Though those were days of splendid cavalcades, and the neighborhood of
the royal palace of Royston had rendered them not infrequent some years
before in that part of Huntingdonshire, it was not often that such a
party presented itself in the small village of Buckley as that which was
seen on the day after Edward's arrival. First, there was Dr. Winthorne,
on his tall, stout, Roman-nosed horse, forming the centre of the group;
then, on his left, Edward Langdale, riding a wicked, fiery devil, which
screamed and bit at the approach of any other animal, but which he
managed with grace and ease. Then there was the Prince de Soubise on the
doctor's right, mounted on a powerful Norman charger and looking very
much the soldier and the prince. Behind them were three servants, all
well mounted and armed; and the whole formed a group which attracted the
attention of the villagers and made even the blacksmith suspend the
blows of his sledge-hammer to look at the fine horses he longed to shoe.
There was a little, old, dusty house on the right-hand side of the road
as you came from Applethorpe toward the king's highway to Huntingdon,
with the gables turned toward the street, a wooden porch carved in
curious shapes, and some five or six descending steps. On one of the
pillars of the porch was hung a curious sort of shield painted with
various colors,--a quaint emblem of the holy Roman empire; and
underneath was written, with no great regard to symmetry either in the
size or shape of the letters, the words "Martin Sykes, Notary Public,
Attorney-at-Law, Solicitor in his most gracious Majesty's Court of
Chancery, &c. &c. &c.,"--which etceteras were explained and commented
upon by a long inscription on the other pillar.
Before that little porch Dr. Winthorne pulled in his rein and floundered
off his horse, and Soubise and Edward Langdale followed. In the first
room on the left hand they found three or four clerks; and at a
separate desk, which he could not have overtopped without assistance,
was seated a little old man with very keen features and a back and chest
which assumed a menacing posture in regard to the head.
"Ah, doctor," he said, slipping off the high stool which raised him up
to the desk, "what brings you so early to Buckley? Odds-my-life! Why, I
can hardly believe my eyes! Master Ned grown into a bearded man of war!
My dear boy, how are you? Oh, how I have missed you!--missed the trout
in the month of May,--missed the partridges in September,--missed the
snipes and the woodcocks in the cold weather, when I have my annual
abscess in the lungs,--missed thy handsome face at all those times when
a kind word in a youthful voice cheers an old man like me!"
Edward shook him warmly by the hand, and asked after all his ailments
kindly, but speedily turned to their companion, saying, "Mr. Sykes, this
is the Prince de Soubise, an old friend of both my parents."
"I remember him well," said Mr. Sykes. "That is to say, I do not
remember him at all. I mean, in person I do not remember him, for he
might as well be Goliath of Gath as Prince de Soubise, so far as any
identification on my part could go; but I remember quite well a young
gentleman of that name, in purfled silk philimot velvet laced with gold,
slashed velvet breeches, and a sword as long as a barbecuing-spit by his
side, being present at your father's wedding and witnessing the
marriage-contract."
"He has got me exactly," said Monsieur de Soubise. "I have had, Mr.
Notary, to take to lighter but more serviceable weapons since; but, if
my person is so much changed that you cannot remember me, there are
plenty of witnesses here to swear to whom I am; and I expect in a few
days my good friend Monsieur Clement Tournon, syndic of the goldsmiths
of Rochelle, who made and brought over a set of jewels for my friend's
bride, and who saw me witness the contract with his own eyes. He
remembers the whole deed, he says; for it was read over to us before the
signature."
"He will be an important witness, sir," said Martin Sykes; "and your
Highness will be more so. It is all coming right, as I thought it
would," he continued, turning to Dr. Winthorne and rubbing his thin,
bony hands. "Somewhat long we have been about it; but step by step we
are making way. Every thing takes time, doctor,--even a sermon, as the
poor people here know well. The great difference between a lawsuit and a
sermon is, that during the first the people sleep often and sleep badly,
and during the second they sleep once and they sleep well. Now, Master
Ned, I calculate that we shall get to the end of this suit and have a
decree in our favor--let me see: you are about twenty, are not you?--in
about forty-nine years and seven months." He paused a single instant,
and rubbed his hands, and then added, with a smile slightly triumphant,
"That is to say, if we cannot get the original settlement. But I think
we shall get it, Ned, my boy. I think I can guess where it is. It is
most likely badly damaged; but just give me sufficient of it left to
show some of the signatures and the date, and then come in these
gentlemen as witnesses to prove what it originally contained. Oh, we
will make a fine little case of it! But parties: we want
parties,--somebody to fight us,--Master Ned."
"But if the fight is to last so long as you have said, my dear friend,"
remarked Edward Langdale, "and I am only to succeed when I am sixty-nine
years and seven months old, I think I had better not begin the battle."
"Ay, but you forget the if," said Martin Sykes, with a laugh. "An _if_
makes every thing in law. It is as potent as 'any thing hereinbefore
contained to the contrary notwithstanding,' or 'always provided
nevertheless,' or any other of those sweet phrases with which we double
up the sense of our documents or give a sweet and polite contradiction
to what we have just been saying the moment before. As to the battle, my
dear young friend, it has begun already. Acting on your behalf, as your
next friend, I have managed to get possession of Buckley, have served
Sir Richard's lawyer and agent with all sorts of processes,--some
sixteen or seventeen, I think,--ejectments, quo warrantos, rules nisi,
and others; and the poor fool, who is nothing at all unless he has a
Londoner at his back, has let me have very nearly my own way, having no
orders, not knowing where to get any, and standing like a goose under
the first drops of a thunder-shower, with his eyes staring and his mouth
half open."
"But where is the contract?" asked Monsieur de Soubise, in French. "If I
understood him aright, he said he knew where it was."
Edward interpreted, feeling very sure that good Mr. Sykes was not very
abundantly provided with French; but the little lawyer shook his head,
saying, "No, no; I did not profess to know absolutely where it is; but
there is one not very far from here who I think does know. I think he
does,--I am sure he does. He tells me a box of valuable papers were lost
at the great fire; and he shakes his head, and looks wise, and talks of
its being 'made worth his while.' He is the most avaricious old devil in
the world. It is a curious thing, Ned, all sextons are avaricious. They
deal so much with dust and ashes that they learn to like the only sort
of dross which does not decay when you bury it. He is a very old man
now, and could not enjoy for more than a few months any thing he had,
were it millions."
"What! you are not speaking of the old sexton at Langley, are you?"
asked Edward,--"the man with the lame hip? He used to say he got that
injury at the fire; and my father gave him many a guinea for it. I used
to give him shillings and sixpences, too, to make him tell me all about
the fire, till one day I caught him taking away a groat I had given to a
poor child, and then I knocked him over the shoulder with my
fishing-rod. He has never liked me after, but hobbles away into his
cottage whenever he sees me, and shuts the door tight."
What there was in this little anecdote which peculiarly struck good Mr.
Sykes I cannot tell, but he fell into a fit of thought, still
standing,--for there were no chairs in the room, except one, which had
lost a leg, (in what action I do not know,) and the high stools on which
the clerks were sitting, if they could be called chairs. He kept a
finger of his right hand resting on the side of his nose, however, for
two or three minutes; and then, suddenly rousing himself, he said, "Let
us go into the house. We can sit down there and talk. This is a poor
place for such company. It does well enough for roystering farmers' sons
who have been breaking each others' heads, or for a deputy
tax-collector, or for gossiping women who have been slandering and being
slandered. I don't want them to sit down at all; and that is the reason
I have only one chair with a broken leg, to which I always hand old
Mistress Skillet, the doctor's widow, who abuses every young girl in the
place who has got a pretty face and wears a pink ribbon. Then down she
comes, and declares she has broken her hip-bone, and walks away in great
indignation, never coming back until she has another peck of lies upon
her stomach. I must not do it any more, for she has grown as large as an
elephant; and the last time she tumbled she had nearly shaken the office
down. Besides, it cost me two ounces of peppermint to bring all those
boys there out of their convulsions. But come, gentlemen, let us go."
Thus saying, he led the way through a little door at the back of the
office, across a small passage, into an exceedingly neat old fashioned
parlor, where, having seated his guests, he rushed at a corner cupboard
and brought forth some tall-stalked cut and gilded wineglasses, and a
square-sided bottle, likewise cut and gilded, from which he pressed his
visitors to help themselves. Monsieur de Soubise remarked it was too
early to drink wine; but the old man pressed them, saying, "It is not
wine at all. It is fine old Dutch cinnamon." And, each having taken a
little, good Mr. Sykes leaned his arms upon the table, remarking, "Now,
this looks really like the commencement of a conspiracy; and a
conspiracy we must have. I have settled it all. We must go over to the
old place,--that is, old Langley Court, prince. I will enact my own
character. The doctor here is too reverent to undergo transformation.
You, my noble sir, must be a French nobleman about to buy Langley Court,
and Buckley too,--in fact, half the estates in the neighborhood. Edward
here must be your cornet of horse. There will be no need to mention his
name; but the old wretch, who is as sharp as Satan, will most likely
know him. He is aware, however, that Master Ned has been over in the
wars in France: so the story will go down."
"It seems to me, my good friend Sykes," said Dr. Winthorne, "that you
are going to tell a vast quantity of lies. Mark you, now: I will have
nothing to do with them. I don't even know that I ought to stand by and
hear them."
"You shall not hear a lie come out of my mouth," said Sykes, laughing.
"My lord the prince, I dare say you are willing enough to buy Langley
Court and the estate, if I will sell it to you for a gold crown,--what
you call in France an _écu d'or_?"
"Oh, very willingly," answered Soubise: "this cinnamon is worth an _écu
d'or_." And he helped himself to some more.
"Well, then, I will sell you the whole estate for that sum,--if ever I
can prove my title to it," said Sykes. "It is a bargain. Now, Dr.
Winthorne, do not you by any scruples spoil your young friend's only
chance, if you would not have us take you for a cropped-eared Puritan
instead of a good old sound Church-of-England man."
"Well, then, don't you lie too much, Mr. Attorney. I will swallow as
much as I can; but keep within bounds, or you may chance to find me
break out."
"All you have to do is to hold your tongue. I will do all the speaking,"
replied Sykes. "The prince here may talk as much French as ever he
likes, and Master Ned may answer him in the same tongue. I will answer
for it that neither old Grimes the sexton nor Martin Sykes the lawyer
will be a bit the wiser for it."
"But when is this to be done?" asked Dr. Winthorne. "We have ridden ten
miles already to-day."
"Well," said Mr. Sykes, "if we go over by the Barford road, that is but
ten miles; and then we can go to Applethorpe, where you intend to give
me a bed: that is but nine miles more. You would not mind going thirty
miles any day for a fox-hunt."
"I never go fox-hunting," grumbled Dr. Winthorne.
"No, but you used once," said Mr. Sykes. And, bearing down all
opposition, being strongly supported, it must be owned, by Edward and
the Prince de Soubise, Mr. Sykes carried his point, ordered his own
easy-going cob to be brought round, and had a bag fixed to the saddle
with such little articles of dress as he wanted.
When the four gentlemen issued forth into the street to proceed upon
their way, a certain rosyness of Pierrot's nose, which, together with
some dewy drops in his eye, gave his face somewhat the aspect of a
morning landscape, induced Edward to believe that he had been engaged in
the pious employment of breaking a good resolution. But Pierrot declared
manfully that he had only been following his young master's orders with
his French companion. "You told me to treat them hospitably, sir," he
said; "and how can I treat them hospitably without drinking with them?"
Edward gave him a caution to keep himself sober at all events, and on
they went some nine miles upon their way at a brisk pace.
"Now," said Sykes, as they approached the old park-wall, which had
fallen down in several places, "we won't go nearer the old rascal. We
must be perfectly indifferent."
"I recollect this park well," said the Prince de Soubise. "What a
splendid place it was before the fire!"
"Hush! hush!" cried Sykes. "That is English." And, riding on, he pulled
up his horse at a spot where some cottages were built between the road
and the river, just fronting the old iron gates of what was called the
grass court, beyond which, some two hundred yards off, appeared the
blackened ruins of Langley.
The walls were all down,--at least, those of the main building; for not
only had the fire overthrown them, but the pick and shovel had been busy
for several weeks after the catastrophe, turning over the principal
ruins in search of plate and other articles of value which had not been
carried out during the fire.
There the gentlemen dismounted. The servants tied the horses to the iron
gates, and the whole party entered the grass court and looked around. At
that moment an old wizened face appeared at one of the small lozenges of
a cottage-window, and the next a chink of the door was opened and the
same face gazed out. In the mean time Mr. Sykes, with his riding-whip in
his hand, was pointing out to Soubise all the wonders of the place,
telling him where the great hall used to stand, where the guest-chambers
were, and where were the private apartments of the Lady of Langley.
Never before in his life was he so eloquent. While he went on, an old
man of perhaps eighty hobbled across the road and came close up to the
side of Dr. Winthorne. Just at that moment Mr. Sykes pointed with his
whip to a tower a little detached from the main building, and apparently
of more ancient architecture, saying, "That was the wine and ale cellar;
and I have heard people say that during the fire the casks burst with an
explosion like so many cannon."
"That is not true," said the old man, who had just come up; "for there
had not been a thing or a body in that tower for thirty years before.
Why, the stairs were half worn away; and Sir Richard would have pulled
it down if it had not been for my lady, who liked the look of it."
"Ah, is that you, old Grimes?" said Mr. Sykes. "Why, you look younger
than ever."
"I shall live to bury you yet," said the old sexton. "Don't make me wait
long, for I am tired enough of life, I am sure. Who is that you have got
with you, Sykes?"
"This is a French nobleman, the Prince de Soubise," replied the
attorney. "As he cannot live in his own country, on account of the
troubles, he has come over to England. We have been talking about his
buying this place. Indeed, it is almost a bargain. He will have all
these ruins cleared away," he continued, in a confidential tone, and
somewhat dropping his voice, to prevent Dr. Winthorne from hearing too
much.
The old sexton's face had turned a little pale; but the next instant he
said, a little gruffly, "You can't sell him the place, Sykes."
"No; but Sir Richard can," replied the lawyer.
The old man grunted forth something which nobody heard distinctly, but
which had some reference to "Sir Richard," and to "not paying a
pension," and "giving no orders."
Sykes kept his eye fixed upon him steadily, and thought he saw an
uneasy look come upon the old man's face, which was turned at that
moment toward the ruined tower; and, looking round, the attorney saw
that the servants, having left the horses at the gate, were sporting
about the court-yard, and that Pierrot had mounted upon a pile of stones
which had fallen from the tall wall above.
"What were you saying, Grimes?" asked Mr. Sykes. "That Sir Richard had
not paid your pension? That is strange. The agent has plenty of money in
his hands, for he has got all the rents of Langley, and Sir Richard has
not drawn a farthing."
"Ay, but he says he has no orders," said Grimes, with a hasty and uneasy
manner. "But what I am saying now is, that man will break his neck if he
goes up there: I tell you he will. I put my hip out once doing just the
same thing."
"Ha!" exclaimed Sykes: "I thought that was at the fire, Grimes. But what
you say is very true. He will break his neck. Call him down, sir,--call
him down: he is your servant."
The last words were addressed to Edward, who instantly called to Pierrot
to come down,--which the good man unwillingly did; for he had imbibed
just a sufficient quantity of liquor to make him full of sport without
shaking his nerves.
Now, it is to be hoped that the reader read and pondered well the
description given of that old tower in the seventh chapter of this
eventful history; but, as there are some readers, and a great number of
them, who will skip certain passages which they in their
superciliousness think of little importance, I may as well recall the
words of Edward Langdale while he was narrating the scenes of his early
life to Clement Tournon and Lucette. "The whole of the house was
burned," he said, on that occasion; "and the greater part of the walls
fell in, with the exception of those of the ivy-tower, which were very
ancient, and much thicker than the rest. Even there the wood-work was
all consumed, and the staircase fell, except where a few of the stone
steps, about half-way up, clung to the masonry."
Since Edward had seen the place or marked it with any particular
attention, some changes had come over that tower, though they were not
very apparent. We shall be compelled to notice them more in a moment or
two. Suffice it for the present to say that those stone steps which
Edward had mentioned were still sticking out about half-way up the
tower, and that, somehow or another, Pierrot had contrived nearly to
reach them.
However, Mr. Sykes took no notice of the careful forethought of an old
sexton for a foreign servant's life, though he thought his benevolence
strange, but went on round the old building, the piles of rubbish, and
the blackberry-bushes which encumbered them, speaking a word or two
every now and then to Dr. Winthorne, and keeping Mr. Grimes in pretty
constant conversation. There is a game which young people play at,
called, I think, "Hide-and-Seek;" and Mr. Sykes was determined to have a
game with the old sexton. The seeker, when he approaches the object of
his search, is told that he is hot; when he goes far from it, that he is
cold. Now, in the neighborhood of most parts of the old building
Grimes's face said, as plainly as possible, "Cold; cold as ice;" but
when Mr. Sykes brought him near to the old ivy-tower again there was a
tremulous motion of the hanging under lip, an anxious twinkle of the
eye, and a fidgety motion of the hands, which said, as plainly as
possible, "Warm; warm; very hot." This was the more apparent when the
party came in face of that part of the tower where about a third of the
wall, rent from top to bottom by the great heat, had fallen and strewn
the ground with ruins. Mr. Sykes did not look up at the tower at all.
His eyes were fixed upon the face of Mr. Grimes, and he was reading it
as a book. Dr. Winthorne was reading it too. Edward Langdale and the
Prince de Soubise were talking together in French; but their eyes were
about them all the time.
Suddenly Edward exclaimed, in English, "Why, Pierrot could have gone up
very easily. There is a stone taken out of the wall every two or three
feet, and between them somebody has made steps by jamming in large
blocks of wood with smaller stones. Besides, the tough old stems of ivy
would take any one up who has hands to hold by. Pierrot! Pierrot!"
"No, no!" cried Dr. Winthorne: "send for a ladder from the church. My
man shall go."
"Doctor, doctor," said Mr. Grimes, with a face as pale as death, "I want
to speak to your Reverence."
"Well, speak out!" cried the bluff parson; but the old man drew him a
little aside, and said, "If they will give me a hundred pounds sterling
I will tell them something."
"Not a penny, you old sinner," said Dr. Winthorne. "Go down for the
ladder to the church, William: get some men and bring it up, and be
quick."
"Oh, doctor, I am an old man, and have suffered very much for the last
fifteen years----"
"What is that he is saying? what is that he is saying?" said Sykes. "I
have a notion you are very like the boy who went up the apple-tree to
steal his neighbor's fruit: the branch broke, and he cracked his leg,
and ever after he used to say that it had pleased God to afflict him."
At that moment a loud shout was heard from the tower above; and Pierrot,
who had run up like a squirrel, put out his head, shouting, "A pie's
nest! a pie's nest! Here are all manner of things!"
"Well, stay there and guard them," cried Dr. Winthorne.
"They are all mine!" cried the old man Grimes, wringing his hands, and
speaking with the air and tone of a disappointed demon. "Well, I will
not speak a word. I have done nothing. What business have you to take my
things? I shall go home. If there is law in England, I will have it."
And he was turning away toward the gates, when Mr. Sykes took him by the
arm, saying, "John Grimes, I apprehend you for robbery on the night of
the fire at Langley. Master Ned, tell that servant not to let him
depart. I will be responsible: I know my man, and have had my eye upon
him for many years. The old fool could not keep his tongue from
babbling, and boasted what he could do if he liked."
A few minutes passed in almost perfect silence, till the church-ladder
was brought and reared against the tower, and then all the younger men
ran up. Dr. Winthorne and Mr. Sykes kept guard over the prisoner, having
no great confidence in their own agility, not being much accustomed to
mount ladders; and, for a moment or two, Mr. Grimes, now evidently
panic-struck, continued to whisper eagerly to Dr. Winthorne, while Mr.
Sykes's eyes were turned with impatience toward the tower.
"I can promise you nothing," answered the clergyman, bluffly. "It is no
great matter to them what you confess or what you don't; but perhaps, if
you do tell the whole truth, Ned Langdale, in consideration of your
great age, may spare you. It is a horrible thing to see a man hanged at
eighty."
At that moment the servants began to come down, bringing between them a
chest of no very great size but bound with brass and somewhat
ornamented, though its color and appearance showed it to have been a
good deal scorched with fire. Though its weight did not seem great, the
men carried it with much care, the occasion of which became evident when
they reached the ground; for the top had been rudely forced open, and
they were afraid of its falling back and the contents tumbling out.
A number of other objects were subsequently brought down,--a chalice,
evidently the property of some church, a silver waiter, a clergyman's
cassock, a number of silver spoons bearing the arms of the family of
Langdale, and a whole mass of miscellaneous articles, some valuable,
some perfectly worthless. But Mr. Sykes put his foot firmly upon the
chest after it was laid upon the ground, saying, "Take notice, doctor,
that I do not open this till there are plenty of witnesses." The moment,
however, that the Prince de Soubise and Edward had descended, he called
upon them to remark what the chest contained, and proceeded to the
examination.
It is not my intention to give a descriptive catalogue of old papers;
but, after turning over many documents of no great importance, a
parchment was found and opened, and the Prince de Soubise instantly put
his finger on the lowest part of the fifth sheet, saying, "There stands
my name."
"Well," said Dr. Winthorne, "I can easily conceive this old man stealing
the sacrament-cup and the silver spoons. I remember the robbery of the
church quite well. Those he could melt down, and he was a great fool
for not doing it. But why he should take Brother Wynstone's gown, which
he could never dare to wear, and why he should steal this box of papers,
which he could make no use of, I cannot imagine."
It is impossible for any writer of history to discover and describe the
real motives of one-half the actions he relates; and what it was that
moved old Grimes the sexton at that moment I cannot at all pretend to
say, but he certainly mumbled, in low and tremulous accents, and with
some tears, "I thought it was my lady's jewel-case."
The scene which then took place is not worthy of description. Let the
reader imagine the congratulations that were poured upon Edward
Langdale, how all his friends shook hands with him heartily, how
Pierrot, who from his knowledge of English understood the whole, almost
danced with joy, and how the servant of the Prince de Soubise, seeing
all the rest do it, shook hands with him too, and wished monsieur a good
morning, being the two principal words he possessed. A cart was
procured, and also a constable; under whose charge, escorted by Dr.
Winthorne's servant, Mr. Grimes and the contents of his magpie's
nest--with the exception of the all-important settlement, which Mr.
Sykes would not part with--were carried over to Applethorpe that night.
Dr. Winthorne and his party had preceded them by nearly an hour, and
very important business occupied the remainder of the day till it was
time to retire to rest. On that business we need not dwell at present;
but in order not to be obliged to turn back to a character which,
however important, has appeared but briefly, let me say that that very
night Mr. Grimes, in the first terror of detection, made a full and
frank confession of all he had done. He had been one of the first to
enter the house on the night of the fire, and had met Lady Langdale
carrying the case which contained her marriage-settlement. He had
instantly asked her after her boy; and, dropping the case, she had flown
to Edward's room to see if he had been rescued by his father. The
sexton, concluding that the case contained her jewels, had seized upon
it and carried it off. At first he had concealed it under some of the
bushes, but had afterward carried it up into what was called the
ivy-tower, which, having been vacant and in ruins for some years, he
imagined would never be searched. When asked why he had not carried it
to his own cottage, he replied, "Because that was certain to be examined
as soon as they discovered that any thing was lost." He was never
prosecuted for the thefts he had committed; but he died some seven weeks
after,--perhaps as much from shame and disappointment as disease; and
thus he never had the pleasure of burying Mr. Martin Sykes.