The George and Dragon
The pretty little town of Golden Friars--standing by the margin of the
lake, hemmed round by an amphitheatre of purple mountain, rich in tint
and furrowed by ravines, high in air, when the tall gables and narrow
windows of its ancient graystone houses, and the tower of the old
church, from which every evening the curfew still rings, show like
silver in the moonbeams, and the black elms that stand round throw
moveless shadows upon the short level grass--is one of the most singular
and beautiful sights I have ever seen.
There it rises, 'as from the stroke of the enchanter's wand,' looking so
light and filmy, that you could scarcely believe it more than a picture
reflected on the thin mist of night.
On such a still summer night the moon shone splendidly upon the front of
the George and Dragon, the comfortable graystone inn of Golden Friars,
with the grandest specimen of the old inn-sign, perhaps, left in
England. It looks right across the lake; the road that skirts its margin
running by the steps of the hall-door, opposite to which, at the other
side of the road, between two great posts, and framed in a fanciful
wrought-iron border splendid with gilding, swings the famous sign of St.
George and the Dragon, gorgeous with colour and gold.
In the great room of the George and Dragon, three or four of the old
_habitués_ of that cozy lounge were refreshing a little after the
fatigues of the day.
This is a comfortable chamber, with an oak wainscot; and whenever in
summer months the air is sharp enough, as on the present occasion, a
fire helped to light it up; which fire, being chiefly wood, made a
pleasant broad flicker on panel and ceiling, and yet did not make the
room too hot.
On one side sat Doctor Torvey, the doctor of Golden Friars, who knew the
weak point of every man in the town, and what medicine agreed with each
inhabitant--a fat gentleman, with a jolly laugh and an appetite for all
sorts of news, big and little, and who liked a pipe, and made a tumbler
of punch at about this hour, with a bit of lemon-peel in it. Beside him
sat William Peers, a thin old gentleman, who had lived for more than
thirty years in India, and was quiet and benevolent, and the last man in
Golden Friars who wore a pigtail. Old Jack Amerald, an ex-captain of the
navy, with his short stout leg on a chair, and its wooden companion
beside it, sipped his grog, and bawled in the old-fashioned navy way,
and called his friends his 'hearties.' In the middle, opposite the
hearth, sat deaf Tom Hollar, always placid, and smoked his pipe, looking
serenely at the fire. And the landlord of the George and Dragon every
now and then strutted in, and sat down in the high-backed wooden
arm-chair, according to the old-fashioned republican ways of the place,
and took his share in the talk gravely, and was heartily welcome.
"And so Sir Bale is coming home at last," said the Doctor. "Tell us any
more you heard since."
"Nothing," answered Richard Turnbull, the host of the George. "Nothing
to speak of; only 'tis certain sure, and so best; the old house won't
look so dowly now."
"Twyne says the estate owes a good capful o' money by this time, hey?"
said the Doctor, lowering his voice and winking.
"Weel, they do say he's been nout at dow. I don't mind saying so to
_you_, mind, sir, where all's friends together; but he'll get that right
in time."
"More like to save here than where he is," said the Doctor with another
grave nod.
"He does very wisely," said Mr. Peers, having blown out a thin stream of
smoke, "and creditably, to pull-up in time. He's coming here to save a
little, and perhaps he'll marry; and it is the more creditable, if, as
they say, he dislikes the place, and would prefer staying where he is."
And having spoken thus gently, Mr. Peers resumed his pipe cheerfully.
"No, he don't like the place; that is, I'm told he _didn't_," said the
innkeeper.
"He _hates_ it," said the Doctor with another dark nod.
"And no wonder, if all's true I've heard," cried old Jack Amerald.
"Didn't he drown a woman and her child in the lake?"
"Hollo! my dear boy, don't let them hear you say that; you're all in the
clouds."
"By Jen!" exclaimed the landlord after an alarmed silence, with his
mouth and eyes open, and his pipe in his hand, "why, sir, I pay rent for
the house up there. I'm thankful--dear knows, I _am_ thankful--we're all
to ourselves!"
Jack Amerald put his foot on the floor, leaving his wooden leg in its
horizontal position, and looked round a little curiously.
"Well, if it wasn't him, it was some one else. I'm sure it happened up
at Mardykes. I took the bearings on the water myself from Glads Scaur to
Mardykes Jetty, and from the George and Dragon sign down here--down to
the white house under Forrick Fells. I could fix a buoy over the very
spot. Some one here told me the bearings, I'd take my oath, where the
body was seen; and yet no boat could ever come up with it; and that was
queer, you know, so I clapt it down in my log."
"Ay, sir, there _was_ some flummery like that, Captain," said Turnbull;
"for folk will be gabbin'. But 'twas his grandsire was talked o', not
him; and 'twould play the hangment wi' me doun here, if 'twas thought
there was stories like that passin' in the George and Dragon.'
"Well, his grandfather; 'twas all one to him, I take it."
"There never was no proof, Captain, no more than smoke; and the family
up at Mardykes wouldn't allow the king to talk o' them like that, sir;
for though they be lang deod that had most right to be angered in the
matter, there's none o' the name but would be half daft to think 'twas
still believed, and he full out as mich as any. Not that I need care
more than another, though they do say he's a bit frowsy and
short-waisted; for he can't shouther me out o' the George while I pay my
rent, till nine hundred and ninety-nine year be rin oot; and a man, be
he ne'er sa het, has time to cool before then. But there's no good
quarrellin' wi' teathy folk; and it may lie in his way to do the George
mony an ill turn, and mony a gude one; an' it's only fair to say it
happened a long way before he was born, and there's no good in vexin'
him; and I lay ye a pound, Captain, the Doctor hods wi' me."
The Doctor, whose business was also sensitive, nodded; and then he said,
"But for all that, the story's old, Dick Turnbull--older than you or I,
my jolly good friend."
"And best forgotten," interposed the host of the George.
"Ay, best forgotten; but that it's not like to be," said the Doctor,
plucking up courage. "Here's our friend the Captain has heard it; and
the mistake he has made shows there's one thing worse than its being
quite remembered, and that is, its being _half_ remembered. We can't
stop people talking; and a story like that will see us all off the
hooks, and be in folks' mouths, still, as strong as ever."
"Ay; and now I think on it, 'twas Dick Harman that has the boat down
there--an old tar like myself--that told me that yarn. I was trying for
pike, and he pulled me over the place, and that's how I came to hear it.
I say, Tom, my hearty, serve us out another glass of brandy, will you?"
shouted the Captain's voice as the waiter crossed the room; and that
florid and grizzled naval hero clapped his leg again on the chair by its
wooden companion, which he was wont to call his jury-mast.
"Well, I do believe it will be spoke of longer than we are like to
hear," said the host, "and I don't much matter the story, if it baint
told o' the wrong man." Here he touched his tumbler with the spoon,
indicating by that little ring that Tom, who had returned with the
Captain's grog, was to replenish it with punch. "And Sir Bale is like to
be a friend to this house. I don't see no reason why he shouldn't. The
George and Dragon has bin in our family ever since the reign of King
Charles the Second. It was William Turnbull in that time, which they
called it the Restoration, he taking the lease from Sir Tony Mardykes
that was then. They was but knights then. They was made baronets first
in the reign of King George the Second; you may see it in the list of
baronets and the nobility. The lease was made to William Turnbull, which
came from London; and he built the stables, which they was out o'
repair, as you may read to this day in the lease; and the house has
never had but one sign since--the George and Dragon, it is pretty well
known in England--and one name to its master. It has been owned by a
Turnbull from that day to this, and they have not been counted bad men."
A murmur of applause testified the assent of his guests. "They has been
steady churchgoin' folk, and brewed good drink, and maintained the best
o' characters, hereaways and farther off too, though 'tis I, Richard
Turnbull, that says it; and while they pay their rent, no man has power
to put them out; for their title's as good to the George and Dragon, and
the two fields, and the croft, and the grazing o' their kye on the
green, as Sir Bale Mardykes to the Hall up there and estate. So 'tis
nout to me, except in the way o' friendliness, what the family may think
o' me; only the George and they has always been kind and friendly, and I
don't want to break the old custom."
"Well said, Dick!" exclaimed Doctor Torvey; "I own to your conclusion;
but there ain't a soul here but ourselves--and we're all friends, and
you are your own master--and, hang it, you'll tell us that story about
the drowned woman, as you heard it from your father long ago."
"Ay, do, and keep us to our liquor, my hearty!" cried the Captain.
Mr. Peers looked his entreaty; and deaf Mr. Hollar, having no interest
in the petition, was at least a safe witness, and, with his pipe in his
lips, a cozy piece of furniture.
Richard Turnbull had his punch beside him; he looked over his shoulder.
The door was closed, the fire was cheery, and the punch was fragrant,
and all friendly faces about him. So said he:
"Gentlemen, as you're pleased to wish it, I don't see no great harm in
it; and at any rate, 'twill prevent mistakes. It is more than ninety
years since. My father was but a boy then; and many a time I have heard
him tell it in this very room."
And looking into his glass he mused, and stirred his punch slowly.