I HOOK MY FISH
I had not fallen far. As is the wont of boys and cats, I was on my
feet again in a moment. Something like a tall Lochaber axe--with the
hook but without the axe part--had fallen on me, and the steel fetched
me a sound clip over the bridge of the nose. Did you ever get a proper
clout there when you were least expecting it? Well, if you have, you
know how angry it makes you. I wanted somebody's blood. Hardly that,
perhaps, for I had been decently brought up.
But the thought of my mother, of my father's disappearance, and the
stupefying clink on my nose, all taken together, made me wild to be at
somebody. Oh, it is easy to say "How wicked--yet so young!" and so on;
but just try it yourself.
Anyway, this is how it happened to me. I was up again, and tearing
like mad down the passage, quicker than a wink. I did not care, at
that moment, whether it was Jeremy Orrin or Mr. Stennis himself. One
of the two I knew it must be. But the iron hook on its six-foot pole
gave me confidence. I could feel the point of it sharp even in the
darkness. I found out afterwards it was used to pull down the hanging
lamps which the mad women and Miss Aphra--who was only half mad--used
in their mystic ceremonies. I expect they were trying to raise the
devil. Which was quite a work of supererogation--I think that is the
word, but Elsie knows--considering that their own brother, Mad Jeremy,
was on foot--and healthy, thank'ee kindly!
Well, I grabbed my hook and made after my shadowy man who had darted
from behind the big reading desk. I knew some mystic palaver or other
had been going on, but what that mummery had to do with the death or
disappearance of my father I did not care--only just streaked it down
the passage. It was dark as pitch, of course, but firm underfoot, and
of a uniform height. The walls had been painted recently, I should
say, for I felt the bits of plaster come away in my hand as I put it
out, and all along the courses of the stones felt ridgy.
Then all of a sudden it dipped down, and the going got wet and soppy.
"Under the moat!" said I to myself, thinking myself no end clever to
have hit on it. "We will be going up presently," I added to myself.
Just so it happened. And then Joseph Yarrow thought himself the
cleverest fellow in the world; though, come to think of it now, it was
really a chance word of Elsie's that set me on the track.
Anyway, there was somebody before me, for I heard a door open, then
shut, and, as it seemed, a kind of fumbling as if with a key which
wouldn't act.
I was at the door in a trice--indeed, I rather tumbled upon it. For
there were two or three steps leading up, pretty sloppy and slippery
with green stuff, and the smell of dank earth all about. Also, it got
cold, while it had been quite warm below. So I knew we were getting
near the surface where the black frost was.
Plung! I darted my long staff with the hook at the end of it between
the door and the doorpost. Luckily it caught on the steel part, so the
man behind could not get the key to turn. Way there! I used my staff
as a lever. The door gave. And in the chill dawn I found myself in a
little sham ruin, covered with ivy, quite near the place where Mr.
Stennis got off his pony and came upon us the very first day Elsie and
I had ever gone to Deep Moat Grange.
There was nobody there. My gentleman had failed to lock the door, but
had managed to shoot an outside bolt which my long hook lever had torn
away like so much brown paper. I climbed through a gap in the
ruin--either a bit of an old cottage, such as shepherds live in, or,
more probably, a thing built on purpose to shield the head of the
secret passage. I had never thought of secret passages in connection
with the Grange. But, of course--come to think of it--the people there
would not have respected themselves if they had not at least one. They
saw to it first thing--after the little coffins. "Necessities first,
luxuries after," as my poor mother used to say when she confiscated my
Saturday's penny for the Sunday's church collection.
But in the growing light of the morning--dawn is the proper word,
though smelling of poetry--I saw the man who had led me such a chase
running through the wood in the direction of Brom Common. Now, I knew
that piece. Had not Elsie and I come there, crawling on our
stomachs--yes, lifting our four feet one at a time, counting the front
ones, and not daring to move hardly! I was sure the fellow would have
to cross the road, and I knew where. He would not do it right in front
of Mr. Bailiff Ball's house; he would have to turn away to the right,
about the place where poor Harry Foster was done to death. Because,
you see, he would have to cross Brom Water by the bridge, and he
couldn't expect to have secret passages everywhere handy. So I made
right for that place. It was risky, I own; but then I was in the mood
for risks.
I could see him running--or rather gliding--a big portfolio thing under
his arm, from tree to tree. And it came to me with a sudden certainty
that this man knew the fate of my father, and that he was carrying off
the booty under his armpits. Then somehow I got very angry all at
once, and vowed I would put the steel hook into him or burst. I
stretched across for the stile where he would have to cross the big
march-dyke that bordered the Deep Moat property. He had not arrived,
though I could hear him coming--in a precious hurry, too, and crashing
like a steer through the underbrush. I crouched behind a bush of
laurel--for we were in the pheasant shrubbery behind Bailiff
Ball's--and waited with my hook at the "Ready."
He passed me, running--a tall, gliding shadow, with something familiar
in the back of it. I did not see him clearly, for he was all crouched
up because of the low branches of the evergreens and the leather case
he carried under his arm. He was breathing heavily. So was I, but I
would have died before I would have let myself make so much noise about
it.
He looked about him for the stile. Evidently he knew the way well
enough. I thought I recognized, as he bent, momentarily lower, the
oily glitter of black ringlets which distinguished Mad Jeremy. But
though I knew there would be a tussle, I determined that I would not
let him off. Besides, we were pretty near old Ball's at any rate, and
I meant to call for help like a steam whistle--that is, if it should
prove to be Mad Jeremy, or even Mr. Stennis.
Whoever he might be, not finding the stile, he began to climb the high
dyke mighty actively--nearly six foot, I should say, was the height of
that march-dyke--and he had just his leg over when I hooked my steel
into his collar and pulled him back. He fell unhandily, several of the
stones following him, and the leather portfolio going all abroad. He
came down on his face with a whop like a bag of wet salt.
As I turned the fellow over, I was full as I could hold of everything
stuck-up--as arrogant as a jack sparrow after his first fight. He had
hurt his head rather, hitting it hard as he fell. The dawn had come up
clear by that time. I tell you I gasped. I give you a hundred guesses
to tell me whose face it was I saw.
It was that of Mr. Ablethorpe, the Hayfork Parson.
* * * * *
Well, I know now how it feels when the world comes suddenly to an end;
when all that you had counted upon turns out just nothing; when what
you believed true, and would have staked your life upon, is proven all
in a minute the falsest of lies.
It was enough to drive any one mad. And indeed I think I could have
stuck the steel hook into Mr. Ralph Ablethorpe, as he lay there in his
High Church parson's coat with the tails nearly to his feet, his stiff
white collar and the big gold cross--real for true gold--swinging as
low as his hair watch chain. Yes, I would--but for one thing. The
Hayfork Minister lay with his mouth open, his temples bleeding a little
where he had hit a piece of stone, and he looked dead--painfully dead.
If he had looked a bit alive, I wouldn't have minded sticking the hook
into him. Just think of all that chase, and his pretending to hunt the
murderers of poor Harry, and sending me up that drain pipe--and all in
the interests, as was now proven, of the murderers themselves. It was
enough to make a Quaker kick his mother.
There was also, though I had not noticed it at first, one thing more.
The portfolio that I had supposed to contain my father's stolen papers
and the proofs of the crime--well, there it lay, with the lock broken,
and ready for me to find all about the foul treachery of the Hayfork
Minister.
I was sure I should trap him now. I tell you I was so mad that I began
to think of his being hung. And how glad I would be to see the black
flag go up over the jail at Longtown. I meant to go there to see and
cry "Hooray!"--I was so mad at his taking us all in. But, at any rate,
I had a right to look, if only to search for my father's papers. It
was I who had caught him, as it were, in the act.
I argued that it must be something very precious for the Hayfork
Minister to keep it all the time by him, even when he was striking out
his hardest, and knowing himself closely pursued. He had heard the
roar as the people of Breckonside burst the barred door and came
tumbling into the Grange barn. And that was a good deal worse than Mad
Jeremy's howls--at least, to hear. Yet he had never let go, nor tried
any other way of getting rid of his burden, not even in the sham ruin,
where there were bound to be pints of hidie-holes among the ivy. But
no; Mr. Ablethorpe held on to his leather case and just shanked it the
faster. I believe if it had not been for that and my knowing the
country better, I would not have nabbed him as I did. It must,
therefore, as I made sure, be something worth having, when he was so
set on getting safe off with it as all that.
So I took the case and cautiously opened the leather top. It folded
over like a square cap. I found no papers! "Well, I'm blowed!"--yes,
I said that! Mother said I might, so as to keep me from worse
expressions. Father didn't care so much, so that I was a straight boy
and told no lies--except when "jollying" somebody--making fun of them,
that is--or just getting them to believe something because they were
green.
Anyway, I opened the parson's case and saw no papers. It was lined
with a kind of purple velvet--no end swell--and had a gold cross worked
inside, like girls do things so as to waste their time. And inside a
crystal globe there were a lot of round, wafer-looking things that
looked good to eat, and a little silver dish beneath them--all figured
over in raised work. Then, in a little compartment all by itself,
there was a kind of vase or jug, closed with a stopper--all of silver.
Everything smelled good. I was just going to try the little wafery
things, when all of a sudden the Hayfork Parson sat up, looking all
dazed and nohow. He put his hand to his brow.
So I thought "Now for the revelation!" But he only said--
"Joseph, put that down this instant--you have not been confirmed! And
at any rate the Communion in both kinds is the privilege of the
ordained clergy!"
Of course, I thought he had simply gone moony with the whack he had got
when I pulled him down from the dyke, as the Hielant Donalds did the
mailed knights at the Red Harlaw, as I had read in the history book.
But in this I was mistaken.
Mr. Ablethorpe got a bit better when he had assured himself that I had
not touched the contents of his leather case. He even tried to snib it
again, but the catch had been broken in the fall, and the best he could
do was to fasten it up with a bit of twine I lent him out of my pocket.
It is a strange thing about grown-ups who set up for knowing everything
that they never carry things that are really useful in their pockets;
only watches and money, which people try to steal. Now, every boy has
twine and knives, and fish-hooks and marbles, and a catapult, and yet
nobody ever thinks of stopping him with a levelled pistol on the King's
highway, saying, "Your pockets or your life!" They would need to have
regular Pickford vans to carry off the plunder, anyway, if they cleaned
out very many boys. Why, I should think it a shame if I had less than
sixty things in my pockets, all different, and all of the kind that you
never knew when you were going to need them. And me going on for
eighteen, too, and not a real schoolboy any longer, but a man!
Then, after a while, I began to explain to Mr. Ablethorpe all about
everything. He just sat open-mouthed as I told him about father and
about the mare coming into our yard through a locked door. I was
watching him. He turned a bit paler, but his face was not the face of
a guilty man.
"Of course, I see now, Joe," he said, "it looked bad. And I don't
wonder the mob acted as they did, seeing me leave the barn so
hurriedly."
Now, though I did not say so, I thought that pretty good, just about as
good as a dozen glass marbles for a halfpenny. "Leave the barn
hurriedly!" says he. My respectable Aunt Sally! Why, he simply
scooted like the wind! What is it? He "stood not on the order of his
going, but--went?" I bet he did! There wasn't anybody in Mr.
Mustard's school--no, nor yet in Breckonside, who could have caught the
Hayfork Parson but me. He had legs like a whacking pair of compasses,
and went along like the wild ass that sniffeth up the wind.
"Yes," he repeated, tying a white handkerchief about the size of a
tablecloth round his brow--I kept mum about what had given him the
headache; pretended that I had brought out the hook to fish with--"yes,
Joe, I did leave the barn in a hurry. But it was for the sake of those
poor, foolish women, for whose souls none cares but myself. I know
well that in going there at all I am taking my life in my hands. But
the eldest, Miss Aphra Orrin, shows a little more stability than the
others. And it was borne in upon me as a duty that I should try and
make them put away their mad vanities, no better than stocks and
stones, by substituting a real worship in a real chapel. I found out
by chance that the barn of Deep Moat Grange had been an oratory in the
days of the ancient Cistercian Abbey, which had been built on that site
about 1460. It was, therefore, in my opinion, duly and properly
consecrated. True, I have not obtained the authorization of my bishop,
and for that, Joseph, you may blame me."
I told him that it was all right as far as I was concerned. I did not
think of doing so. His dread secret, if that were all, was quite safe
with me.
"I thank you, Joseph," he said, with the solemn air he always had when
engaged in making me a good Churchman. "I admit that the action is, on
the face of it, irregular. But then the saving of these poor souls,
Joseph! Consider! None to give them a thought but me! And I have
already induced them to substitute a crucifix for their foolish gauds,
which had only a meaning in their own deranged brains, Joseph. And
this very night, after confession such as the poor things could make, I
had determined to administer the sacrament of the Holy Communion to
them. I was in the act of doing so when the noise outside, and the
crowd breaking in the doors, caused me to retire, in the belief that my
presence and the act in which I was engaged might be misunderstood by
an incensed rabble. You agree that I was right, Joseph? Yes? Then--I
own it--I am much relieved in my mind--still more to find that all the
elements are safe. It would have been terrible--a disastrous loss--if
any part of them had been injured. Even now, Joseph, when I came a
little to myself, it seemed to me that when I awoke I found you--you,
Joseph, the son of a Churchman, who ought to have known better, in the
act----"
"No, Mr. Ablethorpe," said I; "but something was necessary to arouse
you, and it seemed to me that nothing else would have the desired
effect."
"Quite right, Joseph! You judged well," he said, nodding his head.
"And the pursuers? Were you able to turn them off the track? I heard
them pursuing."
I reassured him. So far as the pursuers went, he had nothing to fear.
Mr. Ablethorpe said that in that case he would go home and place the
monstrance--I think he called it, but it doesn't seem the right word,
does it?--in a place of safety. But as I had no time to lose, I would
not let him go without telling me if he had heard anything of my father
at the house of Deep Moat Grange.
"Joseph," he answered solemnly, "it is well enough known to you that
all I heard there passed into my knowledge under the sacred seal of the
confessional, and that I am debarred from repeating a word, either yea
or nay."
"But I want to know about my father!" I cried. "You shall not go
without! He may have been murdered! And suspicion points to that
house where you were found, in which, according to your telling, you
received confessions from those who may have been guilty!"
"Joseph," he answered me, with an accent extremely pitiful, "indeed I
cannot tell you! I am debarred!"
"Debarred or no," I cried, "you must tell me if you have heard anything
about my father, or I will break your head with this iron hook!"
He could have taken me up in one hand and shaken me, but it was not
with the weapons of an earthly warfare that he was fighting this
present battle.
"If so, I must e'en bow to the blast," he said. "I am aware that my
actions not being strictly in accordance with canon law, and kept a
secret from my bishop, I am a legitimate object of your suspicion."
"Never mind that, Mr. Ablethorpe," I said. "Only tell me as a friend.
Remember how I helped you all I could before. If you know anything of
my father. I must hear of it, and you must tell me."
He shook his head.
"Indeed, you cannot understand, Joseph," he repeated mournfully. "It
is not to be expected that you should. I have not the authority to
tell you. It is a sacred thing with me."
With the grasp of one hand I caught hold of the leathern case, and out
came the thing he called the monstrance. It had a kind of glass top,
which I had lifted up to get at the wafers.
"If you don't tell me," I shouted, "I'll send the whole flying into the
Brom Water."
"That would be deadly sin--the sin of sacrilege, Joseph," he answered,
trying to get the case from me; but I was too active and too near the
wall. "Hold, Joseph--oh, my monstrance--my cibory!"
He was evidently in a great strait with his conscience. Curious what
times some people have with their consciences! What a blessing mine
never bothered me! I wonder what it feels like? Perhaps like when you
have eaten a whole bushel of unripe gooseberries and wish you hadn't.
Something like that, I wager!
At any rate, he felt bad, and I was sorry for him.
So I didn't throw the monstrous thingborium away, because he thought so
much about it. I kept a tight hold of it, though, and said--
"Well, then, tell me if you know anything about my father!"
Mr. Ablethorpe sat down with his head between his hands, and groaned.
"Perfectly legitimate--perfectly legitimate--from your point of view,"
he said. "What am I to do? Seal of the confessional! I can't do it,
yet I must satisfy Joseph."
Then he hit upon something.
"You know where the Rev. Cecil de la Poer lives," says he. "He is my
spiritual director."
I knew him. The Reverend Cecil was another of the ultra-High
Churchers, who lived about three miles off, and was a gentleman's
private chaplain. He was, if possible, ten times more set on
thingboriums _et cetera_ than our Mr. Ablethorpe.
"Well," said the Hayfork, "I will write a private confession of all I
know about the matter to my spiritual director. I will intrust you
with the letter to deliver it to Mr. De la Poer. And if you open it,
the sin will be on your head."
"That's all right," said I, cheerfully.
And he wrote something, and sealed, or, rather licked it, in an
envelope which he had used for carrying his cards in. It was on one of
these that he had written his confession. He went off home in a great
hurry to put the thingborium into his safe, and I opened the letter to
Mr. De la Poer behind the trunk of the first big tree.
All it said was just--
DEAR DE LA POER,--I have to communicate to you, under the seal of the
confessional, that I have learned nothing whatever concerning Mr.
Yarrow, of Breckonside village, at the house of Deep Moat Grange or
elsewhere.
Yours truly,
R. ABLETHORPE.
So once more I had drawn blank.