[Illustration]
There was a rushing, whirling agitation in the air--the dust rose
from every ledge and revolved wildly as a something passed down
the intricacies of the old back staircase--passed too rapidly for
recognition. It was the page, pale and breathless, hurling himself from
the top floor toward the servants' hall.
"There's that ghost agen!" he gasped. "It's up there a-furridgin among
the lumber in the loft! It _is_--I 'eard it myself, I tell yer! Yer may
say 'pooh' if yer like. Yer'd better go an' see!"
The housekeeper, being the bravest of those who heard, went up to see.
There certainly were unusual sounds in the vast and lonely lofts under
the roof. Cautiously she peeped in; and there was the Squire with a
candle ferreting about among the dusty heaps of lumber.
"Mrs. Wriggs," said the Squire, "there are a great many useless things
here which we shall never want. I've been thinking that we might as
well----"
"Yes, sir; no doubt there are many poor people who could turn them to
some use," said Mrs. Wriggs. "And we might do worse than give them----"
"_Give_ them!" said the Squire. "Doesn't it seem rather like bad taste
to give away things which Providence has presented to us? Wouldn't it
be taken as a sort of slight? I was thinking that we might _sell_ them,
now--for the good of the House, of course." The Squire represented the
house: he did a great many things for the good of it--the temporal
good, of course.
"Eh? Who would buy?" said the Squire. "If a thing is good enough to
accept, Mrs. Wriggs, it has some value; what has a value is worth
buying. Let us collect all the articles we have no further use for, and
obtain the highest price for them, by way of showing to that Providence
which has bestowed them upon us that they have a value in our eyes. I
will accompany you downstairs, and see what broken saucepans and other
utensils there may be there. Every little helps, in a good cause."
So the articles were looked out--saucepans with holes in them, handles
of flat-irons, chairs without legs, old packing-cases, book covers, old
advertisement sheets of old newspapers, and so forth; and a "rummage
sale" was held at the Big House. The whole village attended, and, as
a compliment to the Squire, bought up the articles in lots, at a few
pence per lot. The Squire had never held aloof from his dependents;
it being a belief that we should, to a certain extent, share our good
things with our poorer brethren.
But next day the Squire was rummaging and ferreting harder than ever;
all over the house, from the lofts to the cellars; peering in every
corner, opening every drawer, feeling in all his pockets; looking
behind things, on top of things, under things, in old hat-boxes, and
glove-boxes, and collar-boxes.
To help at this game gave the greatest delight to his little son and
heir, Master Rupert, a curly-haired, brown-eyed little person of seven
years. To all offers of assistance, the Squire replied that it was not
a matter of importance: he had merely mislaid his handkerchief. Such a
search for a handkerchief has never been made before or since.
That evening the Squire ate no dinner, but sat in his study with his
head clasped between his hands, and his elbows on the table; and so he
sat half through the night. Next morning he was up before dawn; and in
the first grey light a thrush noticed him peering all over the paths
leading from the house, travelling slowly over them step by step, and
examining every inch. All that day he spent in pursuing this occupation
(but putting on a lounging and purposeless air when observed) and in
making calls at the houses of the villagers; and when he returned to
the house, long after dinner-time, he was so changed and so haggard
as to be difficult to recognise. Creeping to the night nursery, where
little Rupert was asleep in his cot, the Squire tenderly took him out,
bed-clothes and all, and carried him away to his study, where he placed
him on the sofa, and sat close by, never removing his eyes from the
child.
Every now and again he would stretch out his hand and touch the child,
and appear reassured on finding it warm; or he would place his ear
close to its mouth, and give a sigh of relief on hearing its breathing.
At every creak of the furniture and sough of the wind the Squire would
start; and once he rose suddenly and hastily locked the door. Early in
the morning the nurse, waking and missing the child, knocked at his
door to ask whether he had taken it. And he would not open the door;
but stood before little Rupert, covering him as though from some enemy,
and replying that he was to remain with him.
About seven he rang, and handed a telegram form to a servant, with
instructions to send off the message the moment the wire was available;
and by twelve the family solicitor had arrived from London. Hastily
placing a screen in front of the child, the Squire admitted the
solicitor, nervously locking the door after him, and always keeping
himself between the solicitor and little Rupert.
"Mr. Pergamen," said the Squire, "I have decided to convey this
house--I beg you will follow me--convey this house to one, John
Puddifoot, grocer, of this village; to be his absolutely, without----"
The family solicitor started up and gasped, but the Squire waved him
into silence with his hand, continuing:--
"Yes, to alienate from myself, and my son, our ancestral home,
'Grange'--the house which has belonged to the family since the end of
Henry VIII., the same, Mr. Pergamen, the same--_the_ house, _this_
house, Grange. You are aware, of course, that the existing owner has
the power to do this? Eh? 'Make a temporary arrangement of it'?"
continued the Squire, answering the solicitor's suggestion more to
himself than to the suggester. "No--no--no! That might not suffice; no,
I won't risk it--no, no, no! Be kind enough to prepare the necessary
deeds at once--_at once_. '_Remember my heir?_' I _am_ remembering my
heir, sir! Be kind enough to bring me the deeds the moment they are
ready, and I will sign them.
"Yes, John Puddifoot, grocer, of the village of Grangeham. Stay--kindly
write out a provisional declaration of transfer _now_, and I will sign
it."
"To make this transfer of your property to the grocer legal, there must
be a consideration," said the solicitor; "shall we say _Natural Love
and Affection?_--Very good."
So the half-dazed solicitor drew it up, and the Squire signed it;
and then the solicitor went away to prepare the formal deed; and the
haggard Squire, catching up the child, hastily dressed him, carried
him down to the hall, keeping his own body between his burden and all
whom he passed, and, throwing on his great grey overcoat and drawing it
over the child so as to conceal him as far as possible, hurried out and
went straight away to the shop of John Puddifoot, grocer, and plunged
straight into the little back parlour.
"Come in here, Puddifoot--come in here, and lock the door behind you!"
cried the Squire, placing the child on a chair in the darkest corner,
and standing at bay, as it were, in front of it.
"John Puddifoot, I have long been troubled with misgivings as to the
happiness and welfare of those over whose lot I exercise a considerable
influence. I do not know, in short, whether the tenants on my estate
are as happy as they should be. This has worried me, Puddifoot; and
I have decided that it is my duty to inquire into the matter; and it
seems to me that the most effectual method of inquiry is to change
places with one of them.
"I wished to do the thing thoroughly, and I have therefore made over my
manor house, 'Grange,' unconditionally to you.
"My solicitor will see that all is correctly carried out. You are now
absolute master of Grange, Puddifoot: therefore be good enough to go
and fill your position there, leaving me to take your place here, and
learn by my own experience whether your circumstances are as happy as
it has been my duty to make them. Before making over the property, I
left written instructions to my--your--steward that I should be treated
here precisely the same as you have been; and I will beg you to allow
this to stand. John!" continued the Squire, grasping the grocer's hand
and gazing into his eyes, "I can trust you. You will not play me false.
At some future time I _might_ ask you to re-convey the house to me, and
annul this act of mine. You would have power to refuse--but you will
not!"
[Illustration: "HE WENT STRAIGHT AWAY."]
The bewildered grocer began to murmur some unintelligible ejaculations.
"Swear it, John Puddifoot--swear it on all you hold sacred--here--this
ledger of yours; the very thing. Swear it, and keep faith!"
Benumbed with wonder, the grocer obeyed, scratched his head, opened his
mouth three times, but closed it again in obedience to the Squire's
uplifted finger; and put on his hat and walked aimlessly towards the
manor house.
The Squire watched him until he had turned the distant corner; then he
locked the door again, and commenced to search every cupboard, drawer,
and corner as he had done at Grange. Taking the grocer's keys--(the
grocer was a bachelor, and the maid-of-all-work was away at the village
school)--he went all over the house, looking in everything--even the
pockets of the grocer's clothes; then he searched the shop, poked about
under the rice and sugar and lentils, peered into the tea and coffee
reservoirs, the till, the scales, the drawers, the empty jars.
Only desisting now and again to give some food to little Rupert, he
went on breathlessly at this search until they had lighted the evening
lamp behind the red blind of the "Vensleigh Arms" up the hill. Then he
sank on to the sofa beside the child, and let his head drop between his
hands, and sat, and sat, and sat.
"It _must_ be here--it _must_--must!" he kept muttering. "Mrs. Wriggs
herself noticed such a little flat case in a parcel of odds and ends
bought by Puddifoot. Can he have burned it, without opening it? Can he
have given it away? It _must_ be here, surely!"
Long before this the rumour of the Squire's "madness" had gone through
the village, and many boys and a few adults had tried to peep in
through the shop window, but they could not see in, and the shop
door had been locked all day. In the evening Mr. Pergamen had come
down again, and had given a few of the leading villagers some reason
or other, more or less satisfying, for the Squire's conduct. These
explanations were tame enough, but they quieted matters down a little.
"It's gone--gone--gone!" muttered the Squire. "Lost to us, Rupert! But
we're not the masters of Grange now, you and I; we're safe, Rupert,
we're safe. It can't fall on your head now--It can't overwhelm--stay!"
Almost with a yell the Squire started up. "The formal deeds are not
signed yet. I forgot that! The provisional transfer _should_ suffice.
Does it? Does it? Pergamen may not be carrying out my instructions! He
may have destroyed the declaration; but he would not dare to destroy a
deed. He may be fooling me--temporizing. And then the danger may _not_
have passed away!"
[Illustration: "TRIED TO PEEP IN THROUGH THE SHOP WINDOW."]
Again he caught up the boy, and stood as if at bay, shielding little
Rupert.
"I must see Pergamen," he muttered. "Now--where can he be?"
There was a tap at the shop door. The Squire snatched up his grey
overcoat and flung it over the child, and stood, white and rigid, in
front of him. But it was Mr. Pergamen at the door; and he was admitted
and the shop door hastily locked again. And the Squire slipped into the
parlour before the solicitor, and took up his guard in front of the
child.
The deeds _were_ being prepared, but the thing could not be completed
at a moment's notice.
Next day the Squire was searching again, all over the house, in
the back yard, among the empty packing-cases and tea-boxes, on the
dust-heap; again it was evening before he gave over and sank down on
the sofa, but his mind seemed a little more at rest now.
At length the formal deed of transfer was duly completed, and signed,
and witnessed, and then the Squire gave a great sigh of relief, and a
burden seemed to fall from him. He did not draw little Rupert back and
cover him when the child advanced to talk to the solicitor and be taken
on his knee, according to custom and usage dating from a few months
later than Rupert's appearance in the world.
Then the three started off to show the completed deed to John
Puddifoot, sole master of Grange. On the way they overtook Mrs. Wriggs,
the housekeeper, returning from the village: the Squire stopped her
flood of lamentations with a gesture. She dropped behind them; but
presently came up and said:--
"Oh, Sir Rupert--I thought I had better mention it, perhaps--John tells
me that he saw Mr. Puddifoot, the grocer, hand over some of the trifles
he bought at the sale to Benton, the old labourer, and he _thinks_
there was a little flat case among them."
"Ah--just so. It was a very trifling matter, Mrs. Wriggs; and I had
forgotten all about it," said the Squire, hurriedly and unnaturally.
* * * * *
There was a strange commotion in the manor house: the servants were in
the square hall bending over something lying on the oak floor. John
Puddifoot had fallen from the top of the great well staircase--he was
dead! Hurriedly the Squire took off the grey overcoat and threw it over
the body, to keep the sight of death from the child.
[Illustration: "'I HAD FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT IT,' SAID THE SQUIRE."]
"Poor fellow! But it was Fate, of course--Fate," said the Squire. "And
the old house will, of course, go to his heirs. Come, Rupert, let us
go; we have no right here."
"Pardon me," said the solicitor, "I could not allow this--pardon
me, Sir Rupert--this mad whim of yours to develop its consequences
unchecked. I took care that John Puddifoot executed a proper will,
leaving the property again to you."
Once more the Squire caught up the child, and interposed himself
between it and all comers. "Please to send for George Benton, the
labourer," he said, hurriedly. "And bring him to me in the study."
"George Benton," said the Squire, when the solicitor and the labourer
had joined him in the study, "I am very anxious to carry out a scheme
I have formed for the bettering of the condition of my tenants. You
can assist me greatly. I believe you to be a trustworthy man; and I
am about to make over to you this house, lately the property of John
Puddifoot, who has met with such a deplorable accident. I may as well
declare you at once, in the presence of Mr. Pergamen, who will testify
to the declaration, absolute owner of this house."
The labourer rubbed his forehead with a hard, broad finger, and
stammered something about asking the missis at 'ome; but the Squire
cut him short with: "You must do this thing as a great favour to
me--it is a pet fad of mine. At some future time I may possibly ask
you to restore the property to me. Until then--even should that
occur--consider, you will be absolute master here; you will be well
off, for a considerable portion of the rents go with the house. You
accept?"
The labourer could not avoid stammering his acceptance.
"You are master here," said the Squire, quickly and nervously, as
one with misgivings; "behave as master--I and--and Master Rupert are
intruders here, having no right here. Will you oblige me by ordering us
out?"
In a dazed, mechanical way the labourer did as he was requested.
"May I find a home, for a day or two, in your cottage?--ah, it would be
a convenience. Thank you," said the Squire; and in another ten minutes
he had arrived at the cottage and packed off the labourer's wife and
children to Grange, absolutely preventing her, by voluble assurances of
the safety of all her belongings, from taking away any articles with
her.
Then the door was locked; and the searching began over again, and
lasted the rest of the day.
Day followed day: the new transfer had been duly executed; John Benton
was legal owner of Grange. Every day the Squire listened eagerly for
all news of him, always dreading what he should hear; but the labourer
went on in his new dignity--a fish out of water, awkward and sheepish,
but always with a determination to preserve the property, under the
advice and assistance of Mr. Pergamen, for the Squire. The labourer's
wife kept the same end sturdily in view, and her children played
with much content on the smooth lawns. All the while, though with
diminishing hope and eagerness, the Squire kept up his search for that
something, never saying a word of it to a soul, but catching at any
little chance scrap of information likely to assist him. He would call
at the cottages and, whenever the opportunity occurred, surreptitiously
peep and pry into drawers and cupboards--in vain.
[Illustration: "THE LABOURER'S WIFE AND CHILDREN."]
After a few weeks he would take little Rupert by the hand, and they
would stand and gaze over the railings at the small Bentons playing
on the lawn; and the little Bentons would pull their forelocks, and
curtsey, and open the gate and beg them to come in.
Then Rupert would play with them a little, and was allowed to. Finally
Mrs. Benton came as a deputation from her husband to beg the Squire to
live in his own rooms in the house; but the Squire hastily, and rather
incoherently, excused himself. Still things went on quietly: and one
evening the Squire consented to occupy his old bedroom for the night,
and his study for the next day; and then he found himself staying in
the house. But every time Benton touched his hair to him, or Mrs.
Benton dropped him a curtsey, he would look round for Rupert and take
him up, and protest that he was not master there, nor Master Rupert
either, and look anxious and nervous.
And one day he drew Mr. Pergamen, as he passed, into the study, and
closed the door, and said: "I may as well tell you now. It is lost and
gone beyond hope. Perhaps the spell is broken--by the--the death of
that unfortunate John Puddifoot--"
"_The spell?_" repeated the solicitor, staring dubiously at him.
"Yes--the spell," said the Squire. "You will put me down as a
superstitious lunatic when you hear what I have to say. "Well, do so.
You did not know of the existence of a talisman--a charm--call it what
you will--in my family? No. Nor has anyone ever known of it except the
successive owners of Grange and their heirs; yet this charm has been
handed down (and the tradition connected with it) from father to heir
without a break since the time of James the First.
"It was a small, flat, gold disc, set with a carbuncle carved in the
shape of a skull, and contained in a small, flat, leather case; and
the tradition was to the effect that, should that charm cease to be
under the roof of this house, the owner, or his heir, would meet with a
violent death, a like result following the communication of the secret
to anyone but the actual heir of the house. After that rummage-sale
I missed it; looking, by chance, in the safe in this room where it
had always been kept, I saw that it was not in its place. Then I
recollected that, on the occasion of my opening the safe about six
weeks before, Rupert had looked in and taken up several of the articles
to look at, as a child will. He must have taken out the talisman,
unnoticed by me, and left it about the room instead of putting it back;
and I jumped to the conclusion that it must have found its way into the
sale, and been carried away.
"It is gone, and the revealing of the secret does not matter now; and
let us hope that the--the accident of the staircase has----"
"Quite so; we will hope so," replied the solicitor, still eyeing the
Squire dubiously.
As the Squire chanced to turn to the window and look out, he saw Benton
entering one of the fields beyond the lane, to bring in a bull which
was pastured there, and over which he alone had any control. But the
animal did not seem to be so amenable as usual to his influence; and,
before the Squire could realize the situation, the bull had charged and
tossed the labourer, and was trampling him.
[Illustration: "THE ANIMAL DID NOT SEEM TO BE SO AMENABLE AS USUAL."]
The Squire snatched up a rifle, loaded, and raised the piece; but by
this time three other men were driving off the beast with stones; and
in two minutes more they carried Benton outside the gate. One of them
came running to the house; the Squire called to him, asking about the
injured man.
"Dying, sir," was the answer.
The revealing of the secret _had_ mattered; and its result had come
quickly!
The Squire shuddered and covered his face. The scene just enacted led
his mind to the scene at the foot of the staircase--the object covered
with the grey overcoat. He uncovered his face to notice what he had
seen, but not noticed, previously--little Rupert lying on the sofa
covered with that coat!
The coat had, after the tragedy, been taken to the study and hung over
a chair, where it had remained until, half an hour ago, Mrs. Wriggs had
thrown it over the sleeping child to keep him warm.
Shuddering again, the Squire plucked the coat off Rupert, and flung it
through the open window, placing a skin over the boy in its place.
Then he turned again to see them carrying in the victim of the bull,
and was suddenly conscious of a slight cracking noise in the ceiling of
the room and the sound of something falling.
A heavy carved boss had detached itself from the mullioned ceiling and
fallen upon the head of the sleeping child; the boss bore a shield on
which was a golden disc, bearing in its centre a red skull.
Rupert was dead!
One of the servants found the grey coat lying on the lane outside; his
attention was attracted by something which had found its way beneath
the lining of the skirt.
There was a hole in the pocket where the sewing had given way,
permitting the object to slip through: the object was a small, flat
leathern case. It had been placed in the pocket, for fun, by Rupert on
that day when he had played with the things in the safe.
Until flung from the window, the grey coat had never been away from
Grange except during the short time when John Puddifoot had been owner.