MET AGAIN.
HOTCHPOT HALL has been a fine old place, as any one would say who looks
at it; and it would have been a fine place still, if the owners had
been of like quality. “It taketh its name,” says an old county book,
“from a very ancient rule of law, that if sisters be in coparcenary, as
heiresses to landed estate, and one of them hath from the same source
a several estate by frank-marriage, she shall (as is just and seemly)
bring that into _hotchpot_, which signifieth a mixture for a pudding,
ere ever she can enjoy rights with the rest.”
Whether that be correct or otherwise, is far beyond my power to say,
for I know not what “frank-marriage” is—nor for the matter of that
“coparcenary”—but at any rate there stands the house, which savours
in some degree of a pudding, being built of many-coloured stones; and
the people for several generations have taken their name from this old
place.
Though it stands in the midst of a flat and dreary country, with good
corn-land spread among desert fens, and fewer and smaller trees than
ours—for the glory of Middlesex is the noble elms—yet the house has
the advantage of a fine rise towards it, and a wide and open view for
many miles across the level. This gives it the air of an important
mansion, and one that deserves to be kept in good repair. But for three
generations now, the owners had been coming down in the world, by
reason of bad times, as they themselves declared, but as anybody else
would say, of their own badness. Till the last successor had scarcely
the right to call himself the owner.
Sir Cumberleigh Hotchpot was of good descent, if name may stand for
nature, on his mother’s as well as his father’s side; for his mother
had been Lady Frances Cumberleigh, the daughter of a North-country
Earl. But she had brought no increase to the family estates, and had
rather assisted to lessen them. And her son had pursued the same
course, by gambling, and a dissipated and rambling life. It was only by
sufferance now that he dwelt, when he fled from London creditors, in
one wing of the old house, till some one could be found, who would take
it upon a repairing lease, for it could not be sold to advantage.
This baronet was cunning, though he was not wise; and in spite of all
misfortune, he relied on little tricks to keep himself going, while
he still hoped to indulge in devices on a larger scale, to fetch
himself round. He took good care to reap his gains with the keenest
promptitude, while he left his losses to be gleaned by very tardy
process. And this had tended, more than once, to impair his popularity.
Sam Henderson came and said to me, while I was thinking what next to
do, after getting the better of one enemy—“Would you like to see old
Crumbly Pots?” Sam had been making money lately, and scorned anybody
who could not pay up—“It might do some good, and can do no harm. He
is ducking his head among his moats and meres because he was hard hit
at Ascot. He owes me five ponies; he was ass enough to back that cur
_Sylvester_, a nag who lays his ears back, the moment he is collared. I
am pretty flush now, and I don’t care to squeeze him; but I’m going to
the July, for one more spree, before being tethered finally. He won’t
dare to show his mug there; but you and I could toddle on to his earth,
afterwards.”
I told Sam plainly that I did not understand the meaning of his
overture. But he only replied—“Then the more fool you. Can you
understand this—I am going to the July meeting at Newmarket, where
the best two-year-olds of the season come out, and you may see five
or six of old Chalker’s string. It would do you a deal of good to see
them, and take your mind out of your own hat; though you don’t know a
racehorse from your old _Spanker_. If you like to come with me I will
stand Sam, according to the meaning of my name and nature. I shall make
another hatful of money there, for cockering up the bridesmaids, and
that sort of thing; and after that we might rout up old Hotchpot.”
I perceived that Sam’s meaning was most friendly, and after consulting
Uncle Corny, who thought that I sadly wanted change of scene, and a
little more experience of the world, I arranged to go with Sam to
headquarters, as he called it, and after the racing should be over
to proceed to Hotchpot Hall, in Lincolnshire. Sam could procure me
admittance there; and I longed to come face to face with my old rival.
With the racing I was pleased, as any man must be at beholding noble
animals, and hoping that the best of them may win. Of the thousand
guiles and wiles, that defraud them of fair play, I was happy enough to
know nothing, and believed that the two legs across them were as honest
as their four. Yet I wondered sometimes; and it proved how little one
may judge of quality by appearance, and how true the Holy Scriptures
are, when the horse that seemed likely to be last came first.
Of Sam I saw little, for he was too busy, going the round both of
stables and of houses, and forming opinion less by eyes than ears, and
most of all by his own conscience, which told him how he would have
acted in the position of the rest. Sam had a conscience not only nimble
but extremely sensitive, which enabled him to judge that of other
sporting men perhaps less highly gifted. For these he charitably made
allowance, forgiving their defects when he pocketed their money.
“I have not done so badly,” he said on Friday night; “I made a fine
hit through old Roper. That old chap is worth a mint to me, for I know
every twist of his grand old mind. The professionals were cocksure that
_Columbine_ was meant, and she could not have lost if she had been.
How much have you won, Kit? I put you up neatly. You might have made a
hundred, without risk of a hair.”
“Well, I only bet half a crown, and that I lost. I think _Spanker_
could have beaten most of them. They don’t seem to me to go at any pace
at all.”
“That is what a greenhorn always thinks. If you were on their backs you
would soon find out the difference. Well, let’s have some supper, and
be off by the night mail. But you look queer. Have you met any one you
know, old chap?”
“Not a soul that I know, except Mr. Chalker; and I only know him by
sight. But this afternoon I saw a face that I have seen before, though
I have no idea who the owner is. I looked for you to tell me, but I
could not find you.”
“Very likely not. I went to see the saddling. You seem in a way about
it. What makes you take it up so?”
Upon this I told Henderson about the man who had gazed at me so,
through the clipped _Arbor vitæ_; and that now I had seen the same man
in the throng on the Heath, and could swear to him anywhere. At first
he was inclined to laugh, and thought I must have dreamed it; but
seeing how serious and positive I was, he naturally asked how it was I
let him go, without at least ascertaining who he was. I told him that I
had done my best; and that I believed the man knew me, for our eyes met
point-blank, until he turned his away. And then I had pushed through
the crowd to seize him, but a fat man on horseback came clearing the
course, and a rush of some hundreds of people swept us back, and when
I could get out of it, the man had disappeared. I described him and
his dress, to the best of my ability; and then Sam gave a whistle and
said—“I don’t think it can be. He can scarcely have been here without
my knowledge.”
“You recognize him? Who is he?” I asked with some excitement. “Don’t
keep it back, Sam. It is most important to me.”
“Well, the face, and the hat, and the green pearl in the scarf-pin
remind me uncommonly of Downy Bulwrag; though I do not know him very
well; and it can hardly be. He is out of England, I am told, and if he
had been here I should have met him in the ring. For he always comes to
bet, and he is a very deep file, though he knows very little of racing.
He comes to invest for old Pot sometimes, and it is the only time Pot
ever makes any money.”
“But he may have gone off, when he saw me,” I said; “he would hardly
dare to run the risk of meeting me again.”
“Wouldn’t he? It would take ten of you to drive him. Downy Bulwrag is
the coolest hand I ever came across. I give him a wide berth myself;
for there is nothing but bad luck to be made out of him. He is worse
than his mother, a thousand times; and everybody knows what she is. I
am very glad you missed him. For he would have had the best of you.”
“Would he indeed?” I exclaimed rather hotly. “I am not a milksop, Sam;
and I fear no man on earth, when I have reason to believe that he has
wronged me.”
“You are strong enough, Kit,” Sam returned, with some contempt; “we
are all aware of that, my friend. You are stronger, I dare say, than
Downy Bulwrag, although he is no chicken. But he is one of the first
boxers in England. He has made a hobby of it. He can hold his own with
the biggest prize fighters. He could double you up, before you got near
him. And it is not only that, my boy. Likely enough he would not have
touched you; for he never loses his temper they say. He would have had
you up before the Bench to-morrow. He can always put anybody in the
wrong. And then how should we have gone on to-night? No, it was a lucky
thing that you got no chance to tackle him, supposing it was Downy,
which I scarcely can believe. All the fellows are gone who could have
told me. But I dare say I shall find out in London. Now let us have
some grub, or we shall miss our train.”
Sam Henderson’s words set me pondering deeply. I had not intended to
assault that stranger, whoever he might be, but just to bring him to
a halt, and make him tell me who he was, and what he meant by coming
on the sly into my uncle’s garden, and watching me in that peculiar
manner. Now I felt pretty certain as to who he was, in spite of the
difficulties Sam had found about it. If my description tallied so
closely with that of Donovan Bulwrag, it was likely to be no one else
who had come so to spy upon me. For there was the motive at once made
plain. The man, who had robbed me of my wife, would naturally come
to see how I bore it, to learn perhaps what sort of adversary I was,
and to gloat upon my lonely misery. I felt delighted when I called to
mind that I had indulged in no sighs or soliloquy that evening, but
worked away steadily and even cheerfully, whistling every now and then
for company to myself. My deadly enemy could not say—“Poor devil, how
miserable he looks!”
And then why should I have such a bitter enemy? I had never done harm
to this Bulwrag, except by marrying a young lady upon whom he had set
his wicked heart, but who never would have had him, whatever he had
done. And again I had defied his mother, and thrown her into one of her
furious fits; but even if he had heard of that, it could not have moved
him to any great wrath. From all I had heard, he was not so very deeply
attached to his mother; and he must know, as everybody else did, how
little was enough to infuriate her.
As I thought of all these things in the train, with Sam Henderson
snoring, or rather roaring in his sleep (like a celebrated horse who
had won a race that day), the only conclusion I could come to was that
my case was more mysterious than ever; that some fiendish trick had
been played upon my wife and me; but how, and why, and by whom, was
more than my simple, half-educated, country wits could discover as
yet, or perhaps at any future time. Nevertheless I resolved to go on,
and get to the end of it, whether round or square; whether it might be
another sweet circle of happiness, or a coffin. And in this state of
mind, being lifted for the moment out of the body, by the hoisting of
the mind, I set my hands together—for it was a first-class carriage,
and there was room to do it, though it seemed to me a showy thing upon
the part of Sam, when third-class tickets would have done as well—and
I prayed to the Lord, which I had not done lately, having found it
lead to nothing, that He would interfere, and not allow everything to
be under the control of the Evil one. After that I felt better; for
faith is a fruit-tree, which requires (in a common soil) the choicest
cultivation.
“Here we are,” cried Sam, who could sleep by the mile, and be wide
awake at the direction-post; “what a heavy-headed chap you are! Just
look to our bags, while I see about a trap. We have five miles to
drive, and then we put up at old Cranky’s. There we have a shake-down,
and I fare to want it, as the folk in this part of the world express
it. They all know me here, and they have a black mare who can travel.”
For five miles we drove through a sleepy-looking land, with scarcely
anybody yet astir, but a multitude of birds quite wide awake; and
then we put up at a wayside inn; where Sam seemed, as usual, to be
well-known. He told me to take it easy, and he set a fine example; for
he very soon peopled the house with his sleep, while I wandered about
to see how the land lay.
“Pots is never up till twelve o’clock,” Sam explained at
breakfast-time; “so you see we may just as well keep our hay in cocks.
I say, Cranky,” he addressed the landlord, who was coming in and out,
having no maid to attend to us, “What’s-his-name been down this way
lately? Fancied we saw something of him yesterday.”
“No, sir, not a sign of him, since you was here last. They don’t seem
to hit it off together as they did. Leastways that was what my missus
heard.”
“More chance of honest people coming by their due. How much does Sir
Cumberleigh owe you, Cranky? Take thy bill, and write down quickly.”
“Lor’, sir, it would take a week to make it out. And what good would
come of it when done? Sir Cumberleigh never pays nobody. No more than
his father before him.” It were vain on my part to attempt to express
the long-suffering of Mr. Cranky’s drawl.
“These are wonderful fellows,” Sam declared aloud to me while the
landlord looked at him, as if to say—“And so are you,” and then turned
to me to see if I were likewise; “they never seem to expect to get
their money from their betters, as they call them. That cock would
never fight, in our part of the world. Any lady been down at the Hall,
this summer, Cranky? I mean any one, who has never been before? You
need not be afraid of telling me, you know. I am an old friend of Sir
Cumberleigh.”
This question was put in such a common sort of way, that I dropped my
knife and fork, and looked furiously at Sam. For I knew what he meant;
and it appeared to me too bad.
“No, sir,” answered Cranky, leaning over him confidentially, as if he
were uncertain about speaking before me. “None but the two as come
last winter; and not so very much of them. My missus did hear as Sir
Cumberleigh were going to pull up, and to enter into holy matrimony
with a beautiful young lady from London town, as had sixty thousand
pounds of her own, and then we should all be paid on the nail in full.
And the Hall was to be made new, and I know not what. But I said it was
too good to be true, and so it seemeth.”
“Hope for ever, good Cranky. Hope can do no harm to the _Hotchpot
Arms_. But how goes the time? We are going to call upon this reformed
gentleman, as soon as he is up.”