UNCLE MARMADUKE
That very same evening Patty had a chance to speak to Sinclair alone.
It was just after dinner, and the lovely English twilight was beginning
to cast long, soft shadows of the tall cypresses across the lawn. The
various members of the family were standing about on the terrace, when
Sinclair said, "You need some exercise, Patty; let's walk as far as the
alcove."
Patty assented, and the two strolled away, while Mabel called after them,
"Don't be gone long, for we're all going to play games this evening."
They all loved games, so Patty promised to return very soon.
"I never saw anything like this alcove before in my life," said Patty, as
they reached the picturesque spot and sat down upon the curving marble
seat.
"They are often found in the gardens of old English homes. Any arched or
covered seat out of doors is called an alcove. But this is rather an
elaborate one. The marble pillars are of fine design, and the whole thing
is beautifully proportioned."
"Is it very old?"
"Yes, older than the house. You know the Cromartys have lived on this
estate for several hundred years. But the original house was destroyed by
fire, or nearly so, and the present house was built on the old
foundations about the middle of the seventeenth century. If you're
interested in these things, there are lots of books in the library,
telling all about the history of the place."
"Indeed I am interested, and I shall look up the books, if you'll tell me
what they are. Is there any legend or tradition connected with the
place?"
"No. We have no ghosts at Cromarty Manor. We've always been a peaceful
sort, except that my great uncle quarrelled with my grandfather."
"Mrs. Cromarty's husband?"
"Yes. He was Roger Cromarty--grandfather was, I mean--and he had a
brother Marmaduke. They were both high-tempered, and Marmaduke after an
unusually fierce quarrel left home and went to India. But have you never
heard the story of the Cromarty Fortune?"
"No, I never have. Is it a sad story? Would you rather not tell me?"
"Why, no; it isn't a sad story, except that the conditions are rather sad
for us. But there's no reason in the world why you shouldn't hear it, if
you care to. Indeed, I supposed Mabel had already told it you."
"No, she never did. Will you?"
"Yes. But not here. Let us go in, and get the family all together, and
we'll give you a dramatic recital of the Great Cromarty Mystery."
"Oh, is it a mystery story? How delightful. I love a mystery."
"I'm glad you do, but I assure you I wish it wasn't a mystery."
"Will it never be solved?"
"I fear not, now. But let us go back to the house, and tell the tale as
it should be told."
They found that the others had already gone into the house, and were
gathered round the big table that stood in the middle of the living room.
As they joined the group, Sinclair said:
"Before we play games this evening, we are going to tell Patty the story
of Uncle Marmaduke's money."
Patty was surprised to note the different expressions on her friends'
faces. Mabel seemed to shrink into herself, as if in embarrassment or
sensitiveness. Mrs. Cromarty looked calmly proud, and Mrs. Hartley smiled
a little.
But Bob laughed outright, and said:
"Good! I'll help; we'll all help, and we'll touch up the tale until it
has all the dramatic effect of a three-volume novel."
"It won't need touching up," said Sinclair. "Just the plain truth is
story enough of itself."
"You begin it, Grandy," said Bob, "and then, when your imagination gives
out, I'll take a hand at it."
The old lady smiled.
"It needs no imagination, Robert," she said; "if Patty cares to hear of
our family misfortune, I'm quite willing to relate the tale."
"Oh, I didn't know it was a misfortune," cried Patty. "I thought it was a
mystery story."
"It's both," said Mrs. Cromarty, "but if the mystery could be solved, it
would be no misfortune."
"That sounds like an enigma," observed Patty.
"It's all an enigma," said Bob. "Go ahead, Grandy."
"The story begins," said Mrs. Cromarty, "with my marriage to Roger
Cromarty. I was wed in the year 1855. My husband and I were happy during
the first few years of our married life. He was the owner of this
beautiful place, which had been in his family for many generations. My
daughter, Emmeline, was born here, and when she was a child she filled
the old house with her happy laughter and chatter. My husband had a
brother, Marmaduke, with whom he was not on good terms. Before my
marriage, this brother had left home, and gone to India. My husband held
no communication with him, but we sometimes heard indirectly from him,
and reports always said that he was amassing great wealth in some Indian
commerce."
"Is that his portrait?" asked Patty, indicating a painting of a
fine-looking man in the prime of life.
"Yes," said Mrs. Cromarty. "But the picture represents him as looking
amiable, whereas he was always cross, grumpy, and irritable."
"Like me," commented Bob.
"No," said his mother, "I'm thankful to say that none of you children
show the slightest signs of Uncle Marmaduke's disposition. I was only
fifteen years old when he died, but I shall never forget his scowling
face and angry tones."
"Was he always cross?" asked Patty, amazed that any one could be
invariably ill-tempered.
"Always," said Mrs. Cromarty. "At least, whenever he was here. I never
saw him elsewhere."
"Go back, Grandy; you're getting ahead of your story."
"Well, I tried my best to bring about a reconciliation between the two
brothers, but both were proud and a bit stubborn. I could not persuade my
husband to write to Marmaduke, and though I wrote to him myself, my
letters were torn up, and the scraps returned to me."
"Lovely old gentleman!" commented Bob. "I'm glad my manners are at least
better than that!"
"At last, my husband, Mr. Roger Cromarty, became very ill. I knew he
could not recover, and wrote Marmaduke to that effect. To my surprise, I
received a grim, but fairly polite letter, saying that he would leave
India at once, and hoped to reach his brother's bedside in time for a
reconciliation."
"And did he?" asked Patty, breathlessly.
"Yes, but that was all. My husband was dying when his brother came. They
made peace, however, and arranged some business matters."
"Oh," cried Patty, "how glad you must have been that he did not come too
late. What a comfort all these years, to know that they did make up their
quarrel."
"Yes, indeed," assented Mrs. Cromarty. "But I have talked all I can.
Emmeline, you may take up the narrative."
"I'll tell a little," said Mrs. Hartley, smiling; "but I shall soon let
Sinclair continue. We all know this tale by heart, but only Sinclair can
do full justice to the mysterious part of it. I was only ten years old
when my father died, and Uncle Marmaduke came here to live. It changed
the whole world for me. Where before all had been happiness and love, now
all was unkindness and fear. None of us dared cross Uncle Marmaduke, for
his fiery anger was something not to be endured. And beside being
bad-tempered, he was erratic. He did most peculiar things, without any
reason in them whatever. Altogether, he was a most difficult man to live
with. But at my father's death he owned this estate, and we had to live
with him or go homeless. He had plenty of money, and he repaired and
restored much about the place. But even in this he was erratic. He would
have masons in to renew the crumbling plaster and brickwork in the
cellars, while the drawing-room furniture could go ragged and forlorn. He
spent his money freely for anything he wanted himself, but was niggardly
toward mother and myself. However, he always told us that at his death we
should inherit his wealth. The estate, also, he willed to mother. He
lived with us for about five years, and then was killed by a fall from
his horse. I was a girl of fifteen then, and when he was brought in,
mangled and almost dead, he called for me. I went to his bedside,
trembling, for even then I feared he was going to scold me. But he could
only speak in hesitating, disjointed sentences. It was with difficulty I
gathered that he was trying to give me some information about his
fortune. I wish now I had tried to help him tell me; but at that time it
seemed heartless to think of such things when the poor man was dying, and
I soothed him, and begged him not to try to talk, when it was such an
exertion."
"Oh, Mother," wailed Bob, "if you'd only listened, instead of talking
yourself!"
Mrs. Hartley smiled, as if she were used to such comments at this part of
the story.
"Well," she said, "I think Sinclair may take up the recital here. That
is, if you're interested, Patty?"
"If I'm interested! Indeed I am! It's very exciting, and I want it all
now; no 'continued in our next.'"
"We don't know the end, ourselves," said Mabel, with such a wistful look
in her eyes that Patty went over and sat by her, and with her arm round
her listened to the rest of the story.
"Well, then," said Sinclair, in his grave, kindly voice, "Uncle Marmaduke
tried very hard to communicate to mother and Grandy something about his
fortune. But his accident had somehow paralysed his throat, and he could
scarcely articulate. But for an hour or more, as he lay dying, he would
look at them with piercing glances, and say what sounded like dickens!
gold!"
"Did he mean gold money?" asked Patty, impulsively.
"They didn't know, then. But they thought at the time that dickens! was
one of his angry expletives, as he was given to such language. The gold,
they felt sure, referred to his fortune, which he had always declared he
would leave to Grandmother. Then he died, without being able to say any
other except those two words, gold and dickens."
"He might have meant Charles Dickens," suggested Patty, who dearly loved
to guess at a puzzle.
"As it turned out, he did," said Sinclair, serenely; "but that's ahead of
the story."
"And, too," said Mrs. Hartley, "the way in which he finally articulated
the word, by a great effort, and after many attempts, was so--so
explosive, that it sounded like an ejaculation far more than like a noted
author."
"Years went by," continued Sinclair, "and Grandy and mother were left
with the old Cromarty estate, and nothing to keep it up with."
"We had a small income, my boy," said his grandmother.
"Yes, but not enough to keep the place as it should be kept. However, no
trace could be found of Uncle Marmaduke's money. He was generally
supposed to have brought a large fortune home from India, but it seemed
to have vanished into thin air. His private papers and belongings showed
no records of stocks or bonds, no bank books, and save for a small amount
of ready money he had by him, he seemed to be penniless. Of course, he
wasn't; the way he had lived, and the money he had spent indicated that
he had a fortune somewhere; and, too, there was his promise to leave it
to Grandy. Of course, the conclusion was that he had hidden this
fortune."
"A hidden fortune!" exclaimed Patty, blissfully. "Oh, what a lovely
mystery! Why, you couldn't have a better one!"
"I think a discovered fortune would be far better," said Mabel, and Patty
clasped her friend's hand in sympathy.
"At last," said Sinclair, "a _very_ bright lawyer had a glimmering of an
idea that Uncle Marmaduke's last words had some meaning to them. He
inquired of the ladies of the house, and learned that the late Mr.
Marmaduke had been exceedingly fond of reading Dickens, and that he was
greatly attached to his own well-worn set of the great author's works.
'Ah, ha!' said the very bright lawyer. 'Between those well-thumbed pages,
we will find many Bank of England notes, or certificates of valuable
stocks!' They flew to the library, and thoroughly searched all the
volumes of the set. And what do you think they found?"
"Nothing," said Patty, wagging her head solemnly.
"Exactly that! Save for a book-marker here and there, the volumes held
nothing but their own immortal stories. 'Foiled again!' hissed the _very_
bright lawyer. But he kept right on being foiled, and still no hoard of
securities was found."
"But what about the gold?" said Patty. "They didn't expect to find gold
coins in Dickens' books?"
"No, but they fondly hoped they'd find a mysterious paper in cryptogram,
like the 'Gold Bug,' you know, telling them to go out in the dark of the
moon, and dig north by northwest under the old apple tree."
"Don't try to be funny, Clair," put in Bob; "go on with the yarn. You're
telling it well to-night."
"And then," said Sinclair, looking from one to another of his interested
hearers, "and then the years rolled by until the fair maiden, Emmeline
Cromarty, was of sufficient age to have suitors for her lily-white hand.
As we can well believe, after a mere glance in her direction, she was the
belle of the whole countryside. Brave gallants from far and near came
galloping into the courtyard, and dismounting in feverish, haste, cried,
'What ho! is the radiant Emmeline within?' Then the old warden with his
clanking keys admitted them, and they stood in rows, that the coquettish
damsel might make a selection."
"How ridiculous you are, Sinclair!" said his mother, smiling. "Can't you
omit that part?"
"Nay, nay, fair lady. And so, it came to pass, that among the shoals of
suitors was one who was far more brave and strong and noble than all the
rest. Edgar Hartley----"
Sinclair's voice broke a little as he spoke the name of his revered
father. But hiding his emotion, he went on.
"Edgar Hartley wooed and won Emmeline Cromarty, and in the beautiful June
of 1880 they were wed and merrily rang the bells. Now while Edgar Hartley
was by no means wealthy, he had a fair income, and the fortunes of
Cromarty Manor improved. The young couple took up their abode here, and
the Dowager Duchess of Cromarty lived with them."
"I'm not a Duchess," interposed Mrs. Cromarty, in her calm way.
"You ought to have been, Grandy," declared Bob. "You look the part, and
I'm sure there's a missing title somewhere that belongs to you. Perhaps
Uncle Marmaduke concealed it with the rest of his fortune."
"No, dear boy; we are not titled people. But the Cromartys are an old
family, and much beloved and respected by all the country round."
"We are so!" declared Bob, with great enthusiasm.