A Family Crest
After the joys of Stratford-on-Avon came the delights of the rest of the
fascinating Shakespeare villages. "Piping Pebworth", "Dancing Marston",
"Drunken Bidford", "Haunted Hillborough", "Hungry Grafton", "Papist
Wixford", and "Beggarly Broom" were visited and rejoiced over in turn;
then the car wended its way from Warwickshire to sample the glories of
Gloucestershire. Here, too, our pilgrims found plenty to arouse their
enthusiasm: the richness of the landscape, with orchards just breaking
into bloom; the slow winding rivers, with their willowy, reedy banks;
the beautiful half-timbered manors and farms and the thatched cottages
set in a tangle of greenery, made an ideal picture of English country
life. They saw it at the cream of the year, in all the glory of spring
tints and blossoms, and even if showers came on they put up the hood of
the car and whisked along wet roads, admiring the freshness of the
rain-washed leaves and the effects of gathering storm-clouds over
distant hills. They were a full day's journey beyond Stratford when
suddenly there happened that most common misfortune to motorists,
"something wrong with the car". Giles just managed to run her into the
nearest village, then, stopping at the inn, he sent for the services of
the blacksmith, who was somewhat of a mechanic, and with his aid set to
work on repairs. Leaving Giles, with his coat off and his sleeves rolled
up, crawling under the car and getting exceedingly oily and dusty in the
process, the rest of the party set off to explore the neighbourhood on
foot. The village was so charming that they could really hardly grumble
at being held up there. Each cottage seemed a picture, with its thatched
or red-tiled roof, black-and-white walls, creeper-covered porch, and gay
little garden. So luxuriant were the flowers that they even strayed
through the railings and made bright borders among the grass at the edge
of the road; forget-me-nots were mixed up with dandelions, and
wallflowers bloomed side by side with dead-nettles.
At the end of the village, on a rise overlooking the river, stood the
parish church, a grey, old Early-English building whose priceless
architecture had mercifully not been tampered with by the ruthless hand
of the so-called restorer. With a little difficulty Lenox found the
cottage of the caretaker, whose wife presently came up clanking the big
keys and unlocked the west door for them. The interior was most
beautiful: the graceful sandstone pillars, the interlacing arches, the
delicate tracery of the windows with their old stained glass, the black
oak roof, the carved choir stalls, the ancient rood-screen, the blazoned
shields and faded banners, the Lancastrian tombs and the Elizabethan
brasses, all combined to give that atmosphere which Milton expressed in
his _Il Penseroso_; and as the afternoon sunlight flooded through the
old stained glass, and cast blue and crimson gleams on the tiled floor
of the chancel, the glorious building seemed like the prayers of many
generations crystallized into stone.
Their guide, a young woman in a sun-bonnet, took them round to show them
the various points of interest. It was when they had duly examined the
banners and the Norman font, the carving on the miserere seats and the
motto on the base of the lectern, and had listened rather wearily to the
sing-song description of them poured out, like a lesson learned by rote,
from the lips of their conductress, that in the side chapel they came
face to face with an ancient tomb. It was an unusually beautiful one,
carved in marble, probably by some Italian master-craftsman of the late
fifteenth century. A knight clad in full armour lay stretched out in his
last sleep; his clasped hands rested over the good sword whose handle
formed a cross upon his breast; the attitude of the inclined head and
the sculpture of the strong, lined, noble face in its utter repose were
magnificent, and recalled the marvellous art that created the busts of
the emperors in the days of Rome's zenith. Round the base of the tomb
were small figures in the costume of the period, somewhat defaced and
worn, with finely-carved pilasters between the panels. At the end was a
coat of arms.
Lenox walked round with the others, admiring the beauty of the
sculpture, though rather bored by the eloquence of their guide. At sight
of the coat of arms, however, he stopped and whistled.
"By all that's wonderful, that's our family crest!" he exclaimed.
Here was an excitement! At once the whole party began to examine the
ancient, worn escutcheon, on which was depicted a chained eagle with a
crown on its head, three arrows, and the motto _Manu et corde_ (with
hand and heart).
"It's _exactly_ the same!" declared Lenox. "Dad has a copy of the crest
in an old book that his grandfather brought out from England more than a
hundred years ago."
"It's the arms of the de Cliffords," said their guide, shaken out of her
sing-song recitation into first-hand information. "You'll find the same
crest on those monuments over there in the nave."
"Dad always said we were descended from an old family," rejoined Lenox,
immensely thrilled.
That their young cousin should have discovered the tombs of his
ancestors in the village church was certainly a matter of great interest
to the Hewlitts. They besieged their guide with questions. She could not
really tell them very much, except that from mediaeval times the
Cliffords had owned the soil, and that the Manor House was now in the
possession of Mrs. Elliot, a daughter of old Squire Clifford who had
died many years ago.
"It was before I was born, but I've heard my father speak of him," she
added.
"Where is the Manor House?" asked Lenox eagerly.
"Two miles beyond the village. It's a beautiful old place too, with a
moat round it, and big stone gates."
"Is it possible to look over it?"
The guide shook her head emphatically.
"No. Mrs. Elliot won't have anyone coming. She's an old lady and very
infirm, and she can't bear to see strangers about the place. At one time
she'd let people look round with a guide, but she found them so
bothersome she stopped it. One day some Americans came and peeped
through the windows when she was having her lunch, and wouldn't go
away."
"I'm sorry they were Americans," put in Mrs. Hewlitt. "My countrymen
don't often so forget their manners, I'm glad to say."
"Well, at any rate," smiled the guide, "both English and Americans made
themselves nuisances, and she wouldn't let any more tourists come near.
She has the great gates locked, and whoever wants to go in, no matter on
what errand, must ring the lodge-keeper's bell, and it's only her own
visitors, or the tradespeople with meat and groceries and such like as
are admitted. They say she's gone almost queer in her head about it."
"What a pity!" sighed Diana.
"Still, you can hardly blame her," added Mrs. Hewlitt. "It must be very
trying to live in a show place. I'm afraid, Lenox, you'll have to give
up the idea of going over it. Is anything to be seen from the road?"
"Nothing of the house; it's all hidden by the trees. You can only see
the great gates."
"It would hardly be worth a four-mile walk, just for the gates," decided
Mrs. Hewlitt. "If the car's not ready yet we'll just take a conveyance
and drive to Ratcliffe this afternoon."
The car repair proved a tougher job than either Giles or the blacksmith
had anticipated, and, as it apparently could not be finished for many
hours, the Hewlitts arranged to make an excursion in a wagonette, and,
as the inn seemed comfortable, to return to the village, spend the night
there, and proceed on their way the next morning. Though her mother had
dismissed all question of visiting the old Manor House, Diana still
harped on the subject. She and Lenox talked it over in private after
dinner. They were sitting in the porch of the hotel, watching the lights
begin to gleam in the windows down the village street. Mr. and Mrs.
Hewlitt were writing letters; Giles and Loveday had disappeared into the
garden to try to hear a nightingale reputed to sing there.
"Len," said Diana, "you oughtn't to leave this place without seeing your
ancestral home. Think of having an ancient ancestral family home! It's
an immense idea! Aren't you just crazy to go and look at it?"
Lenox rolled his cigarette carefully, and lighted it before replying.
"So crazy that I mean to go," he admitted at last. "Don't say anything
about it to the others, but I'm planning to get up early, climb over the
Manor House wall, and take a peep at the outside of the old place at any
rate before anybody's about. That much won't do the old lady's nerves
any harm. Besides, who's to find out?"
"What a ripping notion!" Diana drew her breath admiringly. "Oh, Len, I
_must_ go too! I simply _must_! I'd give everything in the world to see
your family manor. That woman said it has a moat. I've never seen a real
moated British manor."
"If you could be up by five?" suggested Lenox.
"Couldn't I? Just you wait and see! I'll be all dressed and ready and
standing in the hall by five o'clock. Oh, what _topping_ fun! Don't let
us tell a soul about it. We'll just keep it to ourselves."
"_Ra_--ther! I'm not going prating about my plans, I can tell you."
Diana was almost sorry that her mouse scare had made her decide to sleep
with Loveday. She did not want to be questioned beforehand about her
expedition. Fortunately her room-mate was very sleepy next morning, and
slumbered tranquilly on while the stealthy process of early dressing
went forward. She did not lift an eyelid when Diana opened the door and
crept downstairs. The big clock on the landing had not yet struck five,
but Lenox was already waiting in the hall. He grinned as Diana joined
him.
"You _are_ a sport!" he whispered.
They let themselves out softly, and in another minute were walking down
the village street. The clocks were at "summer time", an hour forward,
so it was really only four o'clock. The sun had not risen yet, though it
was quite light already. The air felt deliciously fresh, birds were
singing, and cattle lowing. Here and there a cottage door opened, and a
labourer came out, who looked at them with speculative curiosity as they
passed by. They were soon through the village and along the road that
led in the direction of the Manor. On either side lay pastures with
clumps of yellow cowslips, the faint fragrance of which was wafted on
the pleasant air. Diana could not resist scaling a fence and going to
gather some, though she got her shoes soaked with the morning dew. Down
a hill, along the river side, and up through a long avenue of elms ran
the road, till at last a high oak fence took the place of the hedge;
this in its turn gave way to a wall, and presently to the left loomed a
pair of great ornamental iron gates, with a lodge at the side.
An archway across, surmounted by a stone escutcheon, bore the Clifford
crest, so there was no doubt that they had reached their destination.
The gates were padlocked together, and the blinds were drawn in the
lodge; evidently the keeper was not an early bird.
"How are we going to get in?" asked Diana.
"Not here, certainly. We'll go back to that oak paling, and climb over.
Don't you feel as if we were poachers?"
"Yes, or burglars! I guess we've got to burgle quietly. Hope the old
lady hasn't set man-traps in her park."
"Or doesn't leave savage bloodhounds to roam at large and guard the
premises. Well, we shall have to take our chance. It's rather like
storming a fortress--isn't it?"
"I call it precious!" chuckled Diana.
The fence did not look too easy to scale. It was of solid oak pales set
upright, and was about six feet in height. Its straight surface did not
offer any foothold. For some distance they wandered along, rather
discouraged, but at last an overhanging tree seemed to promise hope.
Lenox lifted up Diana till she could catch hold of a branch, then, with
considerable boosting and scrambling, she swung herself over. Lenox
dropped after her directly, and the adventurous pair stood within the
park.
So far, so good. They were certainly trespassing, but they considered
that their errand justified the deed. Lenox had brought his hand camera,
and hoped to get a snap-shot of the old place to take back to America to
show his father. He had ascertained that no picture post cards of it
were obtainable in the village. They could see the twisted chimneys
rising over the top of a thick grove of trees and shrubs, so they turned
their steps in that direction. Over some grassy park-like land they
tramped, where rabbits were still scuttling about, and a few tame deer
were grazing; then through a thicket of trees and under a belt of
ornamental shrubs. All at once, as they scrambled from the shade of some
rhododendrons, they caught their first view of the Manor. It was a
glorious old mansion, built partly in half-timber and partly in grey
stone, with an embattled tower for entrance, and a stone bridge crossing
the moat that encircled the walls. The morning sun shone direct on its
mullioned, diamond-paned windows, its twisted chimney stalks, ivy-clad
walls, and smooth, green stretch of water. Nothing could have been more
charming for a photograph, and, to make the picture absolutely perfect,
a pair of stately swans came sailing along the moat. Lenox pulled his
camera from its case, ventured forth from the cover of the bushes, and
began to focus. Diana followed closely at his elbow. They were brimful
of excitement. Here they were actually facing the "ancestral home" of
the Clifford family.
"Don't you wish you lived here?" sighed Diana.
"Rather! But no such luck!"
"If the old lady has no children perhaps you'll turn out to be the
heir," said Diana wistfully.
"She has nephews," said Lenox, dashing her hopes. "Besides, we must be a
very far-off branch of the family tree. It's a hundred years since we
settled in America. Now don't nudge me. I've just got the thing
focused--swans and all."
Lenox pressed the button, and turned the film on to No. 2, then looked
about him.
"I'm going to take the whole half-dozen," he announced. "Let's move on
and get a different view."
There was not a soul to be seen. With the exception of the swans, the
inhabitants of the Manor did not seem to be early risers. Lenox and
Diana grew bolder, and ventured nearer. By degrees they got right to the
edge of the moat. The view here was beautiful, for it took in the bridge
and the embattled tower, with the coat of arms over the doorway. It was
exactly what they wanted to carry home to America. Lenox snapped it with
huge satisfaction, including the swans, which luckily swam into the
scene at the psychological moment.
"I'd give worlds to be able to go inside and explore," said Diana. "I
wish I could make myself invisible. D'you think we dare just toddle
across the bridge, and perhaps peep in through a window? There's nobody
watching. O-o-o-oh!"
She might well exclaim, for, in direct contradiction to her words, the
door at that moment opened, and an elderly lady made her appearance. She
walked slowly with the aid of a cane, but it was evident that she had
seen the intruders on her property, and was coming to tackle them.
Swift and hasty flight seemed the only way out of the difficulty.
"Quick, Lenox! Run!" gasped Diana.
She turned, as she spoke, to make a dash for the cover of the shrubs,
but in her hurry and agitation she tripped on her dangling shoe lace,
missed her footing, slipped, tumbled down the bank, and fell backwards
with a splash into the moat.
It was not very deep, and Lenox hauled her out in a minute. There she
stood upon the bank a dripping object, her nice dress all coated with
duckweed and green slime. Her hat was floating away in the direction of
the swans. The lady had crossed the bridge, and with the help of her
cane walked painfully down the bank. Lenox and Diana felt like a pair of
naughty school children caught stealing apples. The situation was most
ignominious. Their faces would have made a study for a comic artist,
especially Diana's, with smears of duckweed on her cheeks, and her moist
hair hanging over her shoulders. They wondered what Mrs. Elliot was
going to say to them.
She came slowly up, blinking her eyes rather nervously, looked Diana
over from dripping head to muddy shoes, then made the obvious comment:
"You're very wet!"
"Ye-e-es!" shivered Diana, with chattering teeth.
"You'd better come indoors and have your clothes dried."
The relief of receiving such a charitable reception, instead of the
stern rebuke they felt they deserved, was intense. Lenox suddenly burst
into a flood of gentlemanly apologies. He explained rapidly that his
name was Clifford, that he had seen his father's coat of arms in the
church, and had been tempted to trespass in order to secure some
photographs of the house that was probably the old home of their family.
Mrs. Elliot listened till he had finished.
"I'd have given you permission if you had asked," she replied calmly.
"Now it's time that your sister--cousin, is she?--took off those wet
clothes, or she'll catch cold."
Diana marvelled at Mrs. Elliot's goodness. She was taken indoors, and
lent some garments while her own were dried. The household was an
earlier one than they had supposed, and in answer to the mistress's bell
came servants who were too well trained to express surprise in their
faces at the sight of a dripping visitor. An elderly maid showed Diana
to a bedroom, rubbed her hair for her with a towel, helped her into a
pink silk kimono dressing-gown, and brought her a cup of hot tea. These
precautions against cold having been taken, Mrs. Elliot most kindly
volunteered to show the young people over the house. It was a funny
little procession: the elderly lady with her cane; Lenox, in his khaki,
still blurting out apologies; and Diana trailing the pink kimono, which
was much too long, and shuffling in bronze-beaded shoes that were two
sizes too large. The glories of the old Manor left them gasping: the
big banqueting hall with its armour and tapestries, the panelled oak
boudoir, the library with its family portraits, the wide staircase, the
drawing-room with its cabinets and priceless china, the state bedroom
with the carved four-post bed where Queen Anne had slept, the courtyard
and dove-cote where pigeons were strutting and preening their feathers,
and the little chapel with its coats of arms in the stained glass, and
chained Bible. Through a window they could see the garden, with clipped
yew hedges and smooth lawn, and a peacock spreading its gorgeous tail to
the morning sun.
"If your great-grandfather went to America a hundred years ago you are
probably descended from either Guy, Charles, or Humphrey Clifford," said
Mrs. Elliot, showing Lenox a family genealogical tree that hung in the
hall.
"I know my great-grandfather's name was Humphrey," answered Lenox, "and
the dates would seem to correspond."
Diana's clothes were dried at last, and brushed. Even her hat, by the
aid of a fishing-rod, had been recovered from the moat. Though rather
crushed and spoilt they were quite wearable. She felt herself again when
she had put them on. Mrs. Elliot sent a servant to conduct the young
people to the lodge, and order the gate to be unlocked for their exit.
She received their renewed apologies and thanks in the same calm manner
in which she had greeted them.
"I hope the photos will come out well," were her last words, as she
stood at the door watching them walk across the bridge.
When Lenox and Diana returned to the inn, and burst upon the rest of the
party, who were having breakfast, their extraordinary story was at first
scarcely believed.
"Bunkum, my boy!" said Giles, shaking his head.
But the two witnesses gave such a circumstantial account of their
adventure that incredulity turned to amazement, and then amusement.
"You cheeky young cubs!" declared Mr. Hewlitt. "I think Mrs. Elliot was
far too good to you."
"You got more than you deserved; but I'm grateful to her for drying you,
Diana," commented Mrs. Hewlitt.
"I wish we'd been with you," said Giles. "You've had all the luck."
As the car was now repaired, the party once more packed up their
baggage, and set forth for the short remainder of their tour. Lenox's
leave was nearly over; Giles would be due in London next week; and Mr.
Hewlitt's business in Paris was not yet concluded. After another day's
enjoyment they parted at Cheltenham, and sent the girls back to school
by train.
"We shan't forget you, dear," said Mrs. Hewlitt to Loveday, as she saw
them off. "You must come and see us again some time--perhaps in
America. Take care of my little Diana for me--won't you?"
"I will--I will, indeed! Oh, I don't know how to thank you! It's been
just the absolute time of my life!" said Loveday, leaning out of the
carriage window as she waved good-bye.