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(Cornell University)
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
=============
VOL. 965.
THE RED COURT FARM.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I.
LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
PARIS: C. REINWALD & CIE, 15, RUE DES SAINTS-PÈRES.
PARIS: THE GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI,
AND AT NICE, 48, QUAI ST. JEAN BAPTISTE.
_This Collection is, published with copyright for Continental
circulation, but all purchasers are earnestly requested not to
introduce the volumes into England or into any British Colony_.
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS.
VOL. 965.
---------
THE RED COURT FARM BY MRS. HENRY WOOD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
By the same Author,
EAST LYNNE 3 vols.
THE CHANNINGS 2 vols.
MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES 2 vols.
VERNER'S PRIDE 3 vols.
THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT 3 vols.
TREVLYN HOLD 2 vols.
LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS 2 vols.
OSWALD CRAY 2 vols.
MILDRED ARKELL 2 vols.
ST. MARTIN'S EVE 2 vols.
ELSTER'S FOLLY 2 vols.
LADY ADELAIDE'S OATH 2 vol.
ORVILLE COLLEGE 1 vol.
A LIFE'S SECRET 1 vol.
ANNE HEREFORD 2 vols.
ROLAND YORKE 2 vols.
THE
RED COURT FARM.
A NOVEL.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "TREVLYN HOLD," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1868.
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS
OF VOLUME I.
CHAPTER
CHAP.
I. Introduction.
II. Robert Hunter and his Wife.
III. Clara Lake's Dream.
IV. The Accident.
V. Red or Green.
VI. Justice Thornycroft's Visit.
VII. Going Fishing.
VIII. Catching a Chill.
IX. Colour Blindness.
X. Mary Jupp's Explosion.
XI. The Dream worked out.
XII. Coastdown.
XIII. What was the Fear?
XIV. Superstitious Tales.
XV. The New Mistress of the Red Court.
THE RED COURT FARM.
PART THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
Introduction.
On a certain portion of the English coast, lying sufficiently
convenient to that of France to have given rise to whispers of
smuggling in the days gone by, there is a bleak plateau of land,
rising high above the sea. It is a venturesome feat to walk close
to its edge and gaze down the perpendicular cliffs to the beach
below--enough to make a strong man dizzy. A small beach just there,
called the Half-moon from its shape, nearly closed in by the
projecting rocks, and accessible only from the sea at high water; at
low water a very narrow path leads from it round the left projection
of rock. It was a peculiar place altogether, this spot; and it is
necessary to make it pretty clear to the imagination of those who read
the story connected with it. The Half-moon itself was never under
water, for the tide did not reach it, but the narrow path winding
round to the left _was;_ and that rendered the half-circular beach
unapproachable by land at intervals in the four-and twenty hours. A
few rude steps shelved down from this Half-moon to a small strip of
lower beach underneath, whose ends were lost in the sea. The
projecting rocks on either side, forming as may be said the corners of
the Half-moon, went right into the sea. Those on your right hand
(standing face to the sea) cut off all communication with the shore
beyond, for a depth of water touched them always. Those on the left
extended less far out, and the narrow path winding round them was dry
when the tide was down. It thus arose that the Half-moon could be
gained by this one narrow path only, or by a boat from the sea.
For all practical purposes it might just as well have been
unattainable. Not once in a month--nay, it might be said, not once in
twelve months--would any human being stray thither. Not only was there
no end to be answered in going to it, but the place was said to be
haunted; and the simple villagers around would sooner have spent
the night watching in the church's vaults than have ventured to the
Half-moon beach between sundown and cockcrow. The most superstitious
race of men on the earth's surface are sailors; and fishermen partake
of the peculiarity.
Turning round on the plateau now--it is called the plateau just as the
beach below is called the Half-moon--with our backs to the sea, we
look inland It is only the plateau that is high; the coast itself and
the lands around lie rather low. On the left hand (remember that our
hands have been reversed) a long line of dreary coast stretches
onwards, not a habitation to be seen; on the right lies the
village--Coastdown. Fishermen's huts are built on the side and top of
the cliffs, not there so perpendicular; small cottages dot the
low-lying grass lands; and an opening in the one poor street (if it
can be called such) of the village, shows the real useable beach and
the few fishing craft moored to it.
Standing still on the plateau, our backs to the sea, the eye falls on
a landscape of cultivated plains, extending out for miles and miles.
The only house near to the plateau is exactly opposite to it--a large
redbrick house built in a dell. It may be a quarter of a mile distant
from the edge of the plateau where we stand, but the gradual descent
of the grassy land causes it to look very much nearer. This is the Red
Court Farm. It is a low, long house, rather than a high one, and has
been built on the site of an ancient castle, signs of whose ruins may
be seen still. The plateau itself is but as wide as about a good
stone's throw; and on its lower part, not far from where it joins the
lands of the Red Court Farm, and the descent is rather abrupt, rises a
dilapidated circular stone wall, breast high, with a narrow opening
where the door used to be. This is called the Round Tower, and is
supposed to have been the watch-tower of the castle.
The Red Court stands alone, the last house of the colony, some
distance removed from any; its gates and door of entrance are at the
end of the house, looking to the village. The nearest building to it
is the small old church, St. Peter's, standing in the midst of a large
graveyard dotted with graves; with its portico-entrance, and its
square belfry, grey with age, green with patches of moss. The high
road, advancing from the open country behind--it's hard to say whence,
or from what bustling cities--comes winding by the entrance gates of
the Red Court Farm with a sharp turn, and sees two roads branching off
before it. It takes the one to the right, bearing round to the
village, passes through it, and goes careering on to Jutpoint, a small
town, some four or five miles distant, having the sea on the right all
the way. The other branching road leads past the church to the heath,
or common, on which are situated the handful of houses, all of
moderate size, inhabited by the gentry of the place.
The only good house was the Red Court Farm. Thornycroft was the name
of the family living in it. Mr. Thornycroft owned the Red Court and
some of the land around it; and he rented more, which he farmed. Many
years ago a gentleman had come down to look at the place, which was
for sale, and bought it. He was named Thornycroft. His two sons,
Richard and Harry, were fine powerful young men, but wild in their
habits, and caused some scandal in the quiet place. Previous to the
purchase, the house had been known as the Red Court, it was supposed
from the deep red of the bricks of which it was built. Mr. Thornycroft
at once added on the word "Farm"--the Red Court Farm. A right good
farmer he proved himself to be, the extent of the land being about
three hundred acres, comprising what he rented. Within a very few
years of the purchase Mr. Thornycroft died, and Richard, the eldest
son, came into possession. In the following year Richard also died,
from the effects of an accident in France. Both the brothers were fond
of taking continental trips, Richard especially.
Thus the place came into the hands of Harry Thornycroft, and he
entered upon it with his wife and little son. His ostensible residence
since his marriage had been in London; but he had stayed a great deal
at the Red Court Farm. A second son was soon after born, and some five
or six years later another boy and a girl. Mrs. Thornycroft, a gentle,
ladylike, delicate woman, did not enjoy robust health. Something in
her face and manner seemed to give the idea that she had an inward
care--that skeleton in the closet from which so few of us are quite
free. Whether it was so or not in her case none could tell. That Harry
Thornycroft made her a fond and indulgent husband--that they were much
attached to each other--there could be no doubt of. Her look of care
may have arisen solely from her state of health; perhaps from the
secret conviction that she should be called away early from her
children. Years before she died Coastdown said she was fading away.
Fade away she did, without any very tangible disorder, and was laid to
rest in a corner of the churchyard. To those who know where to look
for it, her large white tombstone may be distinguished from our
standing-place on the plateau. That grief had been long over, and the
Red Court itself again.
Mr. Thornycroft was a county magistrate, and rode in to Jutpoint, when
the whim took him, and sat upon the bench there. There was no bench at
Coastdown; but petty offenders were brought before him at the Red
Court--partly because he was the only gentleman in the commission of
the peace living at Coastdown, partly from the fact that he was more
wealthy and influential than all the other residents put together. A
lenient justice was he, never convicting when he could spare: many a
fine, that he himself had imposed from the bench at Jutpoint, was
mysteriously conveyed out of his pocket into the poor offender's to
save the man from prison. To say that Justice Thornycroft--the title
generally accorded him--was beloved in Coastdown, would be a poor word
to define the feeling of the poorer people around. He had a liberal
hand, an open heart; and no person carried a tale of trouble to him in
vain. His great fault, said the small gentry around, was unreasonable
liberality. Never was there a pleasanter companion than he, and his
brother magistrates chuckled when they got an invitation to the Red
Court dinners, for they loved the hearty welcome and the jolly cheer.
The two elder sons, Richard and Isaac, were fine towering men like
himself--rather wild both, just what Harry Thornycroft and his elder
brother had been in their young days. Richard was dark, stern, and
resolute; but he would unbend to courtesy over his wine when guests
were at table. The few who remembered the dead elder brother said
Richard resembled him much more than he did his father, as is
sometimes seen to be the case. Certainly in countenance Richard was
not like the justice. Isaac was. It was his father's fair and handsome
face over again, with its fine features, its dark-blue eyes, and its
profusion of light curling hair. There was altogether a great charm in
Isaac Thornycroft. His manners were winning; his form, strong and tall
as Richard's, had a nameless grace and ease that Richard's lacked; and
his heart and hand were open as his father's. The young one, Cyril,
was less robust than his brothers--quiet, gentle, very much like his
dead mother. Cyril's taste was all for books; to the out-of-door life
favoured by Richard and Isaac he had never been given. Richard called
him a "milksop;" Isaac would pet him almost as he might a girl; all
indulged him. To Richard and Isaac no profession was given; as yet
none was talked of for Cyril. The two elder occupied themselves on the
land--ostensibly, at any rate; but half their time was spent in
shooting, fishing, hunting, according to the seasons. "A thriving farm
the Red Court must be," quoth the neighbours given to gossip, "for the
old man to keep all his sons to it." But it was well known that Mr.
Thornycroft must possess considerable private property; the style of
living would alone prove that.
A broad gravel drive led straight from the gates to the entrance door.
There were different gates and entrances at the back of the house,
serving for farm vehicles, for servants, and for people on business
generally. The kitchens and other domestic apartments were at the
back, looking on to the various buildings behind--barns, stables, and
such like. The further end of the stables joined some of the old ruins
still standing--in fact, it may be said that part of the ruins were
used as such. The young men kept their dog-cart there--a large,
stylish affair, capable of containing no end of dogs--and the fleet,
strong, fine horse that usually drew it. The front of the house (as
already seen) faced the plateau and the sea--a wide handsome frontage
enclosing handsome rooms. And it is quite time we entered them.
Through the portico, level with the ground, and up the two steps into
the long but somewhat narrow hall--very narrow at the back, and shut
in by a door--doors opened on either side of it. The first room on the
right was the dining-room--a spacious apartment, warm and comfortable,
bright pictures on its dark wainscoted walls, a rich Turkey carpet
giving luxury to the tread. The windows were at the end, looking
towards the village and the church belfry; and the fireplace was
opposite the door. Passing up the hall, the next room was called
familiarly the justice-room. Here Mr. Thornycroft sat when offenders
were brought before him, and here he saw his farming people and kept
his papers. Beyond this was the staircase, and a door, still on the
right, opening on the passage leading to the domestic apartments. On
the left-hand side of the entrance-hall was the large drawing-room,
its windows facing the front; beyond it a smaller and plainer one,
always in use. A snug little parlour adjoined this, in which Miss
Thornycroft took her lessons: all these three faced the front. The
door at the back of the hall opened on a passage and to some rooms
used only by the gentlemen. The passage ran through to a side
entrance, which was just opposite that portion of the stables built on
the old ruins--this was convenient, since the young men, who had a
habit of coming in at all hours of the day and night, could put up
their horse and dog-cart and let themselves in with their latch-keys
without sound or movement penetrating to the family and household.
It is with the study, or Miss Thornycroft's parlour, that we have to
do today. Its window is thrown open to the hot July sun--to the green
lawn and the shrubs underneath--to the bare plateau beyond, on whose
edge a coastguardsman was pacing on duty--to the sparkling sea in the
distance. The paper of the room was of white and gold, pretty drawings
and landscapes in water-colours adorning it. Some of them had been
done by Miss Thornycroft, some by her late mother. The carpet and
chairs were green; the piano, cabinets, and other furniture were
handsome; the white curtains waved in the gentle breeze--altogether it
was a room pleasant to look upon.
Seated on the music-stool, her face to the door, was a little
middle-aged, brown woman, unmistakably French, without her tongue,
which was going fluently, a look of reproach on her naturally placid
face. It was Mademoiselle Derode, the governess, resident now some
five years at the Red Court. A simple-minded woman, accomplished
though she was--good as gold, and timid as her own nature. Richard
Thornycroft had related to her some of the ghostly tales connected
with the Red Court--or rather with its immediate environs--and she
would not have stirred out at night alone for the world. Her chamber
window when she first came faced the plateau; after hearing the
stories she begged and prayed to be removed into another. Mrs.
Thornycroft, alive then, complied with a sad smile, and reproved
Richard in her gentle manner for saying anything. If whispers were to
be believed, these same ghostly rumours were even then helping to kill
Mrs. Thornycroft.
Mademoiselle Derode was _en colère_ this morning with her pupil.
French, German, English; good music, harp, and piano; drawing and
painting; she was thoroughly versed in all, and had as thoroughly
taught. For her age, Miss Thornycroft was an exceedingly well-educated
girl, but apt at times to be a rebellious one. In fact she was growing
quite beyond the control of the little governess.
The young lady stood by the table facing the window--a tall, very
handsome girl of nearly sixteen, with her brother Isaac's fair skin
and bright features, and a suspicious look of Richard's resolute lip.
She wore a blue muslin dress, blue ribbons in her fair hair; her
pretty hands were tossing, not in play but petulance, a large white
rose, broken short off from its stalk; her well-shaped head was thrown
back; her light clear blue eyes looked out defiantly.
"As if there could be reason in it!" spoke mademoiselle in her quaint
but well-pronounced English. "You did but the little half of your
lessons yesterday; the other day before it you went out without saying
to me the one word; and now this morning you want to go out again. You
will not do any one little thing! I say, Miss Mary Anne, that it has
not reason in it."
"I promised Captain Copp I would go, mademoiselle. Mrs. Copp will be
waiting for me."
"And I promise you that you cannot go," returned the governess,
decisively. "My faith! you go, you go, you go; yesterday, today,
tomorrow; and where are your studies? I might as well take my
departure; I am of no longer use."
"I wish I was that douanier," spoke the young lady with an angry
stamp, looking out at the preventive man pacing the edge of the
plateau.
"I wish you were--for one day; you would soon wish yourself back again
into yourself, Miss Thornycroft. Will you sit down and begin your
studies?"
"No; it is too hot to work. German would give me the headache today,
mademoiselle."
"I wish your papa, Monsieur the Justice, was at home. I would appeal
to him."
"So would I. I wish he was! Papa would not make me do lessons against
my will."
"Will you come into the other room to your harp, then?"
"No," reiterated Miss Thornycroft. "When I don't want to work, I can't
work; and, excuse me, mademoiselle, but I _won't_. There! I am invited
out today, and I want to go. Mrs. Sam Copp is going to Jutpoint, and
she is to take me."
Mademoiselle got up in despair. Day by day, she saw it well, her
authority was getting less.
"Miss Mary Anne, hear me! _I will not have you go_. I defend you to
quit the house."
Mary Anne laughed disobediently.
"I shall go if Captain Copp comes for me, mademoiselle."
Mademoiselle wrung her hands.
"I will go and find Mr. Richard. He is master here when the justice is
not. I will lay the case before him and say, 'What am I to do with
this rebellions child?'"
She quitted the room on her search. Miss Thornycroft went to the
window and leaned out, wishing herself once more the preventive man,
or anybody else who had not a governess. At that moment she saw her
brother Isaac go running on to the plateau from the direction of the
village, stand a minute talking with the coastguardsman, and then come
vaulting down towards the house. It has not been mentioned that a line
of light railings enclosed the plateau below the round tower--a
boundary line between it and the Red Court grounds. Isaac Thornycroft
leaped the railings, and saw his sister. She called to him in a voice
of earnestness; he came round to the front entrance and entered the
room.
Handsome in his careless grace, and bright as the summer's morning. He
wore light cool clothes, his linen was curiously white and fine;
looking altogether, as he always did, a noble gentleman. Richard would
be in coarse things, unbrushed and shabby, for a week together; the
brothers had quite opposite instincts.
Mary Anne went up to him with a pleading voice and tears in her eyes,
all her assumption of will gone.
"Oh, Isaac!--dear Isaac! won't you help me? You are always kind."
"My little dove! what is it?"
She told her tale. Her engagement with Captain and Mrs. Copp, and
mademoiselle's cruel hardheartedness. Isaac laughed outright.
"Cruel hardheartedness, indeed! worse than that of Barbara Allen. My
pretty one!" he whispered, stooping until his lips touched her cheek.
"Well, Isaac?"
"Put on your things, and I'll smuggle you off. Quick"
She needed no second warning. In two minutes, down she was again, a
white mantle on her shoulders, a straw hat with its blue ribbons
shading her fair bright face. Isaac took her out at the front door,
just before Mademoiselle Derode got back again.
"I have sent for your brother, Mr. Richard, Miss Mary Anne,
and----_Ella n'est pas ici?_"
Mademoiselle called, and looked in this room and that. She had not
finished when Richard strode in, his face dark and stern as usual, his
shoes and gaiters dusty, his velveteen waistcoat buttoned close up,
his coat soiled. He had been helping to fill in a pond.
"Lessons! of course she must learn her lessons. Where is she,
mademoiselle?"
Mademoiselle was arriving at the conclusion that she was nowhere. One
of the housemaids had seen her dress herself, and go downstairs. Of
course she had gone. Gone in disobedience! Richard went back to his
pond, and mademoiselle sat down and folded her arms.
In the course of an hour Mr. Thornycroft came in. A handsome man
still, upright and grand; his features fair and pleasant, his smile
rather free, no grey as yet mingling with his still luxuriant hair.
Mademoiselle carried her grievance to him; as she had been obliged to
do more than once of late.
"It is not to complain of her, monsieur; I'm sure you know that, I
love her too well; but in her own interest I must speak. She is at the
age when she most needs guidance and control; and she is showing that
she has a will of her own, and will exercise it! It was always there."
"I suppose it was," said the justice. "I have a will myself. Richard
and Isaac have wills."
"If I can no longer be obeyed, monsieur, better that I should go back
to my little home in France, and make a place for a governess who will
have control."
"No, no," said Mr. Thornycroft, very quickly. "That would not do. I'll
have no fresh governess here."
"But what is to be done, monsieur?"
"I'll think of it," said Mr. Thornycroft.