uncle, were Jeremiah at home. His uncle, whom he had only once seen,
and that at his father's funeral, had on that occasion shown him not the
smallest inclination to make his acquaintance. Would it not appear as
if, on the first rumour or suspicion of disaster, he had rushed to the
spot without decorum, to seize on his uncle's estate, and with no better
excuse than a vague telegram received from an irresponsible girl.
'Here is the door,' said the porter. Janet ran up the steps with
alacrity and knocked.
Mr. Pennycomequick's house was formal as himself, of red brick without
ornament; half-way up the hill, with its back to the road, and without
even that mellow charm which old red brick assumes in the country, for
this was red begrimed with soot, on which not a lichen or patch of moss
would grow. The ugly back was towards the street; the uglier face
looked into a garden that ran down the slope to the valley bottom.
There were two square-headed windows on one side of the door, two
similar windows on the other side, over each an exactly similar window,
and over the door one with a round head that doubtless lighted the
staircase. Above these was another story similar, but the windows less
tall. Who does not know this kind of house? They are scattered in
hundreds of thousands over the face of England, and who, with a grain of
taste, would not a thousand times rather snuggle into a thatched
cottage, with windows broad and low, winking out from under the brown
eaves? Not if one lived to the age of the Wandering Jew could one become
attached to one of these gaunt, formal, dingy mansions. The door was
opened in answer to the bell and knocker, and Philip, after paying the
railway porter, requested him to wait five minutes till he ascertained
whether he was to spend the night there or go in quest of a bed.
Then he entered the gas-lighted hall, to see his travelling comrade
locked in the arms of her sister, a young girl of the same age and
height and general appearance, with the same red-gold hair, and the same
clear complexion, who was flushed with excitement at meeting Janet.
A pretty sight it was--those lovely twins clinging to each other in an
ecstasy of delight, laughing, kissing, fondling each other, with the
tears of exuberant pleasure streaming over their cheeks.
But Philip remained unmoved or contemptuous. He saw his Aunt Louisa and
Captain Lambert on the stairs.
'I know well what this bit of pantomime means,' thought Philip. 'The
girls are showing off before two young men.'
'What! Philip here!' exclaimed Mrs. Sidebottom, who hastened down the
stairs to greet her nephew. 'Oh, Philip! how good of you to come! I
made sure you would the moment you heard the news, and yet I was not
sure but that you would shrink from it--as you were on such bad terms
with your uncle. I am so glad you have arrived to assist us with your
professional advice. This is a sad, a very sad case.'
'Mr. Philip Pennycomequick!' exclaimed Salome disengaging herself from
her sister's embrace and standing before the young man. She lifted her
great searching eyes to his face and studied it, then dropped them,
ashamed at her audacity, and perhaps a little disappointed at what she
had seen; for the moment he came towards her he assumed his most
uncompromising expression.
'I beg your pardon,' said he stiffly. 'Whom have I the honour----'
'I am Salome Cusworth, who telegraphed to you.'
He bowed haughtily. 'I am glad.'
Then Salome, abashed, caught her sister's hand, and said to Mrs.
Sidebottom: 'Oh, please, let me take Janet away first--she knows
nothing, and you must allow me to break the terrible news to her
myself.'
She drew her sister aside, with her arm round her waist, into a room on
the ground-floor, where she could tell her privately the great sorrow
that had fallen on them.
Philip looked inquiringly after them, and when the door had closed, said
to his aunt: 'Who are they? What are they?'
'You may well ask,' said Mrs. Sidebottom. 'They are the petted and
spoiled daughters of your uncle's housekeeper. He has brought them up
beyond their station, and now they will be unfit to do anything when
turned adrift.'
'But,' said Philip, 'one is married.'
'Oh yes, of course. She has caught her man. I know nothing of her
husband, or how he was tackled. I dare say, however, he is respectable,
but only a manufacturer.'
'And the unmarried sister is Salome.'
'Yes, an officious pert piece of goods.'
'Like her sister.'
'Now,' said Mrs. Sidebottom, 'what are you going to do? In this house
you cannot well be accommodated. There are rooms--but everyone's head
is turned, servants and all. No toast sent up at breakfast. Your best
way will be to go to Lambert's quarters in my house. Here you would be
amidst a party of tedious women----'
'I want to be as far as possible from those young ladies,' said Philip.
'One has been in the train with me for many hours, and has worried me
beyond endurance.'
'Certainly. Go with Lambert. In my house you will be in Liberty Hall,
where you can smoke----'
'I never smoke.'
'And drink whisky and water.'
'I take nothing at night.'
'And talk over social scandals.'
'In which I have not the smallest interest.'
'Well, well, we dine in a quarter of an hour here. You will stay. No
dressing, quite _en famille_. Fried soles, a joint and cutlets _a la
tomato_.'
'Thank you. I accept; for the inns, I learn, are quite full. I will
give orders to the porter to take my traps over to your house, and then,
perhaps, you will give me ten minutes to tell me what has happened to my
uncle, for I am still in the dark respecting him.'
'So are we all,' said Lambert.
From the room into which Salome had drawn her sister, and which was the
sitting-room of their invalided mother, could be heard the sobbing of
Janet and the broken accents of the old lady and Salome. There were
tears in all their voices.
Then there flashed through the mind of Philip Pennycomequick the thought
that, here without in the hall, were the sister and two nephews of the
lost man, who had been as yet scarcely alluded to by them, but he had
been told about what there was for dinner; whereas, divided from them by
a door were three persons unconnected with Uncle Jeremiah, who were
moved by his death or disappearance as by that of a dear connection.
Philip, however, said nothing. He turned to the front door to speak to
the porter, when a violent ring at the bell called his attention to
another man who stood on the steps.
'Beg pardon,' said this man, 'where is Miss Salome?'
'I will call her,' said Philip. 'Who shall I say wants to speak to
her?'
'The night-watchman, Fanshawe.'
'Oh, Mr. Fanshawe!' exclaimed Mrs. Sidebottom, running through the hall
to him, 'has he been found?'
'No such luck,' was the answer.
Philip tapped at the door through which the girls had retreated, and
Salome opened it. Her eyes were glittering with tears, and her cheeks
were moist.
'There is a fellow called Fanshawe wants a word with you,' said Philip.
The girl advanced through the hall to the door.
'Oh, miss!' said the night-watchman,'some o' us chaps aren't content to
let matters stand as they be. For sewer t'owd gen'lman be somewheer, and
we're boun' to mak' anither sarch. We thowt tha'd like to knaw.'
'But--where?'
'I't canal.'
'How?--By night?'
'For sewer. Wi' a loaf o' cake and a can'l.'
*CHAPTER X.*
*WITH A LOAF AND A CANDLE.*
With a loaf and a candle!
We live in the oldest world, where men labour to do the simplest things
in the most roundabout way, and to put whatever they come in contact
with to purposes other than those intended. We have seen champagne
bottles used as candlesticks, and a bonnet given to a cat to kitten in,
and a preacher haranguing in a theatre, and a pugilist occupying a
pulpit, women dressing and cutting their hair like men, and men
affecting girlish ways; members of Parliament exhibiting themselves as
blackguards, and leaders of the people leading them to political
suicide, as Jack the Giant-killer made Giant Gruff-me-gruff rip himself
open. Those who have feet to walk on, affect standing on their heads,
and those who have heads to reason with, think with their stomachs.
With a loaf and a candle!
Astronomers tell us that there are as many suns visible in the firmament
as there are human beings in Great Britain--about thirty millions, and
that each of these suns is presumably the centre of a system of worlds
like our own, and perhaps peopled by beings of like calibre to
ourselves. Let us say that each sun is given ten planets, that makes
three hundred millions of worlds, having in them the same proportion of
thoughtless, unreasoning beings as in this globe with which we are
familiar. Who would have supposed that there was such a diffusion of
silliness, wrongheadedness, and blunder brains diffused through space.
With a loaf and a candle!
It is the fashion to believe in evolution, to hold that mankind is
developed through a long progression from something as inarticulate as
frog spawn. And we believe it, because we see so much of this inchoate,
inorganic spawn still taking the place of brain in the heads of
humanity.
Men have grown and become vertebrate and have branched into members, but
the spawn still lingers as it was in the cells of the skull.
With a loaf and a candle!
Full a score of in-the-main not unintelligent men were about to search
for the body of their master with a loaf of cake and a candle.[#] How a
loaf and a candle should conduce towards the finding the object they
sought, it is not easy to see. What there was in the nature of the loaf
or candle to make each appropriate to the purpose, not one of these
in-the-main not unintelligent men asked.
[#] In Yorkshire, cake is white bread: bread is oatcake--Haver-bread.
The upper reach of the canal had drained itself away, but at the locks
the rush of water had furrowed the bed, pent in as it had been between
the walls, and had left deep pools. Below the locks the face of the
land was flat, the fall slight, and there the canal was brimming, and
much of the water that had overflowed still lay about in the fields.
This portion of the Keld basin went by the name of the Fleet, which
indicated a time, perhaps not remote, when it had been a waste of ooze
and water channels, sometimes overflowed and sometimes dry.
The whole of the drained canal bed had been searched between the lock
and the bridge that carried the road across the river and canal, a
distance of three-quarters of a mile, but without success. The men who
intended prosecuting the search in their own fashion were clustered
below the shattered locks. But the gathering did not consist of men
only. With them were some mill-girls from a factory on the slope that
had not stopped, not having been affected by the flood. They wore
scarlet or pink kerchiefs over their heads, pinned under the chin, and
plain white pinafores to protect their dresses at their work from the
oil, a custom as picturesque and becoming as convenient. These girls
were there, because it was an unsuitable place for them--no other season
will suffice to explain their presence. But women, water and wind, will
penetrate everywhere.
Mrs. Sidebottom and Salome were also on the canal bank. They had no
faith in the experiment about to be tried, but each for different
reasons thought it expedient to be present. Salome would not be away,
so intense was her anxiety about the fate of Uncle Jeremiah, and Mrs.
Sidebottom would be there so as not to seem indifferent. Janet, tired
from her long journey, and not strong, did not come out; she remained
with her mother. Philip and Lambert Pennycomequick were there as a
duty; a disagreeable and onerous duty the captain considered it, because
it spoiled his dinner.
A loaf and a candle!
A good round loaf of baker's bread had a hole scooped out of it, and
into this hole a tallow candle was thrust. The candle was lighted and
sent adrift on the water of the canal.
The night was dark, the moon did not rise for another hour or more. All
the mills in the valley were dark. Not only had they been brought to a
standstill by the flood, but the main of the gas was broken. This was
the cause of the eclipse likewise of the lamps on the road. The water
had left the cottage of the lock-keeper, and the bodies of the dead man
and his wife had been found and laid on the sodden bed. A yellow
glimmer shone out of the window, for a candle burnt there, and a fire
had been kindled. An old woman, a relation, driven from her home by the
water, was sitting there, trying to coax a fire to keep in, in the wet
and rusty grate, and supplying herself with gin to keep out the chill
from her bones.
The town on the hill flank twinkled with lights, and just beyond the
ridge pulsated the auroral flicker from the distant foundries. The
lamps on the railway shone green and red. Some of those engaged in the
search bore lanterns.
The cluster on the embankment with the moving lights, the occasional
flash over a red kerchief or a white pinafore and the reflections in the
water, united to form a striking picture.
'Si' there,' said one man, 't'leet' (light) 'be headin' agin t' stream.'
'There's no stream flowing,' said another.
'There owt ta be, and there is for sewer. T'can'l be gan'in up t'
course.'
'Because t' wind be blawing frae t' east.'
It was true; the loaf of bread which had been placed in the water,
instead of taking a seaward direction with the natural fall of the
current, was swimming slowly but perceptibly upwards. The yellow flame
of the candle was turned towards the locks, showing in which direction
the wind set, and explaining naturally the phenomenon. The current was
so slight that the wind acting on the loaf had power to overcome it.
'Sho's travellin' upwards,' said the first speaker. 'Sho's boun to seek
him aht.'
Into the canal suddenly fell a mass of undermined bank, making a splash
and sending the floating light, gyrating and dancing as the wavelets
formed. One of the mill-girls, going too near the edge, had trodden on
the loosened soil, and nearly fell in herself, provoking a laugh and a
reprimand.
'Mind what tha'rt aboot, lass,' shouted one of the men.
'If tha falls in I'm none bound to hug thee aht.'
'I can crawl aht wi'out thy hugging, Bill,' answered the girl promptly.
'Eh!' said another, 'Effie, for sewer thou'rt not bawn to be drowned.'
Some byplay went on, a half romp, in the rear, between a young
woolcomber and a girl reeler.
'Na then,' shouted the night-watch, 'we're none come aht for laikes'
(games), 'and if you're gan'ing to remain you must be quiet.'
The incongruity of their behaviour with the gravity of the occasion
struck the young people, and they desisted.
What had become of the refuge hut?
Curiously enough, till this moment no one had noticed its disappearance,
perhaps because of the completeness with which it had been effaced. No
sooner had the stream penetrated to its interior than it had collapsed,
and every brick and slate and rafter had been swept away from the
platform it had occupied.
The policeman had joined the party, carrying a bull's-eye lantern.
One of the men had provided grappling-irons, always kept near the
bridge, because accidents were not uncommon in the canal and the river;
drunken men fell in, children in play got pushed over, girls in
paroxysms of despair threw themselves in.
The loaf with the light had now got above the spot where the bank had
fallen in, and the ripple aided the wind in carrying it within the
locks.
'Sho's got an idee!'
'Wheer? I't crust or i't crumb?'
'Sho's makin' reet ahead for t' deepest hoyle (hole) in all t' canal.'
It was so, the loaf had entered within the walls.
Every now and then, on a ripple, the bread leaped and the flame wavered
as a banner. The draught snuffed the glowing wick, and carried some of
the red sparks away and extinguished them in the black water.
The searchers now congregated on the paved platform, and looked
timorously yet inquisitively into the gulf where lay the pool dark as
ink. The candle-flame faintly irradiated the enclosing walls, and
painted a streak of fire on the surface of the water.
When thus enclosed, the movements of the loaf were such as to give
colour to the superstition, for it careered in circles, then struck
across the canal, went back as if disappointed in its quest, ran up the
course, and then turned and went down the enclosed space, and finally
came forth from between the walls. There it halted a moment, and danced
and careened over, and righted itself again, as relaxing from its
search, and tossing the flame in a defiant manner, as if it was
disgusted with its work and resolved no longer to prosecute the inquiry.
But a minute later it came apparently to a better mind, the flame became
steadier, it recommenced its gyrations, described a loop, and suddenly
became stationary at a spot a little short of half way across the canal.
The strange conduct of the loaf was in reality caused by the currents
and revolutions of the water, but as these were unperceived by those who
looked on, they became impressed with the conviction that the loaf was
really animated by a mysterious occult power that impelled it to fulfil
the task allotted to it.
All now stood hushed for full five minutes, almost breathless, none
stirring, every eye directed to the light, to see whether it would
remain where it was, or recommence its wanderings.
Then the night-watch exclaimed:
'The moon!'
All turned to the east, and saw the orb rise red above a wooded hill.
The darkness was at once sensibly relieved.
'Naw then!' shouted Bill; 'in wi't irons, just at place wheer t' can'l
stands.'
The grapplers were cast in, and caught immediately in some object near
the surface. The men drew at the ropes, and the waters gurgled and were
disturbed about the loaf, producing a broad commotion. The loaf leaped,
turned over, and the light was extinguished. It had accomplished its
task.
'Whatever can't be?' asked one of the men. 'Sho might be a coil (coal)
barge sunk i' t' canal. Sho's sae heavy.'
'Stay,' said the night-watch. 'T' water for sewer ain't deep here,
nobbut up to t' armpits. Whativer it be, 'tis this at ha' caught and
held t' cake. Ah fancy t' top o' t' concarn is just belaw t' surface.
If some o' you chaps'll help, I'll get in, and together we'll hug it
out.'
Two or three volunteered, and after much wading and splashing a cumbrous
article was heaved out of the water, but not by three or four men, for
several more, taunted by the mill-lasses, went in to the assistance of
the first volunteers.
'Why,' rose in general exclamation, 'sho's a pi-ano!'
This discovery provoked a laugh, in which all shared.
'How iver could a piano ha' got there?' was asked.
'That beats a',' shouted another, 'that t' loaf and can'l shud tell
where a piano lay drounded.'
'T' instrument 'ud sarve to produce a necessary accompaniment to some o'
thy songs, Joe.'
The moon had risen by this time sufficiently to transform the whole
sheet of water into one of light.
The bell of Mergatroyd Church-tower began to toll for evensong.
Suddenly the laughter, the jokes, the exclamations of wonder died
away--for something was seen that had risen from the depths, disturbed
by the commotion of the water and mud when the piano was extracted. And
see! the loaf with its extinguished candle was swimming towards the
object. It reached it; it capered about it; it ran round it; and then
attached itself to it.
'What was it?'
The glassy, silvery surface of the water was broken by it in several
places.
Then there rushed by along the line a train, with the engine shrieking
and shrieking continuously to give warning to workers on the embankment
that it was coming. And that shriek so wrought on the nerves of some of
the girls present that they screamed also in sudden terror, for, though
no one answered the question what that blot on the canal surface was,
everyone knew.
All stood motionless again, and waiting till the scream of the train was
lost, and then, in silence, two men waded into the water, reached the
object, drew it after them to the bank, and with the assistance of
others raised it and laid it on the towpath.
Then the group drew towards it, after a momentary hesitation and recoil,
and the policeman passed the ray of his bull's-eye lantern up and down
it.
The question could no longer be asked, 'What was it?'
It must now be put, 'Who is it?'
Yes--who? For the body just recovered was defaced almost past
recognition.
'Whoever he may be,' said the policeman, 'we must find out by his cloas,
for his face and head be that mashed and mutilated--'tis a pictur'. For
cartain the piano must ha' fallen on him, that is, on his head, and left
not a feature to recognise.'
'And the clothing is queer,' observed the night-watch.
It was so. The body recovered was partially naked, with bare legs and
feet, and wore nothing more than a nightshirt and a great-coat.
'Stand back,' ordered the policeman. 'Let Miss Cusworth come for'ard.'
And he stooped and spread his hankerchief over the face. There was no
need for her to see that.
Salome stepped forward. She was shuddering, but spoke with composure,
and not till she had thoroughly studied the corpse at her feet.
'This cannot be Mr. Pennycomequick,' she said; 'he was dressed in a
black suit. He had been out to dinner.'
'I beg your pardon,' said Mrs. Sidebottom, who had pushed forward; 'he
was not dressed. I went into the bedroom as soon as I knew he was lost,
and found that his dress-clothes were there and the bed disturbed.'
The policeman, kneeling, examined the pockets. From that in the breast
of the overcoat he drew forth a card-case, and held it close to the
lantern.
Salome said immediately:
'That is Mr. Pennycomequick's card-case.'
'And his cards are in it,' added the policeman.
Salome looked again attentively at the body.
'That is Mr. Pennycomequick's overcoat. I know it--but that cannot be
Mr. Pennycomequick wearing it.'
Then, overcome with the horror of the scene, Salome shrank back.
The policeman had now extracted a letter from the pocket; the address
was blotted, but after a little examination could be made out, 'J.
Pennycomequick, Esq., manufacturer, Mergatroyd.'
'It is strange that he should be without his boots,' said the policeman.
'Not at all,' said Mrs. Sidebottom. 'Anyone but a fool, as soon as he
is in the water, kicks them off, as they fill and drag him down. I can
swear to the identity--that is my brother. Remove the body to the
house.'
*CHAPTER XI.*
*EXPECTATION.*
As Philip Pennycomequick came next day to the house of
mourning--mourning, because three dress-makers were engaged in making
it--he saw that all the blinds were down. In the hall he met Salome,
who was there, evidently awaiting him. She looked ill and anxious, and
her eyes were bright with a feverish lustre. She had not slept for two
nights.
The extraordinary delicacy of her complexion gave her a look as of the
finest porcelain, a transparency through which her doubting, disturbed
and eager spirit was visible. Her pallor contrasted startlingly at this
time with the gorgeous tone of her luxuriant hair. Her eyes were large,
the irises distended as though touched with belladonna, and Philip felt
his mistrust fall away from off him, as in some fairy tale the armour of
a knight loosens itself, drops, and leaves him unharnessed before an
enchantress. But the enchantment which dissolved his panoply of
suspicion was an innocent one, it was the manifestation of real
suffering. He could see that the girl was rendered almost ill by the
mental distress caused by the loss of her friend and guardian. That she
had loved him, and loved him with an innocent, unselfish affection,
seemed to him undoubted.
'I beg your pardon for waylaying you, Mr. Pennycomequick,' she said, in
a timid voice; one white hand lifted, with an uncertain shake in it,
touching her lips. 'But I very much desire to have a word with you in
private before you go upstairs to Mrs. Sidebottom.'
'I'm at your service.'