Beside the embowered stream that forms the eastern verge of the chase,
young Cradock Nowell sat and gazed, every now and then, into the water.
Through a break in the trees beyond it, he could see one chimney–top
and a streak of the thatch of the Rectory. In vain he hoped that Dr.
Hutton would leave him to himself; for he did not wish to go into the
proofs, but to meditate on the consequences. Some bitterness, no doubt,
there was in the corner of his heart, when he thought of all that
Clayton now had to offer Amy Rosedew. He had lately been told, as a
mighty secret, something which grieved and angered him; and the more,
that he must not speak of it, as his straightforward nature urged him.
The secret was that innocent Amy met his brother Clayton, more than
once, in the dusk of the forest, and met him by appointment. It grieved
poor Cradock, because he loved Amy with all his unchangeable heart;
it angered him, because he thought it very mean of Clayton to take
advantage of one so young and ignorant of the world. But never until
the present moment, as he looked at the homely thatch in the distance,
and the thin smoke curling over it, had it occurred to his honest mind,
that his brother might not be like himself—that Clayton might mean ill
by the maiden.
And now for the moment it seemed more likely, as he glanced back at
the lordly house, commanding the country for miles around, and all
that country its fief and its thrall, and now the whole destined for
Clayton. He thought of the meanness about the Ireland, and two or
three other little things, proofs of a little nature. Then he gazed at
the Rectory thatch again, and the smoke from the kitchen chimney, and
seemed to see pure playful Amy making something nice for her father.
“Good God! I would shoot him if he did; or strike him dead into this
water”.
In the hot haste of youth he had spoken aloud, with his fist gathered
up, and his eyes flashing fire. Rufus Hutton saw and heard him, and
thought of it many times after that day.
“Oh, you are thinking of Caldo, because he snapped at me. There are no
signs of hydrophobia. You must not think of shooting him”.
“I was not thinking of Caldo. I hope I did not mean it. God knows, I am
very wicked”.
“So we are all, my boy. I should like to see a fellow that wasnʼt. Iʼd
pay fifty pounds for his body, and dissect him into an angel”.
Cradock Nowell smiled a little at such a reward for excellence, and
then renewed his gaze of dreary bewilderment at the water.
“Now let me show you my tracings, Cradock. Three times I have pulled
them out, and you wonʼt condescend to glance at them. You have made
up your mind to abdicate upon my _ipse dixi_. Now look at the bend
sinister, that is yours; the bend dexter is for the elder brother”.
“Dr. Hutton, it may be, and is, I believe, false shame on my part; but
I wish to hear nothing about it. Perhaps, if my mother were living, I
might not have been so particular. But giving, as she did, her life for
mine, I cannot regard it medically. The question is now for my father.
I will not enter into it”.
“Oh the subjectiveness of the age”! said Rufus Hutton, rising, then
walking to and fro on the bank, as he held discourse with himself;
“here is a youth who ought to be proud, although at the cost of his
inheritance, of illustrating, in the most remarkable manner, indeed
I may say of originating, my metrostigmatic theory. He carries upon
the cervical column a clear impression of grapes, and they say that
before the show at Romsey the gardener was very cross indeed about
his choice Black Hamburgs. His brother carries the identical impress,
only with the direction inverted—dexter in fact, and dexter was
the mark of the elder son. This I can prove by the tracing made at
the time, not with any view to future identification, but from the
interest I felt, at an early stage of my experience, in a question then
under controversy. If I prove this, what happens? Why, that he loses
everything—the importance, the house, the lands, the title; and becomes
the laughing–stock of the county as the sham Sir Cradock. What ought he
to do at once, then? Why, perhaps to toss me into that hole, where I
should never get out again. By Gad, I am rash to trust myself with him,
and no other soul in the secret”! Here Dr. Hutton shuddered to think
how little water it would take to drown him, and the river so dark and
so taciturn! “At any rate, he ought to fall upon me with forceps, and
probe, and scalpel, and tear my evidence to atoms. For, after all, what
is it, without corroboration? But instead of that, he only says, ‘Dr.
Hutton, no more of this, if you please, no more of this! The question
is now for my father’. And he must know well enough to which side his
father will lean in the inquiry. Confound the boy! If he had only
coaxed me with those great eyes, I would have kept it all snug till
Doomsday. Oh what will my Rosa say to me? She has always loved this
boy, and admired him so immensely”.
Perhaps it was his pretty young wifeʼs high approval of Cradock which
first had made the testy Rufus a partisan of Clayton. The cause of
his having settled at “Geopharmacy Lodge” was, that upon his return
from India he fell in love with a Hampshire maiden, whom he met “above
bar” at Southampton. How he contrived to get introduced to her, he
alone can tell; but he was a most persevering fellow, and little
hampered with diffidence. She proved to be the eldest daughter of Sir
Cradockʼs largest tenant, a man of good standing and education, who
lived near Fordingbridge. As Rufus had brought home tidy pickings from
his appointment in India, the only thing he had to do was to secure the
ladyʼs heart. And this he was not long about, for many ladies like high
colour even more than hairiness. First she laughed at his dancing ways,
incessant mobility, and sharp eyes; but very soon she began to like
him, and now she thought him a wonderful man. This opinion (with proper
change of gender) was heartily reciprocated, and the result was that
a happier couple never yet made fools of themselves, in the judgment
of the world; never yet enjoyed themselves, in the sterling wisdom of
home. They suited each other admirably in their very differences; they
laughed at each other and themselves, and any one else who laughed at
them.
“Well, I shall be off”, said Dr. Hutton at last, in feigned disgust;
“you will stare at the water all day, Mr. Cradock, and take no notice
of me”.
“I beg your pardon, I forgot myself; I did not mean to be rude, I
assure you”.
“I know you did not. I know you would never be rude to any one.
Good–bye, I have business on hand”.
“You will be back, Dr. Hutton, when my father returns from his ride? It
is very foolish of me, but I cannot bear this suspense”.
“Trust me. I will see to it. But he will not be back, they tell me,
till nearly four oʼclock”.
“Oh, what a time to wait! Donʼt send for me if you can help it. But, if
he wants me, I will come”.
“Good–bye, my lad. Keep your pecker up. There are hundreds of men in
the world with harder lines than yours”.
“I should rather think so. I only wish there were not”.
Cradock attempted a lively smile, and executed a pleasant one, as Rufus
Hutton shook his hand, and set off upon his business. And his business
was to ride at once as far as the “Jolly Foresters”, that lonely inn
on the Beaulieu–road, at the eastern end of the parish, whereat John
Rosedew baited Coræbus at the turn of the pastoral tour. The little
doctor knew well enough, though he seldom passed that way, how the
smart Miss Penny of former days, Mrs. OʼGaghanʼs assistant, was now the
important Mrs. George Cripps, hostess of the “Jolly Foresters”, where
the four roads met.
Meanwhile, the scaffolds went on merrily under Mr. Garnetʼs care, and
so did the awnings, marquees, &c., and the terraces for the ladies.
The lamps in the old oak being fixed, the boughs were manned, like
a frigateʼs yards, with dexterous fellows hoisting flags, devices,
and transparencies, all prepared to express in fire the mighty name
of Cradock. All the men must finish that night, lest any one lose his
legitimate chance of being ancestrally drunk on the morrow. Cradock
Nowell, wandering about, could not bear to go near them. Those two
hours seemed longer to him than any year of his previous life. He went
and told Caldo all about it; and that helped him on a little.
Caldo was a noble setter, pure of breed, and high of soul, and heavily
feathered on legs and tail. His colour was such a lily white, that
you grieved for him on a wet fallow; and the bright red spots he
was endowed with were like the cheeks of Helen. Delicate carmine,
enriched with scarlet, mapped his back with islands; and the pink of
his cheeks, where the whiskers grew, made all the young ladies kiss
him. His nostrils were black as a double–lined tunnel leading into a
pencil–mine; and his gums were starred with violet, and his teeth as
white as new mushrooms. In all the county of Hants there was no dog to
compare with him; for he came of a glorious strain, made perfect at
Kingston, in Berkshire. Lift but a finger, and down he went, in the
height of his hottest excitement; wave the finger, and off he dashed,
his great eyes looking back for repression. For style of ranging, all
dogs were rats to him, anywhere in the New Forest; so freely he went,
so buoyant, so careful, and yet all the while so hilarious. Only one
fault he had, and I never knew dog without one; he was jealous to the
backbone.
Cradock was dreadfully proud of him. Anything else he had in the world
he would have given to Clayton, but he could not quite give Caldo; even
though Clayton had begged, instead of backing his Wena against him.
Wena was a very nice creature, anxious to please, and elegant; but of
a different order entirely from the high–minded Caldo. Dogs differ as
widely as we do. Who shall blame either of us?
Cradock now leaned over Caldo, with the hot tears in his eyes, and
gently titillating the sensitive part of his ears, and looking straight
into his heart, begged to inform him of the trouble they were both
involved in. “Have they taken the shooting from us”? was Caldoʼs first
inquiry; and his eyes felt rather sore in his head that he should
have to ask the question. “No, my boy, they havenʼt. But we must not
go shooting any more, until the whole matter is settled”. “I hate
putting off things till to–morrow”, Caldo replied, impatiently; “the
cock–pheasants come almost up to my kennel. What the deuce is to
come of it”? “Caldo, please to be frigido. You shall come to my room
by–and–by. I shall be able then to smoke a pipe, and we will talk about
it together. You know that I have never cared about the title and all
that stuff”.
“I know that well enough”, said Caldo; “nevertheless, I do. It gives me
a status as a dog, which I thoroughly appreciate. Am I to come down
from goodly paunches to liver and lights and horses’ heads and hounds’
food? I donʼt think I could stand it. But I would live on a crust a
day, if you would only come and live with me”. And he nuzzled up to his
master, in a way that made his tears come.
Cradock was sent for suddenly. Old Hogstaff trotted across the yard
(wherein he seldom ventured) to say that Sir Cradock Nowell wished
to see his son. Cradock following hastily, with all his heart in his
mouth, wondered at the penny–wort, the wall–rue, and the snap–dragons,
which he had never seen before. Hogstaff tottered along before him,
picking uneasily over the stones, bobbing his chin, and muttering.
Sir Cradock sat in the long heavy room known as the “justice–hall”,
where he and his brother magistrates held oyer of many a culprit.
The great oak table was dabbed with ink, and the grey walls with
mop–shaped blotches, where sullen prisoners had thrown their heads
back, and refused to answer. At the lower end was Rufus Hutton, jerky,
dogmatical, keenly important; while the old man sat at the head of the
table, with his back to the pointed window, and looked (perhaps from
local usage) more like a magistrate than a father. Straight up the long
room Cradock walked, as calmly as if he were going to see where his
quoit was stuck; then he made salutation to his father, as his custom
was, for many bygone fashions were retained in the ancient family.
Sir Cradock was proud of his sonʼs self–command and dignified manly
carriage, and if Dr. Hutton had not been there, he would have arisen to
comfort him. As it was, he only said, with a faint and doubtful smile—
“So, sir, I find that, after all, you are but an impostor”.
Young Cradock was a proud man—man from that day forth, I shall call him
“lad” no longer—ay, a prouder man, pile upon pile, than the father who
once had spoiled him. But his pride was of the right sort—self–respect,
not self–esteem. So he did not appeal, by word or look, to the sympathy
lurking, and no doubt working, in the pith of his fatherʼs heart, but
answered calmly and coldly, though his soul was hot with sorrow—
“Sir, I believe it is so”. His eyes were on his fatherʼs. He longed to
look him down, and felt the power to do it; but dropped them as should
a good son. Although the white–haired man was glad at the promotion of
his favourite, his heart was yearning towards the child more worthy
to succeed him. But his notions of filial duty—which himself had been
called upon to practise chiefly in memory, having seen very little of
his father, and having lost him early—were of the stern, cold order
now, the buckle and buckram style; though much relaxed at intervals in
Master Claytonʼs favour. Finding no compunction, no humility in his
sonʼs look, for a mistake which was wholly of others, and receiving no
expression of grief at the loss of heirship, Sir Cradock hardened back
again into his proper dignity, and resumed his air of inquiry. “I wish
John Rosedew were here”, he thought, and then it repented him of the
wish, for he knew how stubborn the parson was, and how he would have
Craddy the foremost.
Rufus Hutton, all this time, was in the agony of holding his tongue.
He tried to think of his Rosa, and so to abstract himself airily from
the present scene. He had ridden over to see her yesterday, and now
dwelt upon their doings. Rosa was to come to–morrow, and he would go to
fetch his wife in a carriage that would amaze her. Then he met Cradock
Nowellʼs eyes, and wondered what he was thinking of.
“Now, Sir Cradock Nowell, this wonʼt do at all. How long are we to
play fast and loose with a finer fellow than either of us”? Oh, that
hot–headed Rufus, what mischief he did then! “Although I have not
the honour, sir, of being in the commission of peace for this little
county, I have taken magisterial duty in a district rather larger than
Ireland thrown into Great Britain. And I can grow, per acre, thrice the
amount of corn that any of your farmers can”. His colour deepened with
self–assertion, like the central quills of a dahlia.
“We must have you to teach us, Dr. Hutton. It is a thing to be thought
about. But at present you are kindly interested in—in giving your
evidence”.
Even then, if Dr. Hutton, with all his practised acumen, had mixed
one grain of the knowledge of men, he might have done what he liked
with Sir Cradock, and re–established the dynasty; unless, indeed, young
Cradock were bent upon going through with everything. But the only mode
Rufus Hutton knew of meeting the world was antagonism.
“Yes, sir, you may think nothing of it. But I have hunted a thing for
three hundred leagues, and got at it through the biggest liars that
ever stole a white manʼs galligaskins”.
“Thank you, Dr. Hutton”, said Cradock, diverting the contest;
“_λωποδύτης_ is the word you mean. And I fear it applies to me also”.
“Perhaps, young man”, cried Rufus Hutton, “you know more Hindustani
than I do. Translate——”, and he poured out a sentence which I dare not
try to write down. “But, my good fellow, you forget it is we who are
stealing yours”.
“I think”, said Sir Cradock, slowly, and seriously displeased—Good
Heavens! to joke about the succession to the Nowelhurst title and
lands!—“I think, sir, this can hardly be looked upon as evidence. I
always cut short the depositions, sir. As Chairman of the Quarter
Sessions, I always cut short the depositions”.
“And so you wish to cut short, sir, the deposition of your son”. Rufus
laughed at his own bad joke, and expected the others to laugh with him.
It made things worse than ever. Sir Cradock was afraid to speak, lest
he might say anything unseemly to a visitor. The young man saw his
opportunity, and took advantage of it.
“Father, I beg you to let me go. You would not wish me, I am sure, to
be here; only you think it my right to be. If you please, I will waive
that right; I can wholly trust your decision”.
He bowed to his father with cold respect, being hurt at his rapid
conviction, to Rufus Hutton with some contempt and a smile at the
situation. Then he marched down the long room placidly, and whistled
when he was out of it. The next moment he bolted away to his bedroom,
and wept there very heavily.
“Glorious fellow”! cried Dr. Hutton. “But we donʼt at all appreciate
him. Requires a man of mind to do that. And now for Mrs. OʼGaghan”!
Leaving Sir Cradock this speech to digest, he arose and rang the bell
sharply. He felt himself fully invested now with supreme judicial
authority, and he longed to be at the Irishwoman, who had called him a
“red gossoon”.