A CONVERSATION WITH MR. CHATTAWAY
They stood together, deep in dispute--Squire Trevlyn of the Hold, and he
who had so long reigned at the Hold, its usurper. In that very rick-yard
which had recently played so prominent a part in the career of the
unhappy Rupert, stood they: the Squire--bold, towering, haughty;
Chattaway--cowardly, shrinking, indecisive.
It was of that very Rupert they were talking. Squire Trevlyn hastened
home from the lodge, and found Chattaway in the rick-yard: he urged upon
him the claims of Rupert for forgiveness, for immunity from the
consequences of his crime; urged upon him its _necessity_; for a
Trevlyn, he said, must not be disgraced. And Mr. Chattaway appeared to
be turning obstinate; to say that he never would forgive him or release
him from its consequences. He pointed to the blackened spots, scarcely
yet cleared of their _debris_. "Is a crime like that to be pardoned?" he
asked.
"What caused the crime? Who drove him to it?" And Mr. Chattaway had no
plausible answer at hand.
"When you married into the Trevlyn family, you married into its faults,"
resumed the Squire. "At any rate, you became fully acquainted with them.
You knew as much of the Trevlyn temper as we ourselves know. I ask you,
then, how could you be so unwise--to put the question moderately--as to
provoke it in Rupert?"
"Evil tempers can be subdued," returned Mr. Chattaway. "And ought to
be."
"Just so. They can be, and they ought to be. But unfortunately we don't
all of us do as we can and ought to do. Do you? I have heard it said in
the old days that James Chattaway's spirit was a sullen one: have you
subdued its sullenness?"
"I wish you wouldn't wander from the point, Mr. Trevlyn."
"I am keeping pretty near to the point. But I can go nearer to it, if
you please. How could you, James Chattaway, dare to horsewhip a Trevlyn?
Your wife's nephew, and her brother's son! Whatever might be the
provocation--but, so far as I can learn, there was no just
provocation--how came you so far to forget yourself and your temper as
to strike him? One, possessing the tamest spirit ever put into man,
might be expected to turn at the cruel insult you inflicted on Rupert.
Did you do it with the intention of calling up the Trevlyn temper?"
"Nonsense," said Mr. Chattaway.
"It will not do to say nonsense to me, sir. Setting fire to the rick was
your fault, not his; the crime was occasioned by you; and I, the actual
owner of those ricks, shall hold you responsible for it. Yes, James
Chattaway, those ricks were mine; you need not dispute what I say; the
ricks were mine then, as they are now. They have been mine, in point of
fact, ever since my father's death. You may rely upon one thing--that
had I known the injustice that was being enacted, I should have returned
long ago."
"Injustice!" cried Mr. Chattaway. "What injustice?"
"What injustice! Has there been anything _but_ injustice? When my
father's breath left his body, his legitimate successor (in my absence
and supposed death) was his grandson Rupert; this very Rupert you have
been goading on to ill, perhaps to death. Had my brother Joe lived,
would you have allowed _him_ to succeed, pray?"
"But your brother Joe did not live; he was dead."
"You evade the question."
"It is a question that will answer no end," cried Mr. Chattaway, biting
his thin lips, and feeling very like a man being driven to bay. "Of
course he would have succeeded. But he was dead, and Squire Trevlyn
chose to make his will in my favour, and appoint me his successor."
"Beguiled by treachery. He was suffered to go to his grave never knowing
that a grandson was born to him. Were I guilty of the like treachery, I
could not rest in my bed. I should dread that the anger of God would be
ever coming down upon me."
"The Squire did well," growled Mr. Chattaway. "What would an infant have
done with Trevlyn Hold?"
"Granted for a single moment that it had been inexpedient to leave
Trevlyn Hold to an infant, it was not to you it should have been left.
If Squire Trevlyn must have bequeathed it to a son-in-law, it should
have been to him who was the husband of his eldest daughter, Thomas
Ryle."
"Thomas Ryle!" contemptuously ejaculated Mr. Chattaway. "A poor,
hard-working farmer----"
"Don't attempt to disparage Thomas Ryle to me, sir," thundered the
Squire; and the voice, the look, the rising anger were so like the old
Squire of the days gone by, that Mr. Chattaway positively recoiled.
"Thomas Ryle was a good and honourable man, respected by all; he was a
gentleman by birth and breeding; he was a gentleman in mind and
manners--and that could never be said of you, James Chattaway. Work! To
be sure he worked; and so did his father. They had to work to live.
Their farm was a poor one; and extra labour was needed to make up for
the money which ought to have been spent upon it, but which they
possessed not, for their patrimony had dwindled away. They might have
taken a more productive farm; but they preferred to remain upon that one
because it was their own, descended from their forefathers. It had to be
sold at last, but they still remained on it, and they worked, always
hoping to prosper. You used the word 'work' as a term of reproach! Let
me tell you, that if the fact of working is to take the gentle blood out
of a man, there will be little gentle blood left for the next
generation. This is a working age, sir; the world has grown wise, and we
most of us work with hands or head. Thomas Ryle's son is a gentleman, if
I ever saw one--and I am mistaken if his looks belie his mind--and he
works. Do not disparage Thomas Ryle again to me. I think a sense of the
injury you did him, must induce you to do it."
"What injury did I do Thomas Ryle?"
"To usurp Trevlyn Hold over him was an injury. It was Rupert's: neither
yours nor his; but had it come to one of you, it should have been to
him; _you_ had no manner of right to it. And what about the two thousand
pounds bond?"
Squire Trevlyn asked the last question in an altered and very
significant tone. Mr. Chattaway's green face grew greener.
"I held the bond, and I enforced its payment in justice to my wife and
children. I could do no less."
"In justice to your wife and children!" retorted Squire Trevlyn. "James
Chattaway, did a thought ever cross you of God's justice? I believe from
my very heart that my father cancelled that bond upon his dying bed,
died believing Thomas Ryle released from it; and you, in your grasping,
covetous nature, kept the bond with an eye to your own profit. Did you
forget that the eye of the Great Ruler of all things was upon you, when
you pretended to destroy that bond? Did you suppose that Eye was turned
away when you usurped Trevlyn Hold to the prejudice of Rupert? Did you
think you would be allowed to enjoy it in security to the end? It may
look to you, James Chattaway, as it would to any superficial observer,
that there has been wondrous favour shown you in this long delay of
justice. I regard it differently. It seems to me that retribution has
overtaken you at the worst time: not the worse for you, possibly, but
for your children. By that inscrutable law which we learn in childhood,
a man's ill-doings are visited on his children: I fear the result of
your ill-doing will be felt by yours. Had you been deposed from Trevlyn
Hold at the time you usurped it, or had you not usurped it, your
children must have been brought up to play their parts in the busy walks
of life; to earn their own living. As it is, they have been reared to
idleness and luxury, and will feel their fall in proportion. Your son
has lorded it as the heir of Trevlyn Hold, as the future owner of the
works at Blackstone, and lorded it, as I hear, in a very offensive
manner. He will not like to sink down to a state of dependency; but he
will have to do it."
"Where have you been gathering your account of things?" interposed Mr.
Chattaway.
"Never mind where. I have gathered it, and that is sufficient. And
now--to go back to Rupert Trevlyn. Will you give me a guarantee that he
shall be held harmless?"
"No," growled Mr. Chattaway.
"Then it will be war to the knife between you and me. Mind you--I do not
think there's any necessity to ask you this; as the ricks were not
yours, but mine, at the time of the occurrence, you could not, as I
believe, become the prosecutor. But I prefer to be on the safe side. On
the return of Rupert, if you attempt to prosecute him, the first thing
that I shall do will be to insist that he prosecutes you for the
assault, and I shall prosecute you for the usurpation of Trevlyn Hold.
So it will be prosecution and counter-prosecution, you see. Mark you,
James Chattaway, I promise you to do this, and you know I am a man of my
word. I think we had better let bygones be bygones. What are you going
to do about the revenues of the Hold?"
"The revenues of the Hold!" stammered Mr. Chattaway, wiping his hot
face, for he did not like the question.
"The past rents. The mesne profits you have received and appropriated
since Squire Trevlyn's death. Those profits are mine."
"In law, possibly," was the answer. "Not in justice."
"Well, we'll go by law," complacently returned the Squire, a spice of
mischief in his eye. "Which have you gone by all these years? Law, or
justice? The law would make you refund all to me."
"The law would be cunning to do it," was the answer. "If I have received
the revenues, I have spent them in keeping up Trevlyn Hold."
"You have not spent them all, I suspect; and it would be productive of
great trouble and annoyance to you were I to come upon you for them. But
now, look you, James Chattaway: I will be more merciful than you have
been to others, and say nothing about them, for my sister Edith's sake.
In the full sense of the word, I will let bygones be bygones."
The ex-master of Trevlyn Hold gazed out from the depths of his dull gray
eyes: gazed upon vacancy, buried in thought. It might be well to make a
friend of the Squire. On the one hand was the long-cherished revenge
against Rupert; on the other was his own interest. Should he gratify
revenge, or study himself? Ah, you need not ask; revenge may be sweet,
but with Mr. Chattaway his own interest was sweeter. The scales were not
equally balanced.
He saw that Squire Trevlyn's heart was determined on the pardon of
Rupert; he knew that the less he beat about the bush the better; and he
spoke at once. "I'll forgive him," he said. "Rupert Trevlyn behaved
infamously, but----"
"Stop, James Chattaway. Pardon him, or don't pardon him, as you please;
but we will have no names over it. Rupert Trevlyn shall have none cast
at him in my presence."
"It is of no consequence. He did the wrong in the eyes of the
neighbourhood, and they don't need to be reminded of what he is."
"And how have the neighbourhood judged?" sternly asked Squire Trevlyn.
"Which side have they espoused--yours, or his? Don't talk to me, sir; I
have heard more than you suppose. I know what shame the neighbours have
cast on you for years on the score of Rupert; the double shame cast on
you since these ricks were burnt. Will you pardon him?"
"I have said so," was the sullen reply.
"Then come and ratify it in writing," rejoined the Squire, turning
towards the Hold.
"You are ready to doubt my word," resentfully spoke Mr. Chattaway,
feeling considerably aggrieved.
Squire Trevlyn threw back his head. It spoke as plainly as ever motion
spoke that he did doubt it. As he strode on to the house, Chattaway in
his wake, they came across Cris. Unhappy Cris! His day of authority and
assumption had set. No longer was he the son of the master of Trevlyn
Hold; henceforth Mr. Cris must set his wits to work, and take his share
in the active labour of life. He stood leaning over the palings, biting
a bit of straw as he gazed at Squire Trevlyn; but he did not say a word
to the Squire or the Squire to him.
With the aid of pen and ink Mr. Chattaway gave an ungracious promise to
pardon Rupert. Of course it had nothing formal in it, but the Squire was
satisfied, and put it in his pocket.
"Which is Rupert's chamber here?" he asked. "It had better be got ready.
Is it an airy one?"
"For what purpose is it to be got ready?" returned Mr. Chattaway.
"In case we find him, you know."
"You would bring him home? Here? to my house?"
"No; I bring him home to mine."
Mr. Chattaway's face went quite dark with pain. In good truth it was
Squire Trevlyn's house; no longer his; and he may be pardoned for
momentarily forgetting the fact. There are brief intervals even in the
deepest misery when we lose sight of the present.
Cris came in. "Dumps, the policeman, is outside," he said. "Some tale
has been carried to the police-station that Rupert Trevlyn has returned,
and Dumps has come to see about it. The felon Rupert!" pointedly
exclaimed Cris.
"Don't call names, sir," said Squire Trevlyn to him as he went out.
"Look here, Mr. Christopher Chattaway," he stopped to add. "You may
possibly find it to your advantage to be in my good books; but that is
not the way to get into them; abuse of my nephew and heir, Rupert
Trevlyn, will not recommend you to my favour."
The police-station had certainly heard a confused story of the return of
Rupert Trevlyn, but before Dumps reached the Hold he learnt the wondrous
fact that it was another Rupert; the one so long supposed to be dead;
the real Squire Trevlyn. He had learnt that Mr. Chattaway was no longer
master of the Hold, but had sunk down to a very humble individual
indeed. Mr. Dumps was not particularly gifted with the perceptive
faculties, but the thought struck him that it might be to the interest
of the neighbourhood generally, including himself and the station, to be
on friendly terms with Squire Trevlyn.
"Did you want me?" asked the Squire.
"I beg pardon, sir. It was the other Mr. Rupert Trevlyn that I come up
about. He has been so unfortunate as to get into a bit of trouble, sir."
"Oh, that's nothing," said the Squire. "Mr. Chattaway withdraws from the
prosecution. In point of fact, if any one prosecuted it must be myself,
since the ricks were mine. But I decline to do so. It is not my
intention to prosecute my nephew and heir. Mr. Rupert will be the Squire
of Trevlyn Hold when I am gone."
"Will he though, sir?" said Mr. Dumps, humbly.
"He will. You may tell your people at the station that I put up with the
loss of the ricks. What do you say--the magistrates? The present
magistrates and I were boys together, Mr. Constable: companions; and
they'll be glad to see me home again; you need not trouble your head
about the magistrates. You are all new at the police-station, I expect,
since I left the country--in fact, I forget whether there was such a
thing as a police-station then or not--but you may tell your superiors
that it is not the custom of the Squires of Trevlyn to proclaim what
they cannot carry out. The prosecution of Rupert Trevlyn is at an end,
and it never ought to have been instituted."
"Please, sir, I had nothing to do with it."
"Of course not. The police have not been to blame. I shall walk down
to-night, or to-morrow morning, to the station, and put things on a
right footing. Your name is Dumps, I think?"
"Yes, sir--at your service."
"Well, Dumps, that's for yourself. Hush! not a word. It's not given to
you as a constable, but as an honest man to whom I wish to offer an
earnest of my future favour. And now come into the Hold, and take
something to eat and drink."
The gratified Dumps, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his
heels, and inwardly vowing eternal allegiance to the new Squire, stepped
into the Hold, and was consigned to the hospitality of the lower
regions. Mr. Chattaway groaned in agony when he heard the kindly orders
echoing through the hall--to put before Mr. Dumps everything that was
good to eat and drink. That is, he would have groaned, but for the
questionable comfort of recollecting that the Hold and its contents no
longer belonged to him.
As the Squire was turning round, he encountered Diana.
"I have been inquiring after my nephew's chamber. Is it an airy one?"
"Your nephew's?" repeated Miss Diana, not understanding. "Do you mean
Christopher's?"
"I mean Rupert's. Let me see it."
He stepped up the stairs as he spoke, with the air of a man not born to
contradiction. Miss Diana followed, wonderingly. The room she showed him
was high up, and very small. The Squire threw his head back.
"_This_ his room? I see! it has been all of a piece. This room was a
servant's in my time. I am surprised at _you_, Diana."
"It is a sufficiently comfortable room," she answered: "and I used
occasionally to indulge him with a fire. Rupert never complained."
"No, poor fellow! complaint would be of little use from him, as he knew.
Is there a large chamber in the house unoccupied? one that would do for
an invalid."
"The only large spare rooms in the house are the two given to you,"
replied Miss Diana. "They are the best, as you know, and have been kept
vacant for visitors. The dressing-room may be used as a sitting-room."
"I don't want it as a sitting-room, or a dressing-room either," replied
the Squire. "I prefer to dress in my bedroom, and there are sufficient
sitting-rooms downstairs for me. Let this bed of Rupert's be carried
down to that room at once."
"Who for?"
"For one who ought to have occupied the best rooms from the
first--Rupert. Had he been properly treated, Diana, he would not have
brought this disgrace upon himself."
Miss Diana wondered whether her ears deceived her. "For Rupert!" she
repeated. "Where is Rupert? Is he found?"
"He has never been lost," was the curt rejoinder. "He has been all the
time within a stone's throw--sheltered by Mark Canham, whom I shall not
forget."
She could not speak from perplexity; scarcely knowing whether to believe
the words or not.
"Your sister Edith--and James Chattaway may thank fortune that she is
his wife, or I should visit the past in a very different manner upon
him--and little Maude, and that handsome son of Tom Ryle's, have been in
the secret; have visited him in private; stealthily doing for him what
they could: but the fear and responsibility have well-nigh driven Edith
and Maude to despair. That's where Rupert has been, Diana: where he is.
I have not long come from him."
Anger blazed forth from the eyes of Miss Diana Trevlyn. "And why could
not Edith have communicated the fact to me?" she cried. "I could have
done for him better than they."
"Perhaps not," significantly replied the Squire: "considering that
Chattaway was ruler of Trevlyn Hold, and you have throughout upheld his
policy. But Trevlyn has another ruler now, and Rupert a protector."
Miss Diana made no reply. She was too vexed to make one. Turning away,
she flung a shawl over her shoulders, and marched onwards to the lodge,
to pay a visit to the unhappy Rupert.