I VISIT MY RELATIONS
For the moment I could hardly believe my ears. Gone? Why had they gone?
What could have induced them to leave England so suddenly? I questioned
the hall porter on the subject, but he could tell me nothing save that
they had departed for Paris the previous day, intending to proceed
across the Continent in order to catch the first Australian boat at
Naples.
Feeling that I should only look ridiculous if I stayed questioning the
man any longer, I pressed a tip into his hand and went slowly back to my
own hotel to try and think it all out. But though I devoted some hours
to it, I could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion. The one vital point
remained and was not to be disputed--they were gone. But the mail that
evening brought me enlightenment in the shape of a letter, written in
London and posted in Dover. It ran as follows:--
"MONDAY AFTERNOON.
"MY OWN DEAREST.--Something terrible has happened to papa!
I cannot tell you what, because I do not know myself. He went out
this morning in the best of health and spirits, and returned half an
hour ago trembling like a leaf and white as a sheet. He had only
strength enough left to reach a chair in my sitting-room before he
fainted dead away. When he came to himself again he said, 'Tell
your maid to pack at once. There is not a moment to lose. We start
for Paris this evening to catch the next boat leaving Naples for
Australia.' I said, 'But papa!' 'Not a word,' he answered. 'I have
seen somebody this morning whose presence renders it impossible for
us to remain an instant longer in England. Go and pack at once,
unless you wish my death to lie at your door.' After that I could,
of course, say nothing. I have packed and now, in half an hour, we
leave England again. If I could only see you to say good-bye; but
that, too, is impossible. I cannot tell what it all means, but that
it is very serious business that takes us away so suddenly I feel
convinced. My father seems frightened to remain in London a minute
longer than he can help. He even stands at the window as I write,
earnestly scrutinizing everybody who enters the hotel. And now, my
own----"
But what follows, the reiterations of her affection, her vows to be true
to me, etc., etc., could have no possible interest for any one save
lovers.
I sat like one stunned. All enjoyment seemed suddenly to have gone out
of life for me. I could only sit twirling the paper in my hand and
picturing the train flying remorselessly across France, bearing away
from me the girl I loved better than all the world. I went down to the
Park, but the scene there had no longer any interest in my eyes. I went
later on to a theatre, but I found no enjoyment in the piece performed.
London had suddenly become distasteful to me. I felt I must get out of
it; but where could I go? Every place was alike in my present humour.
Then one of the original motives of my journey rose before me, and I
determined to act on the suggestion.
Next morning I accordingly set off for Hampshire to try, if possible, to
find my father's old home. What sort of a place it would turn out to be
I had not the very remotest idea.
Leaving the train at Lyndhurst Road--for the village I was in search of
was situated in the heart of the New Forest--I hired a ramshackle
conveyance from the nearest innkeeper and started off for it. The man
who drove me had lived in the neighbourhood, so he found early occasion
to inform me, all his seventy odd years, and it struck him as a humorous
circumstance that he had never in his life been even as far as
Southampton, a matter of only ten minutes by rail.
We had travelled a matter of two miles when it struck me to ask my
charioteer about the place to which we were proceeding. It was within
the bounds of possibility, I thought, that he might once have known my
father. I determined to try him. So waiting till we had passed a load of
hay coming along the lane, I put the question to him.
To my surprise, he had no sooner heard the name than he became as
excited as it was possible for him to be.
"Hatteras!" he cried. "Be ye a Hatteras? Well, well, now, dearie me,
who'd ha' thought it!"
"Do you know the name so well, then?"
"Ay! ay! I know the name well enough; who doesn't in these parts? There
was the old Squire and Lady Margaret when first I remember. Then Squire
Jasper and his son, the captain, as was killed in the mutiny in foreign
parts--and Master James----"
"James--that was my father's name. James Dymoke Hatteras."
"You Master James' son--you don't say! Well! well! Now to think of that
too! Him that ran away from home after words with the Squire, and went
to foreign parts. Who'd have thought it! Sir William will be right down
glad to see ye, I'll be bound."
"Sir William, and who's Sir William?"
"He's the only one left now, sir. Lives up at the House. Ah, dear! ah,
dear! There's been a power o' trouble in the family these years past."
By this time the aspect of the country was changing. We had left the
lane behind us, ascended a short hill, and were now descending it again
through what looked to my eyes more like a stately private avenue than a
public road. Beautiful elms reared themselves on either hand and
intermingled their branches overhead; while before us, through a gap in
the foliage, we could just distinguish the winding river, with the
thatched roofs of the village, of which we had come in search, lining
its banks, and the old grey tower of the church keeping watch and ward
over all.
There was to my mind something indescribably peaceful and even sad about
that view, a mute sympathy with the Past that I could hardly account
for, seeing that I was Colonial born and bred. For the first time since
my arrival in England the real beauty of the place came home upon me. I
felt as if I could have looked for ever on that quiet and peaceful spot.
When we reached the bottom of the hill, and had turned the corner, a
broad, well-made stone bridge confronted us. On the other side of this
was an old-fashioned country inn, with its signboard dangling from the
house front, and opposite it again a dilapidated cottage lolling beside
two iron gates. The gates were eight feet or more in height, made of
finely wrought iron, and supported by big stone posts, on the top of
which two stone animals--griffins, I believe they are called--holding
shields in their claws, looked down on passers-by in ferocious grandeur.
From behind the gates an avenue wound and disappeared into the wood.
Without consulting me, my old charioteer drove into the inn yard, and,
having thrown the reins to an ostler, descended from the vehicle. I
followed his example, and then inquired the name of the place inside the
gates. My guide, philosopher, and friend looked at me rather queerly for
a second or two, and then recollecting that I was a stranger to the
place, said:--
"That be the Hall I was telling 'ee about. That's where Sir William
lives!"
"Then that's where my father was born?"
He nodded his head, and as he did so I noticed that the ostler stopped
his work of unharnessing the horse, and looked at me in rather a
surprised fashion.
"Well, that being so," I said, taking my stick from the trap, and
preparing to stroll off, "I'm just going to investigate a bit. You bring
yourself to an anchor in yonder, and don't stir till I come for you
again."
He took himself into the inn without more ado, and I crossed the road
towards the gates. They were locked, but the little entrance by the
tumble-down cottage stood open, and passing through this I started up
the drive. It was a perfect afternoon; the sunshine straggled in through
the leafy canopy overhead and danced upon my path. To the right were the
thick fastnesses of the preserves; while on my left, across the meadows
I could discern the sparkle of water on a weir. I must have proceeded
for nearly a mile through the wood before I caught sight of the house.
Then, what a strange experience was mine.
Leaving the shelter of the trees, I opened on to as beautiful a park as
the mind of man could imagine. A herd of deer were grazing quietly just
before me, a woodman was eating his dinner in the shadow of an oak; but
it was not upon deer or woodman that I looked, but at the house that
stared at me across the undulating sea of grass. It was a noble
building, of grey stone, in shape almost square, with many curious
buttresses and angles. The drive ran up to it with a grand sweep, and
upon the green that fronted it some big trees reared their stately
heads. In my time I'd heard a lot of talk about the stately homes of
England, but this was the first time I had ever set eyes on one. And to
think that this was my father's birthplace, the house where my ancestors
had lived for centuries! I could only stand and stare at it in sheer
amazement.
You see, my father had always been a very silent man, and though he used
sometimes to tell us yarns about scrapes he'd got into as a boy, and how
his father was a very stern man, and had sent him to a public school,
because his tutor found him unmanageable, we never thought that he'd
been anything very much.
To tell the truth, I felt a bit doubtful as to what I'd better do.
Somehow I was rather nervous about going up to the house and introducing
myself as a member of the family without any credentials to back my
assertion up; and yet, on the other hand, I did not want to go away and
have it always rankling in my mind that I'd seen the old place and been
afraid to go inside. My mind once made up, however, off I went, crossed
the park, and made towards the front door. On nearer approach, I
discovered that everything showed the same neglect I had noticed at the
lodge. The drive was overgrown with weeds; no carriage seemed to have
passed along it for ages. Shutters enclosed many of the windows, and
where they did not, not one but several of the panes were broken.
Entering the great stone porch, in which it would have been possible to
seat a score of people, I pulled the antique door-bell, and waited,
while the peal re-echoed down the corridors, for the curtain to go up on
the next scene.
Presently I heard footsteps approaching. A key turned in the lock, and
the great door swung open. An old man, whose years could hardly have
totalled less than seventy, stood before me, dressed in a suit of solemn
black, almost green with age. He inquired my business in a wheezy
whisper. I asked if Sir William Hatteras were at home. Informing me that
he would find out, he left me to ruminate on the queerness of my
position. In five minutes or so he returned, and signed to me to follow.
The hall was in keeping with the outside of the building, lofty and
imposing. The floor was of oak, almost black with age, the walls were
beautifully wainscoted and carved, and here and there tall armoured
figures looked down upon me in disdainful silence. But the crowning
glory of all was the magnificent staircase that ran up from the centre.
It was wide enough and strong enough to have taken a coach and four, the
pillars that supported it were exquisitely carved, as were the banisters
and rails. Half-way up was a sort of landing, from which again the
stairs branched off to right and left.
Above this landing-place, and throwing a stream of coloured light down
into the hall, was a magnificent stained-glass window, and on a lozenge
in the centre of it the arms that had so much puzzled me on the gateway.
A nobler hall no one could wish to possess, but brooding over it was the
same air of poverty and neglect I had noticed all about the place. By
the time I had taken in these things, my guide had reached a door at the
farther end. He bade me enter, and I did so, to find a tall, elderly man
of stern aspect awaiting my coming.
He, like his servant, was dressed entirely in black, with the exception
of a white tie, which gave his figure a semi-clerical appearance. His
face was long and somewhat pinched, his chin and upper lip were shaven,
and his snow-white, close-cropped whiskers ran in two straight lines
from his jaw up to a level with his piercing, hawk-like eyes. He would
probably have been about seventy-five years of age, but he did not carry
it well. In a low, monotonous voice he bade me welcome, and pointed to a
chair, himself remaining standing.
"My servant tells me you say your name is Hatteras?" he began.
"That is so," I replied. "My father was James Dymoke Hatteras."
He looked at me very sternly for almost a minute, not for a second
betraying the slightest sign of surprise. Then putting his hands
together, finger tip to finger tip, as I discovered later was his
invariable habit while flunking, he said solemnly:----
"James was my younger brother. He misconducted himself gravely in
England and was sent abroad. After a brief career of spendthrift
extravagance in Australia, we never heard of him again. You may be his
son, but then, on the other hand, of course, you may not. I have no
means of judging."
"I give you my word," I answered, a little nettled by his speech and the
insinuation contained in it; "but if you want further proof, I've got a
Latin book in my portmanteau with my father's name upon the fly-leaf,
and an inscription in his own writing setting forth that it was given by
him to me."
"A Catullus?"
"Exactly! a Catullus."
"Then I'll have to trouble you to return it to me at your earliest
convenience. The book is my property: I paid eighteenpence for it on the
3rd of July, 1833, in the shop of John Burns, Fleet Street, London. My
brother took it from me a week later, and I have not been able to afford
myself another copy since."
"You admit then that the book is evidence of my father's identity?"
"I admit nothing. What do you want with me? What do you come here for?
You must see for yourself that I am too poor to be of any service to
you, and I have long since lost any public interest I may once have
possessed."
"I want neither one nor the other. I am home from Australia on a trip,
and I have a sufficient competence to render me independent of any one."
"Ah! That puts a different complexion on the matter. You say you hail
from Australia? And what may you have been doing there?"
"Gold-mining--pearling--trading!"
He came a step closer, and as he did so I noticed that his face had
assumed a look of indescribable cunning, that was evidently intended to
be of an ingratiating nature. He spoke in little jerks, pressing his
fingers together between each sentence.
"Gold-mining! Ah! And pearling! Well, well! And you have been fortunate
in your ventures?"
"Very!" I replied, having by this time determined on my line of action.
"I daresay my cheque for ten thousand pounds would not be dishonoured."
"Ten thousand pounds! Ten thousand pounds! Dear me, dear me!"
He shuffled up and down the dingy room, all the time looking at me out
of the corners of his eyes, as if to make sure that I was telling him
the truth.
"Come, come, uncle," I said, resolving to bring him to his bearings
without further waste of time. "This is not a very genial welcome!"
"Well, well, you mustn't expect too much, my boy! You see for yourself
the position I'm in. The old place is shut up, going to rack and ruin.
Poverty is staring me in the face; I am cheated by everybody. Robbed
right and left, not knowing which way to turn. But I'll not be put upon.
They may call me what they please, but they can't get blood out of a
stone. Can they! Answer me that, now!"
This speech showed me everything as plain as a pikestaff. I mean, of
course, the reason of the deserted and neglected house, and his
extraordinary reception of myself. I rose to my feet.
"Well, uncle--for my uncle you certainly are, whatever you may say to
the contrary--I must be going. I'm sorry to find you like this, and from
what you tell me I couldn't think of worrying you with my society! I
want to see the old church and have a talk with the parson, and then I
shall go off never to trouble you again."
He immediately became almost fulsome in his effort to detain me. "No,
no! You mustn't go like that. It's not hospitable. Besides, you mustn't
talk with parson. He's a bad lot, is parson--a hard man with a cruel
tongue. Says terrible things about me, does parson. But I'll be even
with him yet. Don't speak to him, laddie, for the honour of the family.
Now ye'll stay and take lunch with me?--potluck, of course--I'm too poor
to give ye much of a meal; and in the meantime I'll show ye the house
and estate."
This was just what I wanted, though I did not look forward to the
prospect of lunch in his company.
With trembling hands he took down an old-fashioned hat from a peg and
turned towards the door. When we had passed through it he carefully
locked it and dropped the key into his breeches' pocket. Then he led the
way upstairs by the beautiful oak staircase I had so much admired on
entering the house.
When we reached the first landing, which was of noble proportions and
must have contained upon its walls nearly a hundred family portraits all
coated with the dust of years, he approached a door and threw it open. A
feeble light straggled in through the closed shutters, and revealed an
almost empty room. In the centre stood a large canopied bed, of antique
design. The walls were wainscoted, and the massive chimney-piece was
carved with heraldic designs. I inquired what room this might be.
"This is where all our family were born," he answered. "'Twas here your
father first saw the light of day."
I looked at it with a new interest. It seemed hard to believe that this
was the birthplace of my own father, the man whom I remembered so well
in a place and life so widely different. My companion noticed the look
upon my face, and, I suppose, felt constrained to say something. "Ah!
James!" he said sorrowfully, "ye were always a giddy, roving lad. I
remember ye well." (He passed his hand across his eyes, to brush away a
tear, I thought, but his next speech disabused me of any such notion.)
"I remember that but a day or two before ye went ye blooded my nose in
the orchard, and the very morning ye decamped ye borrowed half a crown
of me, and never paid it back."
A sudden something prompted me to put my hand in my pocket. I took out
half a crown, and handed it to him without a word. He took it, looked at
it longingly, put it in his pocket, took it out again, ruminated a
moment, and then reluctantly handed it back to me.
"Nay, nay! my laddie, keep your money, keep your money. Ye can send me
the Catullus." Then to himself, unconscious that he was speaking his
thoughts aloud: "It was a good edition, and I have no doubt would bring
five shillings any day."
From one room we passed into another, and yet another. They were all
alike--shut up, dust-ridden, and forsaken. And yet with it all what a
noble place it was--one which any man might be proud to call his own.
And to think that it was all going to rack and ruin because of the
miserly nature of its owner. In the course of our ramble I discovered
that he kept but two servants, the old man who had admitted me to his
presence, and his wife, who, as that peculiar phrase has it, cooked and
did for him. I discovered later that he had not paid either of them
wages for some years past, and that they only stayed on with him because
they were too poor and proud to seek shelter elsewhere.
When we had inspected the house we left it by a side door, and crossed a
courtyard to the stables. There the desolation was, perhaps, even more
marked than in the house. The great clock on the tower above the main
building had stopped at a quarter to ten on some long-forgotten day, and
a spider now ran his web from hand to hand. At our feet, between the
stones, grass grew luxuriantly, thick moss covered the coping of the
well, the doors were almost off their hinges, and rats scuttled through
the empty loose boxes at our approach. So large was the place, that
thirty horses might have found a lodging comfortably, and as far as I
could gather, there was room for half as many vehicles in the
coach-houses that stood on either side. The intense quiet was only
broken by the cawing of the rooks in the giant elms overhead, the
squeaking of the rats, and the low grumbling of my uncle's voice as he
pointed out the ruin that was creeping over everything.
Before we had finished our inspection it was lunch time, and we returned
to the house. The meal was served in the same room in which I had made
my relative's acquaintance an hour before. It consisted, I discovered,
of two meagre mutton chops and some homemade bread and cheese, plain and
substantial fare enough in its way, but hardly the sort one would expect
from the owner of such a house. For a beverage, water was placed before
us, but I could see that my host was deliberating as to whether he
should stretch his generosity a point or two further.
Presently he rose, and with a muttered apology left the room, to return
five minutes later carrying a small bottle carefully in his hand. This,
with much deliberation and sighing, he opened. It proved to be claret,
and he poured out a glassful for me. As I was not prepared for so much
liberality, I thought something must be behind it, and in this I was not
mistaken.
"Nephew," said he after a while, "was it ten thousand pounds you
mentioned as your fortune?"
I nodded. He looked at me slyly and cleared his throat to gain time for
reflection. Then seeing that I had emptied my glass, he refilled it with
another scarce concealed sigh, and sat back in his chair.
"And I understand you to say you are quite alone in the world, my boy?"
"Quite! Until I met you this morning I was unaware that I had a single
relative on earth. Have I any more connections?"
"Not a soul--only Gwendoline."
"Gwendoline! and who may Gwendoline be?"
"My daughter--your cousin. My only child! Would you like to see her?"
"I had no idea you had a daughter. Of course I should like to see her!"
He left the table and rang the bell. The ancient man-servant answered
the summons.
"Tell you wife to bring Miss Gwendoline to us."
"Miss Gwendoline here, sir? You do not mean it sure-lie, sir?"
"Numbskull! numbskull! numbskull!" cried the old fellow in an ecstasy of
fury that seemed to spring up as suddenly as a squall does between the
islands, "bring her or I'll be the death of you."
Without further remonstrance the old man left the room, and I demanded
an explanation.
"Good servant, but an impudent rascal, sir!" he said. "Of course you
must see my daughter, my beautiful daughter, Gwendoline. He's afraid
you'll frighten her, I suppose! Ha! ha! Frighten my bashful, pretty one.
Ha! ha!"
Anything so supremely devilish as the dried-up mirth of this old fellow
it would be difficult to imagine. His very laugh seemed as if it had to
crack in his throat before it could pass his lips. What would his
daughter be like, living in such a house, with such companions? While I
was wondering, I heard footsteps in the corridor, and then an old woman
entered and curtsied respectfully. My host rose and went over to the
fireplace, where he stood with his hands behind his back and the same
devilish grin upon his face.
"Well, where is my daughter?"
"Sir, do you really mean it?"
"Of course I mean it. Where is she?"
In answer the old lady went to the door and called to some one in the
hall.
"Come in, dearie. It's all right. Come in, do'ee now, that's a little
dear."
But the girl made no sign of entering, and at last the old woman had to
go out and draw her in. And then--but I hardly know how to write it. How
shall I give you a proper description of the--_thing_ that entered.
She--if _she_ it could be called--was about three feet high, dressed in
a shapeless print costume. Her hair stood and hung in a tangled mass
upon her head, her eyes were too large for her face, and to complete the
horrible effect, a great patch of beard grew on one cheek, and descended
almost to a level with her chin. Her features were all awry, and now and
again she uttered little moans that were more like those of a wild beast
than of a human being. In spite of the old woman's endeavours to make
her do so, she would not venture from her side, but stood slobbering and
moaning in the half dark of the doorway.
It was a ghastly sight, one that nearly turned me sick with loathing.
But the worst part of it all was the inhuman merriment of her father.
"There, there!" he cried; "had ever man such a lovely daughter? Isn't
she a beauty? Isn't she fit to be a prince's bride? Isn't she fit to be
the heiress of all this place? Won't the young dukes be asking her hand
in marriage? Oh, you beauty! You--but there, take her away--take her
away, I say, before I do her mischief."
The words had no sooner left his mouth than the old woman seized her
charge and bundled her out of the room, moaning as before. I can tell
you there was at least one person in that apartment who was heartily
glad to be rid of her.
When the door had closed upon them my host came back to his seat, and
with another sigh refilled my glass. I wondered what was coming next. It
was not long, however, before I found out.
"Now you know everything," he said. "You have seen my home, you have
seen my poverty, and you have seen my daughter. What do you think of it
all?"
"I don't know what to think."
"Well, then, I'll tell you. That child wants doctors; that child wants
proper attendance. She can get neither here. I am too poor to help her
in any way. You're rich by your own telling. I have to-day taken you
into the bosom of my family, recognized you without doubting your
assertions. Will you help me? Will you give me one thousand pounds
towards settling that child in life? With that amount it could be
managed."
"Will I what?" I cried in utter amazement--dumbfounded by his impudence.
"Will you settle one thousand pounds upon her, to keep her out of her
grave?"
"Not one penny!" I cried: "and, what's more, you miserable, miserly old
wretch, I'll give you a bit of my mind."
And thereupon I did! Such a talking to as I suppose the old fellow had
never had in his life before, and one he'd not be likely to forget in a
hurry. He sat all the time, white with fury, his eyes blazing, and his
fingers quivering with impotent rage. When I had done he ordered me out
of his house. I took him at his word, seized my hat, and strode across
the hall through the front door, and out into the open air.
But I was not to leave the home of my ancestors without a parting shot.
As I closed the front door behind me I heard a window go up, and on
looking round there was the old fellow shaking his fist at me.
"Leave my house--leave my park!" he cried in a shrill falsetto, "or I'll
send for the constable to turn you off. Bah! You came to steal. You're
no nephew of mine; I disown you! You're a common cheat--a swindler--an
impostor! Go!"
I took him at his word, and went. Leaving the park, I walked straight
across to the rectory, and inquired if I might see the clergyman. To him
I told my tale, and, among other things, asked if anything could be done
for the child--my cousin. He only shook his head.
"I fear it is hopeless, Mr. Hatteras," the clergyman said. "The old
gentleman is a terrible character, and as he owns half the village, and
every acre of the land hereabouts, we all live in fear and trembling of
him. We have no shadow of a claim upon the child, and unless we can
prove that he actually ill-treats it, I'm sorry to say I think there is
nothing to be done."
So ended my first meeting with my father's family.
From the rectory I returned to my inn. What should I do now? London was
worse than a desert to me now that my sweetheart was gone from it, and
every other place seemed as bad. Then an advertisement on the wall of
the bar parlour caught my eye:
"FOR SALE OR HIRE,
THE YACHT, _ENCHANTRESS_.
Ten Tons.
Apply, SCREW & MATCHEM,
Bournemouth."
It was just the very thing. I was pining for a breath of sea air again.
It was perfect weather for a cruise. I would go to Bournemouth, inspect
the yacht at once, and, if she suited me, take her for a month or so. My
mind once made up, I hunted up my Jehu and set off for the train, never
dreaming that by so doing I was taking the second step in that important
chain of events that was to affect all the future of my life.