ADRIAN PLIES HIS HOOK
In the morning that followed this night, great gossip was
interchanged between Raynham and Lobourne. The village told how
Farmer Blaize, of Belthorpe Farm, had his rick feloniously set fire
to; his stables had caught fire, himself had been all but roasted
alive in the attempt to rescue his cattle, of which numbers had
perished in the flames. Raynham counterbalanced arson with an
authentic ghost seen by Miss Clare in the left wing of the
Abbey--the ghost of a lady, dressed in deep mourning, a scar on her
forehead, and a bloody handkerchief at her breast, frightful to
behold! and no wonder the child was frightened out of her wits, and
lay in a desperate State awaiting the arrival of the London doctors.
It was added that the servants had all threatened to leave in a
body, and that Sir Austin to appease them had promised to pull down
the entire left wing, like a gentleman; for no decent creature, said
Lobourne, could consent to live in a haunted house.
Rumour for the nonce had a stronger spice of truth than usual. Poor
little Clare lay ill, and the calamity that had befallen Farmer
Blaize, as regards his rick, was not much exaggerated. Sir Austin
caused an account of it to be given him at breakfast, and appeared
so scrupulously anxious to hear the exact extent of injury sustained
by the farmer that heavy Benson went down to inspect the scene. Mr.
Benson returned, and, acting under Adrian's malicious advice, framed
a formal report of the catastrophe, in which the farmer's breeches
figured, and certain cooling applications to a part of the farmer's
person. Sir Austin perused it without a smile. He took occasion to
have it read out before the two boys, who listened very demurely, as
to an ordinary newspaper incident; only when the report
particularized the garments damaged, and the unwonted distressing
position Farmer Blaize was reduced to in his bed, an indecorous fit
of sneezing laid hold of Master Ripton Thompson, and Richard bit his
lip and burst into loud laughter, Ripton joining him, lost to
consequences.
"I trust you feel for this poor man," said Sir Austin to his son,
somewhat sternly. He saw no sign of feeling.
It was a difficult task for Sir Austin to keep his old countenance
toward the hope of Raynham, knowing him the accomplice-incendiary,
and believing the deed to have been unprovoked and wanton. But he
must do so, he knew, to let the boy have a fair trial against
himself. Be it said, moreover, that the baronet's possession of his
son's secret flattered him. It allowed him to act, and in a measure
to feel, like Providence; enabled him to observe and provide for the
movements of creatures in the dark. He therefore treated the boy as
he commonly did, and Richard saw no change in his father to make him
think he was suspected.
The youngster's game was not so easy against Adrian. Adrian did not
shoot or fish. Voluntarily he did nothing to work off the
destructive nervous fluid, or whatever it may be, which is in man's
nature; so that two culprit boys once in his power were not likely
to taste the gentle hand of mercy, and Richard and Ripton paid for
many a trout and partridge spared. At every minute of the day Ripton
was thrown into sweats of suspicion that discovery was imminent, by
some stray remark or message from Adrian. He was as a fish with the
hook in his gills, mysteriously caught without having nibbled; and
dive into what depths he would he was sensible of a summoning force
that compelled him perpetually towards the gasping surface, which he
seemed inevitably approaching when the dinner-bell sounded. There
the talk was all of Farmer Blaize. If it dropped, Adrian revived it,
and his caressing way with Ripton was just such as a keen sportsman
feels toward the creature that has owned his skill, and is making
its appearance for the world to acknowledge the same. Sir Austin saw
the manoeuvres, and admired Adrian's shrewdness. But he had to
check the young natural lawyer, for the effect of so much masked
examination upon Richard was growing baneful. This fish also felt
the hook in his gills, but this fish was more of a pike, and lay in
different waters, where there were old stumps and black roots to
wind about, and defy alike strong pulling and delicate handling. In
other words, Richard showed symptoms of a disposition to take refuge
in lies.
"You know the grounds, my dear boy," Adrian observed to him. "Tell
me; do you think it easy to get to the rick unperceived? I hear they
suspect one of the farmer's turned-off hands."
"I tell you I don't know the grounds," Richard sullenly replied.
"Not?" Adrian counterfeited courteous astonishment. "I thought Mr.
Thompson said you were over there yesterday?"
Ripton, glad to speak a truth, hurriedly assured Adrian that it was
not he had said so.
"Not? You had good sport, gentlemen, hadn't you?"
"Oh, yes!" mumbled the wretched victims, reddening as they
remembered, in Adrian's slightly drawled rusticity of tone, Farmer
Blaize's first address to them.
"I suppose you were among the Fire-worshippers last night, too?"
persisted Adrian. "In some countries, I hear, they manage their best
sport at night-time, and beat up for game with torches. It must be a
fine sight. After all, the country would be dull if we hadn't a rip
here and there to treat us to a little conflagration."
"A rip!" laughed Richard, to his friend's disgust and alarm at his
daring. "You don't mean this Rip, do you?"
"Mr. Thompson fire a rick? I should as soon suspect you, my dear
boy.--You are aware, young gentlemen, that it is rather a serious
thing--eh? In this country, you know, the landlord has always been
the pet of the Laws. By the way," Adrian continued, as if diverging
to another topic, "you met two gentlemen of the road in your
explorations yesterday, Magians. Now, if I were a magistrate of the
county, like Sir Miles Papworth, my suspicions would light upon
those gentlemen. A tinker and a ploughman, I think you said, Mr.
Thompson. Not? Well, say two ploughmen."
"More likely two tinkers," said Richard.
"Oh! if you wish to exclude the ploughman--was he out of employ?"
Ripton, with Adrian's eyes inveterately fixed on him, stammered an
affirmative.
"The tinker, or the ploughman?"
"The ploughm--" Ingenuous Ripton looking about, as if to aid himself
whenever he was able to speak the truth, beheld Richard's face
blackening at him, and swallowed back half the word.
"The ploughman!" Adrian took him up cheerily. "Then we have here a
ploughman out of employ. Given a ploughman out of employ, and a rick
burnt. The burning of a rick is an act of vengeance, and a ploughman
out of employ is a vengeful animal. The rick and the ploughman are
advancing to a juxtaposition. Motive being established, we have only
to prove their proximity at a certain hour, and our ploughman
voyages beyond seas."
"Is it transportation for rick-burning?" inquired Ripton aghast.
Adrian spoke solemnly: "They shave your head. You are manacled. Your
diet is sour bread and cheese-parings. You work in strings of
twenties and thirties. ARSON is branded on your backs in an enormous
A. Theological works are the sole literary recreation of the
well-conducted and deserving. Consider the fate of this poor fellow,
and what an act of vengeance brings him to! Do you know his name?"
"How should I know his name?" said Richard, with an assumption of
innocence painful to see.
Sir Austin remarked that no doubt it would soon be known, and Adrian
perceived that he was to quiet his line, marvelling a little at the
baronet's blindness to what was so clear. He would not tell, for
that would ruin his future influence with Richard; still he wanted
some present credit for his discernment and devotion. The boys got
away from dinner, and, after deep consultation, agreed upon a course
of conduct, which was to commiserate Farmer Blaize loudly, and make
themselves look as much like the public as it was possible for two
young malefactors to look, one of whom already felt Adrian's
enormous A devouring his back with the fierceness of the Promethean
eagle, and isolating him for ever from mankind. Adrian relished
their novel tactics sharply, and led them to lengths of lamentation
for Farmer Blaize. Do what they might, the hook was in their gills.
The farmer's whip had reduced them to bodily contortions: these were
decorous compared with the spiritual writhings they had to perform
under Adrian's manipulation. Ripton was fast becoming a coward, and
Richard a liar, when next morning Austin Wentworth came over from
Poer Hall bringing news that one Mr. Thomas Bakewell, yeoman, had
been arrested on suspicion of the crime of Arson and lodged in jail,
awaiting the magisterial pleasure of Sir Miles Papworth. Austin's
eye rested on Richard as he spoke these terrible tidings. The hope
of Raynham returned his look, perfectly calm, and had, moreover,
the presence of mind not to look at Ripton.