THE PARISH REGISTER.
The sky clouded as we went; it grew very dark, and the wind began to
blow. It threatened a storm. I told Styles a little of what I was
about--just enough to impress on him the necessity for prudence. The
wind increased, and by the time we gained the copse, it was roaring,
and the slender hazels bending like a field of corn.
‘You will have enough to do with two horses,’ I said.
‘I don’t mind it, sir,’ Styles answered. ‘A word from me will quiet
Miss Lilith; and for the other, I’ve known him pretty well for two
years past.’
I left them tolerably sheltered in the winding lane, and betook myself
alone to the church. Cautiously I opened the door, and felt my way from
pew to pew, for it was quite dark. I could just distinguish the windows
from the walls, and nothing more. As soon as I reached the vestry, I
struck a light, got down the volume, and proceeded to moisten the
parchment with a wet sponge. For some time the water made little
impression on the old parchment, of which but one side could be exposed
to its influence, and I began to fear I should be much longer in
gaining my end than I had expected. The wind roared and howled about
the trembling church, which seemed too weak with age to resist such an
onslaught; but when at length the skin began to grow soft and yield to
my gentle efforts at removal, I became far too much absorbed in the
simple operation, which had to be performed with all the gentleness and
nicety of a surgical one, to heed the uproar about me. Slowly the
glutinous adhesion gave way, and slowly the writing revealed itself. In
mingled hope and doubt I restrained my curiosity; and as one teases
oneself sometimes by dallying with a letter of the greatest interest,
not until I had folded down the parchment clear of what was manifestly
an entry, did I bring my candle close to it, and set myself to read it.
Then, indeed, I found I had reason to regard with respect the dream
which had brought me thither.
Right under the 1748 of the parchment, stood on the vellum cover 1747.
Then followed the usual blank, and then came an entry corresponding
word for word with the other entry of my great-grandfather and mother’s
marriage. In all probability Moldwarp Hall was mine! Little as it could
do for me now, I confess to a keen pang of pleasure at the thought.
Meantime, I followed out my investigation, and gradually stripped the
parchment off the vellum to within a couple of inches of the bottom of
the cover. The result of knowledge was as follows:--
Next to the entry of the now hardly hypothetical marriage of my
ancestors, stood the summing up of the marriages of 1747, with the
signature of the rector. I paused, and, turning back, counted them.
Including that in which alone I was interested, I found the number
given correct. Next came by itself the figures 1748, and then a few
more entries, followed by the usual summing up and signature of the
rector. From this I turned to the leaf of parchment; there was a
difference: upon the latter the sum was six, altered to seven; on the
former it was five. This of course suggested further search: I soon
found where the difference indicated lay.
As the entry of _the_ marriage was, on the forged leaf, shifted up
close to the forged 1748, and as the summing and signature had to be
omitted, because they belonged to the end of 1747, a blank would have
been left, and the writing below would have shone through and attracted
attention, revealing the forgery of the whole, instead of that of the
part only which was intended to look a forgery. To prevent this, an
altogether fictitious entry had been made--over the summing and
signature. This, with the genuine entries faithfully copied, made of
the five, six, which the forger had written and then blotted into a
seven, intending to expose the entry of my ancestors’ marriage as a
forgery, while the rest of the year’s register should look genuine. It
took me some little trouble to clear it all up to my own mind, but by
degrees everything settled into its place, assuming an intelligible
shape in virtue of its position.
With my many speculations as to why the mechanism of the forgery had
assumed this shape, I need not trouble my reader. Suffice it to say
that on more than one supposition, I can account for it satisfactorily
to myself. One other remark only will I make concerning it: I have no
doubt it was an old forgery. One after another those immediately
concerned in it had died, and there the falsehood lurked--in latent
power--inoperative until my second visit to Umberden Church. But what
differences might there not have been had it not started into activity
for the brief space betwixt then and my sorrow?
I left the parchment still attached to the cover at the bottom, and,
laying a sheet of paper between the formerly adhering surfaces, lest
they should again adhere, closed and replaced the volume. Then, looking
at my watch, I found that, instead of an hour as I had supposed, I had
been in the church three hours. It was nearly eleven o’clock, too late
for anything further that night.
When I came out, the sky was clear and the stars were shining. The
storm had blown over. Much rain had fallen. But when the wind ceased or
the rain began, I had no recollection; the storm had vanished
altogether from my consciousness. I found Styles where I had left him,
smoking his pipe and leaning against Lilith, who--I cannot call her
_which_--was feeding on the fine grass of the lane. The horse he had
picketed near. We mounted and rode home.
The next thing was to see the rector of Umberden. He lived in his other
parish, and thither I rode the following day to call upon him. I found
him an old gentleman, of the squire-type of rector. As soon as he heard
my name, he seemed to know who I was, and at once showed himself
hospitable.
I told him that I came to him as I might, were I a Catholic, to a
father-confessor. This Startled him a little.
‘Don’t tell me anything I ought not to keep secret,’ he said; and it
gave me confidence in him at once.
‘I will not,’ I returned. ‘The secret is purely my own. Whatever crime
there is in it, was past punishment long before I was born; and it was
committed against, not by my family. But it is rather a long story, and
I hope I shall not be tedious.’
He assured me of his perfect leisure.
I told him everything, from my earliest memory, which bore on the
discovery I had at length made. He soon showed signs of interest; and
when I had ended the tale with the facts of the preceding night, he
silently rose and walked about the room. After a few moments, he said:
‘And what do you mean to do, Mr Cumbermede?’
‘Nothing,’ I answered, ‘so long as Sir Giles is alive. He was kind to
me when I was a boy.’
He came up behind me where I was seated, and laid his hand gently on my
head; then, without a word, resumed his walk.
‘And if you survive him, what then?’
‘Then I must be guided partly by circumstances,’ I said.
‘And what do you want of me?’
‘I want you to go with me to the church, and see the book, that, in
case of anything happening to it, you may be a witness concerning its
previous contents.’
‘I am too old to be the only witness,’ he said. ‘You ought to have
several of your own age.’
‘I want as few to know the secret as may be,’ I answered.
‘You should have your lawyer one of them.’
‘He would never leave me alone about it,’ I replied; ‘and positively I
shall take no measures at present. Some day I hope to punish him for
deserting me as he did.’
For I had told him how Mr Coningham had behaved.
‘Revenge, Mr Cumbermede?’
‘Not a serious one. All the punishment I hope to give him is but to
show him the fact of the case, and leave him to feel as he may about
it.’
‘There can’t be much harm in that.’
He reflected a few moments, and then said:
‘I will tell you what will be best. We shall go and see the book
together. I will make an extract of both entries, and give a
description of the state of the volume, with an account of how the
second entry--or more properly the first--came to be discovered. This I
shall sign in the presence of two witnesses, who need know nothing of
the contents of the paper. Of that you shall yourself take charge.’
We went together to the church. The old man, after making a good many
objections, was at length satisfied, and made notes for his paper. He
started the question whether it would not be better to secure that
volume at least under lock and key. For this I thought there was no
occasion--that in fact it was safer where it was, and more certain of
being forthcoming when wanted. I did suggest that the key of the church
might be deposited in a place of safety; but he answered that it had
been kept there ever since he came to the living forty years ago, and
for how long before that he could not tell; and so a change would
attract attention, and possibly make some talk in the parish, which had
better be avoided.
Before the end of the week, he had his document ready. He signed it in
my presence, and in that of two of his parishioners, who as witnesses
appended their names and abodes. I have it now in my possession. I
shall enclose it, with my great-grandfather and mother’s letters--and
something besides--in the packet containing this history.
That same week Sir Giles Brotherton died.