TAKING THE SHILLING.
Herbert Larkins was in the class-room when he was summoned to see a
gentleman who had called.
‘I come from Lady Farrington,’ said his visitor, rather abruptly.
He was a tall, dark-eyed man, with a sinister look upon his face.
‘She is well, I hope? Nothing has happened? I half expected her
to-day or to-morrow.’
‘She is well, but she cannot come here, and wishes you to go to her
at once. You are aware, no doubt--’
‘The time then has arrived?’ Herbert said, a little incautiously.
‘It has arrived. You are ready, I presume?’
‘I must speak to Dr. Jiggs. I cannot leave the school without his
permission, of course.’
‘That is all arranged. When you have got your belongings together,
we will start. You are not to return here. You know that, I
presume?’
‘We are going to join Lady Farrington?’
The visitor bowed assent.
An hour or two later they were in the train and on the road to
London.
There was little conversation between them. Herbert was shy, and
his companion by no means talkative or sociable.
‘Where does Lady Farrington live?’ Herbert asked.
‘You really don’t know?’
‘She never told me,’ Herbert replied, looking rather shamefaced.
‘She is a strange person, of that you must be aware. It is
impossible to account for all she says and does.’
‘She has always been most kind to me,’ Herbert said, stoutly.
‘No doubt,’ the other replied, drily. ‘But perhaps that was a form
of eccentricity. People are sometimes too affectionate by half.’
Herbert would have liked some explanation of this speech, but he
could not bring himself to ask for it. He only knew that he began
to dislike this man excessively, and hoped they might never have
much to say to each other.
Arrived in London, they drove from one terminus to another. Fresh
tickets were taken, for which his companion made Herbert pay;
and after a hasty meal at the refreshment-room, they were again
seated in a railway carriage, travelling westward. This second was
a wearisome journey, which continued far into the chill autumn
night. Towards nine they alighted at a station, where their baggage
was transferred to a fly, into which they entered, and were driven
half-a-dozen miles or more. At length they reached a small country
inn, had some supper, and were shown to their rooms.
‘Remember,’ said his companion, as he bade him good-night, ‘our
affair is secret. Keep your own counsel; do not gossip with any one
you may meet here. Lady Farrington does not wish her name bandied
about; so mind you do not mention it to a soul.’
Herbert slept late next morning, and when he went downstairs
he found himself alone. The other gentleman had gone out, they
told him, and would not return till late. Breakfast--what would
he like? He might like what he pleased, but all he could get was
cold bacon and bread, with thin cider to drink. A school-boy has
a fine appetite, and is nowise particular. Herbert enjoyed his
breakfast, as he did also his lunch and his dinner. He felt jolly
enough. He asked where he was, and they told him King’s Staignton
in Devonshire. Was there anything to do in the place? Yes, he
might fish the trout stream, which he did, very much to his own
satisfaction, and spent a thoroughly pleasant day.
But when night fell, and his companion did not return, he began
to feel the least bit uneasy. He ate his trout, however, and his
bacon and bread, and slept the sleep of the young, undismayed by
fears of to-morrow. To-morrow came, but no companion. A third and
a fourth day, and Herbert was still alone. What could it mean? He
felt absolved from the necessity of holding his tongue, and he
asked the landlady if she knew any one of the name of Farrington
in the country round about. He was resolved to go to her ladyship
himself.
‘No, they had never heard the name before.’
He now became more than puzzled. He was filled with an inexplicable
but increasing dread of coming trouble, and he was just beginning
his preparations for returning at once to Deadham, when the
absentee suddenly reappeared.
Herbert was young, inexperienced, and terribly shy. But his was
no craven spirit, and he had enough of school-boy plain-speaking
frankness about him to say,
‘Come, this is a fine lark. You would not have kept me waiting here
much longer, I can tell you. I was just going to cut and run.’
‘You may cut and run as soon as you please,’ said the other
gruffly. ‘The sooner the better.’
‘And what would Lady Farrington say?’
‘Lady Farrington is not in a position to say much.’
‘I should like to see her.’
‘You can’t. She’s gone off in a hurry.’
‘She never was here, or near here. I know that much, for I have
enquired.’
‘You broke through my instructions, did you? Not that it matters
much; and it is time you should know all. Lady Farrington has been
put under restraint. You do not understand? Locked up in an asylum,
I mean. She is mad, insane; and of all her ravings, the wildest
were those which led you to suppose you were somebody, instead of a
beggar’s brat picked up out of the mire.’
‘That I’m not, I’ll swear, and no one shall call me so,’ cried
Herbert, hotly. He looked so fierce, with his clenched fists, broad
shoulders, and light active figure, that the man for the moment was
cowed.
‘I don’t know who you are, or where you came from. But you’re not
what you think you are, nor what Lady Farrington has made you
believe. That is enough for me.’
‘I have her word.’
‘That of a mad woman!’
‘And she has proofs.’
‘Which exist only in her own distraught brain.’
‘That remains to be seen. But who are you? Why are you so bitter
against me? Why did you bring me here?’
‘I am Sir Rupert Farrington. It is I whom this mad old lady wishes
to wrong. She has been seeking what she calls a rightful heir all
these years--only that she may dispossess me. You are not the first
pretender she has set up. But I think it is not unlikely you will
be the last.’
Had he brought Herbert there to injure him? The thought suddenly
flashed across the young man’s mind. But then there were other
people at the inn; the landlady, ostlers, keepers, police not far
off, none of these would knowingly suffer any foul play to be done.
‘I defy you and your threats,’ said Herbert. ‘If I am in a false
position it was none of my seeking, but I prefer to believe Lady
Farrington rather than you. There are others who know of my claims,
and with their help I shall yet put them forward as you will see.’
Sir Rupert snapped his fingers at him. ‘How do you propose to live
meanwhile? Remember you can get nothing from Lady Farrington now.
You cannot go back to the school; I brought you all this way on
purpose that you should not. Besides, I have written to Dr. Jiggs
to put him on his guard.’
‘He would still help me if I asked him; but I do not need to do
that.’
‘You cannot have money hoarded? That would be very unlike a
school-boy. You must be nearly cleaned out by this time. I made you
pay your own expenses on purpose; and there will be the bill here.
You ought to be nearly penniless. You will have to remain here, and
turn farm labourer or starve.’
‘I shall not do that, you may depend. I have been well educated,
thanks to Lady Farrington. I am not afraid of work, and I am well
able to take care of myself. At any rate I look to you for nothing,
and all I wish now is to get away from you and this place.’
Herbert called for his bill, paid it with his last sovereign,
asked the way to the nearest railway station--Newton Abbot--and
started off on foot, determined to get back to London as soon as
he could. Thence he would find his way to Triggertown. The Larkins
were the only friends left in the world; and Mrs. Larkins, as Lady
Farrington had said, was the person who possessed the only link
wanting in the chain of proofs which was to establish his claims.
At Newton Abbot he sold his watch, and had money for his ticket to
London and to spare. Parting with other articles of his apparel
to supply his necessities upon the road, he found himself at
Triggertown upon the third day. How familiar the place seemed!
Six years since he left it--a child, and now returning as a man
he found everything unchanged. He passed up the covered way,
across the drawbridge under the arch, and stood at the door of
the casemate, expecting next moment to see the sergeant and Mrs.
Larkins, and the whole of the brood.
But it was a stranger who came to answer his knock; a small
vixenish woman with a shrewish tongue. She gave him a very short
answer.
‘Larkinses? They don’t stop here. Been gone these years. Where? How
do I know? They got the route right enough; that’s all I can tell
you.’
‘Was there no one in the barracks who could tell him?’ Herbert
asked.
‘No,’ said the woman, abruptly, and shut the door in his face.
The sentry would not let him pass the inner gates. The gate
sergeant, who came up, peremptory and consequential, was still more
inhospitable. Whom did Herbert want? A barrack sergeant of the name
of Larkins? There was no such name in the garrison.
‘Better write to the Secretary of State for War, my man,’ said the
gate sergeant with gruff condescension, ‘or to the Archbishop of
Canterbury. One’s as likely to tell you as another. But you must
clear out of this. Can’t have no loiterers about here. Them’s my
orders. May be the adjutant or the sergeant-major’ll come this way,
and I don’t choose to be blamed for you.’
‘What regiment do you belong to?’ asked Herbert.
‘Can’t you see for yourself?’ Where could this young man have been
raised not to recognise the uniform of the Duke’s Own Fusiliers?
‘Is it a good corps?’
The sergeant was aghast at the fellow’s impudence. Like every
soldier of the old school, he had been brought up to believe that
his regiment was not only a good one, but the very best in the
service.
‘G’long; I want no more truck with you. Clear out, or you’ll be put
out.’
‘What’s your colonel’s name? I want to see him.’
‘You can’t want to see him if you don’t know his name.’
‘I do, though, on business.’
‘Pretty business! A tramp like you can’t have no business here at
all, much less with the colonel or any other officer of ours.’
‘Won’t you pass me in?’
‘I won’t, there, that’s flat.’
‘All right; I’ll wait till some one comes out.’
Herbert coolly seated himself a little way down upon the slope of
the glacis. If the sergeant meant to dislodge him it could only be
by force.
The fact was our hero was meditating a serious step. The
disappointment of not finding his old friends where he had left
them was great. He had perhaps overrated the assistance which Mrs.
Larkins could give him in substantiating his claims, but he had
looked for advice from them as to the disposal of his immediate
future. How was he now, unknown and seemingly without a friend in
the world, to find employment? That was the serious question he
was called upon to solve, and that without unnecessary delay. His
pockets were empty, his clothes--such as he had not pawned--had
reached that stage of irretrievable seediness which clothes worn
uninterruptedly for weeks will always assume. He might or might not
be the heir of the Farringtons. What did it matter who he was or
might be if he died of starvation before he could prove his case?
These wholesome reflections led him to accept the only means of
livelihood which offered just then. He would enlist. Why not?
He had been brought up within sound of the drum; his earliest
recollections and associations were connected with the barrack. The
life might be rough compared to the luxury of Deadham, but at least
he would be fed, clothed and housed, and he need not stand still.
The theory of the marshal’s baton, which every knapsack is said to
contain, is not exactly supported by fact in the British Army, but
times were not what they had been, and he might now hope to rise
rapidly enough. Yes, he would take the shilling and join the Duke’s
Own Fusiliers.
These were the words he addressed to the first officer who issued
from the gates.
It happened to be the adjutant himself. Mr. Wheeler was the beau
ideal of a smart young soldier, quick and energetic in movement,
with an eagle eye to take in the ‘points’ of a possible recruit.
‘Want to enlist, do you? Hey, what, what, what? Where do you come
from? Won’t say, I suppose? Where do you belong to? Don’t know, of
course. What’s your age? You won’t tell the truth. Height? we can
see to that. Health? are you sound in wind and limb? hey, what,
what, what?’
All this time he had been appraising Herbert’s value, had noted his
broad shoulders, thin flanks, his seventy-two inches, and his erect
bearing, as keenly as though he were a slave merchant about to
turn a penny on a deal. The scrutiny was satisfactory. The medical
examination confirmed it, the nearest magistrate sanctioned the
enlistment, and before sundown, Herbert Larkins had joined the
Duke’s Own and had sworn to serve Her Majesty and her heirs for a
term of years.
By a strange coincidence, within a week or two, Ernest Farrington,
Sir Rupert’s only son, was gazetted to the same regiment, and the
two young men presently found themselves in the same squad at
recruit’s drill.