VILLAGE GOSSIP.
When he returned to his camp and had despatched his midday meal, Dan
had a meditative smoke. There was no chance of his being interrupted,
as Tinker Tim had gone on business to a neighbouring hamlet, and
Mother Jericho was confined to her tent with rheumatism. It was just
as well that he was left to his own thoughts, as he wished to think
out the position in which he now found himself. Dan was a very
masterful and practical person, and when he came to the conclusion
that anything was wrong, always wished to remedy it at once. Not long
after he left Merle's house, he decided that there was something very
wrong indeed in the parish of Farbis, and that the something was
connected with Meg.
Recalling his conversations with Mother Jericho, Tinker Tim, and the
doctor, it seemed to him as though they all had more or less of an
understanding with one another. He was satisfied that the gipsies did
not know him, and yet it appeared strange that they should be so
friendly. Mother Jericho had prophesied that he should meet his fate
at the Gates of Dawn. The very next morning he met with Meg. After his
fight with Tim, that pugilist had remarked ambiguously, "None other
shall have her;" and reading this mystical utterance by the light of
recent events, Dan decided that it referred to Meg. Lastly, when he
suggested that Miss Linisfarne should adopt the girl, Merle had come
out with that curious remark anent Tinker Tim. Taking all these things
into consideration, Dan saw a connection between them which seemed to
hint at some mystery regarding Meg. This being the case, he also, from
the promptings of his heart and the utterances of the gipsies, was
implicated in some way unknown to himself.
"They can't possibly know who I am," he said, filling a fresh pipe;
"no one but Jack knew of my idea of the caravan. I don't suppose those
carriage-builders would say a word. If, then, the old man and the
tinker only know me as 'Dan,' why are they always hinting and talking
about Meg? So far as I can see, they wish me to marry the girl, but
for what reason? Merle has an understanding with these vagrants, or he
would not have mentioned Tim. And why did he turn pale when I
suggested Miss Linisfarne as an adopted mother? There's something
wrong here, I'm certain; but what it is I can't make out."
He eyed Peter in an absent manner, and Peter, meeting his eye, began
to slink off, thinking he had done something wrong. Dan raised himself
with a laugh at Peter's fears, and called back the conscience-smitten
terrier.
"Come here, you fool dog," he said, catching him by the scruff of the
neck; "I wish to talk to you. Sit up and cross your paws, sir."
Peter, noting a twinkle in his master's eyes, sat up laboriously and
stared meekly in front of him. Having thus procured a listener, Dan
addressed him, emphasizing his remarks with the stem of his pipe.
"Peter," said he solemnly, "I am very much afraid that I take a
greater interest in Diana of Farbis than is advisable. I am not in
love with her, because a man of thirty is scarcely fool enough to fall
in love with a woman he has only seen twice. But I take an interest in
her, Peter, because I pity her wasted life. And if you think pity is
akin to love, Peter, you think wrongly. This is a matter of head and
heart. We had intended to go away to-morrow, Peter; but I have decided
to stay and find out what all this is about. I don't like mysterious
gipsies hatching plots against me, and prophesying me into marriage.
You and I, Peter, will turn detectives, and ferret out the meaning of
these things. Therefore, Peter, as a first step we will go into the
village and listen to public opinion concerning Dr. Merle and his
daughter. The audience is at an end, you rascal, so sit down."
Peter dropped like a shot and yawned. He did not understand a word of
this long speech. How could he? There was not a word about bones in it
from beginning to end. When Dan put on his cap and picked up his
stick, the actions were more intelligible to Peter than the previous
words, and he whirled frantically before Dan in token of his delight
at the prospect of a walk. Simon only tossed his head and looked. He
had been down to the seashore that morning, and took no interest in
anything save grass. Having thus ascertained the feelings of his
four-footed friends, Dan cast a farewell glance around to see that
everything was in good order, and strode off, followed by the barking
terrier.
All that afternoon Dan pottered about the village. He talked to stray
labourers of crops and weather, artfully leading the conversation
round to the gentry question; he gossiped with voluble women, on the
plea of seeking a laundress for his linen, and learned indirectly
their opinion of the doctor. It did not appear to be a very high one.
"Th' ould doctor bean't nowt but a sleepy-head," they said
contemptuously. "'A ain't vit vur nowt. 'A gits oop, 'a lies down--aw
ain't niver no good. That 'a bean't!"
From which speeches Dan gathered that Dr. Merle was not highly prized
as a physician in Farbis. He stayed in his dismal house and soddened
himself with laudanum. His patients resented the little interest he
took in them, and proclaimed their views boisterously in broad rural
dialect. It took all Dan's time to fathom the meaning of some of their
words.
In process of time he drifted into the Red Deer, more to quench his
thirst than for any other reason, but found an unexpected mine of
information in the landlord. That worthy brought him a tankard of ale
with a jolly smile, and when Dan mentioned casually that he had been
to see the doctor, burst out with unlimited information.
"'A has nowt, zur," said the host; "'a stuck-up un, 'a be."
"Is he a good doctor?"
"Aw yis! 'A be mazing clivir, but thur bean't no use fur un; folk
doan't git ill here. Look at t' doctor's lass, measter. She be vine
an' strong."
"Yes; a splendid-looking girl! Is she not a great friend of Miss
Linisfarne?"
The landlord nodded, and went into a long story about Miss
Linisfarne's kindness to Meg. How Dr. Merle had neglected his daughter
to shut himself up in seclusion, and how the lady at the Court had
taken upon herself to look after the neglected girl. Mr. Jarner, the
parson, was also mentioned by the host as one who had interested
himself in the matter. He knew more about the gentry than any one
else, and had been rector of the place for over a quarter of a
century.
Dan cut short the landlord's eloquence by asking where he could see
Mr. Jarner and have a chat with him. He was directed to the vicarage,
which was on the other side of the church, and, thinking that it would
be as well to have an intelligent person to talk with, went off to
seek the rustic divine.
Farbis Church and graveyard were much neglected. The long grass grew
nearly as high as the weather-stained tombs, and these in many cases
had fallen down. The tower was in a most dilapidated condition, and
though it had a clock and Chimes, the first had stopped and the second
were silent. An air of mournful decay pervaded the whole place, and it
could be easily seen that the present incumbent was not an energetic
man. Certainly the place itself was not conducive to work.
Not being pressed for time, Dan did not immediately repair to the
vicarage, but sauntered idly through the churchyard, reading the
quaint epitaphs, and watching the swallows wheeling round the hoary
tower. Judging from the grass-grown pathway from lych-gate to porch,
the Farbis folk did not come often to their devotions. The whole
village--its wretchedness, its somnolence, its isolation--was typified
by the shabby church. It was as though the place had gone to sleep in
the Middle Ages, and had not yet been wakened by the tumult of the
nineteenth century. Such infinite dreariness made Dan feel wretched.
Not being able to take Peter inside the church, he set him to guard
his cap in the porch by way of keeping him quiet. It may be here
stated that the front of this cap--which was not the one he usually
wore--was embroidered with the arms of Magdalen College, Oxford.
Considering his pretence of vagrancy, it was foolish for Dan to
decorate himself with so damning a piece of evidence regarding his
worldly position. Nevertheless, being busied with his new thoughts of
a possible conspiracy, he unthinkingly snatched up the cap before
leaving the dell, and thus set Peter to watch it at the church door.
Such negligence led to his undoing, and he recognized his carelessness
when it was too late.
Quite unaware of what awaited him, he examined the interior of the
church, and found it in a similar condition to the graveyard. There
were one or two painted windows and a finely carved reredos, but the
first were broken in several places, and the second was spoilt by the
damp. As usual, there was a collection of mouldy old tombs, which Dan,
for reasons of his own, examined with great interest. Among them he
found a crusading ancestor of Lord Ardleigh, carved in alabaster, with
crossed legs and a formidable sword. Beside him lay Joan, his wife,
with prayerful hands and monstrous head-dress. Faded scutcheons
bedecked the worn sides of the tomb, and a long Latin oration, which
nobody had the patience to decipher, set forth the many virtues of the
deceased pair. Poor dead folks, resting so quietly in that dreary
church, who thinks of you now?
Afterwards Dan explored the leper chapel near the high altar,
where those wretched pariahs heard the blessed mutter of the mass
through a chink in the wall. The lepers were gone now, as were
crusading lord and lady, and the high altar itself with its gold and
silver and tall candles. A plain deal table, covered with a red cloth,
whereon were set a cross and two bunches of flowers, did duty for the
communion-table. The Vicar of Farbis was evidently in sympathy with
Low Church doctrines, for there was no attempt at the sweeping or
cleansing or garnishing of the house of prayer.
From the contemplation of these melancholy things he was called to the
porch by the furious barking of dogs. He recognized Peter's voice, and
knew that the terrier was in trouble. At the door he found a large
burly man thrashing two fox-terriers who had attacked Peter. It was a
task of some difficulty, for all three dogs were determined to enjoy
themselves. At length Dan picked up Peter by the scruff of the neck,
and, assisted by the burly man, kicked away the assailants. When quiet
was restored, the two had leisure to examine one another. At a glance
Dan recognized the parson, and saw with dismay that he was holding
that tell-tale cap with the Magdalen badge.
The Rev. Stephen Jarner was tall and ponderous, with a red face and
heavy jowl. To the waist he was a parson in orthodox collar, hat, and
coat, but his nether limbs, invested in breeches and high boots, had a
decidedly sporting appearance. He was a parson of the old school, fond
of a good glass of wine and a well-spread board, but still fonder of
dogs and horses. A hunting-crop was tucked under his arm, and the
fox-terriers, eyeing Peter in Dan's embrace, sat at the feet of their
clerical master. Dan was much amused at the group.
"Here's a character," he thought. "A doctor addicted to opium, a pair
of gipsies, a recluse lady, a lovely huntress, and a sporting parson.
Decidedly I have got among queer folk!"