't understand you?" said Nicie, never releasing
him from her eyes. "What was the good of telling me all those stories,
when I was a little thing, except for me to understand you? When anybody
tells me a story that is true, it is no good for him to try anything
else. I get so accustomed to his way, that I catch him out in a moment."
"But my dear, my dear Miss Nicie," the Sergeant looked all about, as in
large appeal, instead of fixing steady gaze; "if I have told you a
single word that is not as true as Gospel--may I----"
"Now don't be profane, Sergeant Jakes. That was allowed perhaps in
war-time. And don't be crooked--which is even worse. I never called in
question any one thing you have said. All I know is that you have
stopped short. You used to do just the same with me, when things I was
too young to hear came in. You are easier to read than one of your own
copies. What have you kept in the background, you unfaithful soldier?"
"Oh Miss, how you do remind me of the Colonel! Not that he ever looked
half as fierce. But he used to say, 'Jakes what a deep rogue you are!'
meaning how deeply he could trust me, against all his enemies. But Miss,
I have given my word about this."
"Then take it back, as some people do their presents. What is the good
of being a deep rogue, if you can't be a shallow one? I should hope you
would rather be a rogue, to other people than to me. I will never speak
to you again, unless you show now that you can trust me, as my dear
father used to trust in you. No secrets from me, if you please."
"Well, Miss, it was for your sake, more than anybody else's. But you
must promise, honour bright, not to let her ladyship know of it; for it
might be the death of her. It took me by surprise, and it hath almost
knocked me over; for I never could have thought there was more troubles
coming. But who do you think I ran up against, to Exeter?"
"How can I tell? Don't keep me waiting. That kind of riddle is so
hateful always."
"Master Tom, Miss Nicie! Your brother, Master Tom! 'Sir Thomas Waldron'
his proper name is now. You know they have got a new oil they call
_gas_, to light the public places of the big towns with, and it makes
everything as bright as day, and brighter than some of the days we get
now. Well, I was intending to come on last night by the Bristol mail,
and wait about till you was up; and as I was standing with my knapsack
on my shoulder, to see her come in from Plymouth, in she comes, and a
tall young man dressed all in black, gets down slowly from the roof, and
stands looking about very queerly.
"'Bain't you going no further, Sir?' says the Guard to him very civil,
as he locked the bags in; 'only allows us three minutes and a
half,'--for the young man seemed as if he did not care what time it was.
"'No. I can't go home;' says he, as if nothing mattered to him. I was
handing up my things, to get up myself, when the tone of his voice took
me all of a heap.
"'What, Master Tom!' says I, going up to him.
"'Who are you?' says he. 'Master Tom, indeed!' For I had this queer sort
of hat on, and cloak, like a blessed foreigner.
"Well, when I told him who I was, he did not seem at all as he used to
be, but as if I had done him a great injury; and as for his luggage, it
would have gone on with the coach, if the Guard had not called out about
it.
"'Come in here;' he says to me, as if I was a dog, him that was always
so well-spoken and polite! And he turned sharp into _The Old London
Inn_, leaving all his luggage on the stones outside.
"'Private sitting-room, and four candles!' he called out, marching up
the stairs, and making me a sign to follow him. Everybody seemed to know
him there, and I told them to fetch his things in.
"'No fire! Hot enough already. Put the candles down, and go;' said he to
the waiter, and then he locked the door, and threw the key upon the
table. It takes a good deal to frighten me, Miss. But I assure you I was
trembling; for I never saw such a pair of eyes--not furious, but so
desperate; and I should have been but a baby in his hands, for he is
bigger than even his father was. Then he pulled out a newspaper, and
spread it among the candles.
"'Now, you man of Perlycross,' he cried, 'you that teach the boys, who
are going to be grave-robbers,--is this true, or is it all a cursed
lie?' Excuse me telling you, Miss, exactly as he said it. 'The Lord in
heaven help me, I think I shall go mad, unless you can tell me it is all
a wicked lie.' Up and down the room he walked, as if the boards would
sink under him; while I was at my wits' ends, as you may well suppose,
Miss.
"'I have never heard a word of any of this, Master Tom;' I said, as soon
as I had read it; for it was all about something that came on at
Perliton before the Magistrates, last Wednesday. 'I have been away in
foreign parts.'
"Miss Nicie, he changed to me from that moment. I had not said a word
about how long I was away, or anything whatever to deceive him. But he
looked at my hat that was lying on a chair, and my cloak that was still
on my back, as much as to say--'I ought to have known it;' and then he
said, 'Give me your hand, Old Jakes. I beg your pardon a thousand times.
What a fool I must be, to think you would ever have allowed it!'
"This put me in a very awkward hole; for I was bound to acknowledge
that I had been here, when the thing, he was so wild about, was done.
But I let him go on, and have his raving out. For men are pretty much
the same as boys; though expecting of their own way more, which I try to
take out of the young ones. But a loud singing out, and a little bit of
stamping, brings them into more sense of what they be.
"'I landed at Plymouth this morning,' he said, 'after getting a letter,
which had been I don't know where, to tell me that my dear father, the
best man that ever lived, was dead. I got leave immediately, and came
home to comfort my mother and sister, and to attend to all that was
needful. I went into the coffee-room, before the coach was ready; and
taking up the papers, I find this! They talk of it, as if it was a thing
well known, a case of great interest in the county; a _mystery_ they
call it, a very lively thing to talk about--_The great Perlycross
Mystery_, in big letters, cried at every corner, made a fine joke of in
every dirty pot-house. It seems to have been going on for months.
Perhaps it has killed my mother and my sister. It would soon kill me, if
I were there, and could do nothing.'
"Here I found a sort of opening; for the tears rolled down his face, as
he thought of you, Miss Nicie, and your dear Mamma; and the rage in his
heart seemed to turn into grief, and he sat down in one of the trumpery
chairs that they make nowadays, and it sprawled and squeaked under him,
being such an uncommon fine young man in trouble. So I went up to him,
and stood before him, and lifted his hands from his face, as I had done
many's the time, when he was a little fellow, and broke his nose perhaps
in his bravery. And then he looked up at me quite mild, and said--
"'I believe I am a brute, Jakes. But isn't this enough to make me one?'
"I stayed with him all night, Miss; for he would not go to bed, and he
wouldn't have nothing for to eat or drink; and I was afraid to leave him
so. But I got him at last to smoke a bit of my tobacco; and that seemed
to make him look at things a little better. I told him all I knew, and
what I had been to Spain for, and how you and her ladyship were trying
bravely to bear the terrible will of the Lord; and then I coaxed him all
I could, to come along of me, and help you to bear it. But he said--'I
might take him for a coward, if I chose; but come to Walderscourt he
wouldn't, and face his own mother and sister he couldn't; until he had
cleared off this terrible disgrace.'"
"He is frightfully obstinate, he always was;" said Nicie, who had
listened to this tale, with streaming eyes; "but it would be such a
comfort to us both, to have him here. What has become of him? Where is
he now?"
"That is the very thing I dare not tell you, Miss; because he made me
swear to keep it to myself. By good rights, I ought to have told you
nothing; but you managed so to work it out of me. I would not come away
from him, till I knew where he would be, because he was in such a state
of mind. But I softened him down a good bit, I believe; and he might
take a turn, if you were to write, imploring of him. I will take care
that he gets it, for he made me promise to write, and let him know
exactly how I found things here, after being away so long. But he is
that bitter against this place, that it will take a deal to bring him
here. You must work on his love for his mother, Miss Nicie, and his pity
for the both of you. That is the only thing that touches him. And say
that it is no fault of Perlycross, but strangers altogether."
"You shall have my letter before the postman comes, so that you may send
it with your own. What a good friend you have been to us, dear Jakes! My
mother's heart would break at last, if she knew that Tom was in England,
and would not come first of all to her. I can scarcely understand it. To
me it seems so unnatural."
"Well, Miss, you never can tell by yourself, how other people will take
things--not even your own brother. And I think he will soon come round,
Miss Nicie. According to my opinion, it was the first shock of the
thing, and the way he got it, that drove him out of his mind a'most.
Maybe, he judges you by himself, and fancies it would only make you
worse, to see him, with this disgrace upon him. For that's what he can't
get out of his head; and it would be a terrible meeting for my lady,
with all the pride she hath in him. I reckon 'tis the Spanish blood that
does it; Englishman as he is, all over. But never fear, Miss Nicie;
we'll fetch him here, between the two of us, afore we are much older. He
hath always been loving in his nature; and love will drive the anger
out."