CAPTAIN CANNONBY.
Deerham abounded in inns. How they all contrived to get a living, nobody
could imagine. That they did jog along somehow, was evident; but they
appeared to be generally as void of bustle as were their lazy
sign-boards, basking in the sun on a summer's day. The best in the
place, one with rather more pretension to superiority than the rest, was
the Golden Fleece. It was situated at the entrance to Deerham, not far
from the railway station; not far either from Deerham Court; in fact,
between Deerham Court and the village.
As Lionel approached it, he saw the landlord standing at its
entrance--John Cox. A rubicund man, with a bald head, who evidently did
justice to his own good cheer, if visitors did not. Shading his eyes
with one hand, he had the other extended in the direction of the
village, pointing out the way to a strange gentleman who stood beside
him.
"Go as straight as you can go, sir, through the village, and for a
goodish distance beyond it," he was saying, as Lionel drew within
hearing. "It will bring you to Verner's Pride. You can't mistake it;
it's the only mansion thereabouts."
The words caused Lionel to cast a rapid glance at the stranger. He saw a
man of some five-and-thirty or forty years, fair of complexion once, but
bronzed now by travel, or other causes. The landlord's eyes fell on
Lionel.
"Here is Mr. Verner!" he hastily exclaimed. "Sir"--saluting
Lionel--"this gentleman was going up to you at Verner's Pride."
The stranger turned, holding out his hand in a free and pleasant manner
to Lionel. "My name is Cannonby."
"I could have known it by the likeness to your brother," said Lionel,
shaking him by the hand. "I saw him yesterday. I was in town, and he
told me you were coming. But why were you not with us last night?"
"I turned aside on my journey to see an old military friend--whom, by
the way, I found to be out--and did not get to Deerham until past ten,"
explained Captain Cannonby. "I thought it too late to invade you, so put
up here until this morning."
Lionel linked his arm within Captain Cannonby's, and drew him onwards.
The moment of confirmation was come. His mind was in too sad a state to
allow of his beating about the bush; his suspense had been too sharp and
urgent for him to prolong it now. He plunged into the matter at once.
"You have come to bring me some unpleasant news, Captain Cannonby.
Unhappily, it will be news no longer. But you will give me the
confirming particulars."
Captain Cannonby looked as if he did not understand. "Unpleasant news?"
he repeated.
"I speak"--and Lionel lowered his voice--"of Frederick Massingbird. You
know, probably, what I would ask. How long have you been cognisant of
these unhappy facts?"
"I declare, Mr. Verner, I don't know what you mean," was Captain
Cannonby's answer, given in a hearty tone. "To what do you allude?"
Lionel paused. Was it possible that he--Captain Cannonby--was in
ignorance? "Tell me one thing," he said. "Your brother mentioned that
you had heard, as he believed, some news connected with me and--and my
wife, in Paris, which had caused you to hurry home, and come down to
Verner's Pride. What was that news?"
"The news I heard was, that Mrs. Massingbird had become Mrs. Verner. I
had intended to find her out when I got to Europe, if only to apologise
for my negligence in not giving her news of John Massingbird or his
property--which news I could never gather for myself--but I did not know
precisely where she might be. I heard in Paris that she had married you,
and was living at Verner's Pride."
Lionel drew a long breath. "And that was all?"
"That was all."
Then he was in ignorance of it! But, to keep him in ignorance was
impossible. Lionel must ask confirmation or non-confirmation of the
death. With low voice and rapid speech he mentioned the fears and the
facts. Captain Cannonby gathered them in, withdrew his arm from
Lionel's, and stood staring at him.
"Fred Massingbird alive, and come back to England!" he uttered, in
bewildered wonder.
"We cannot think otherwise," replied Lionel.
"Then, Mr. Verner, I tell you that it cannot be. It _cannot_ be, you
understand. I saw him die. I saw him laid in the grave."
They had not walked on. They stood there, looking at each other,
absorbed in themselves, oblivious to the attention that might be fixed
on them from any stray passers-by. At that moment there were no
passers-by to fix it; the bustle of Deerham only began with the houses,
and those they had not yet reached.
"I would give all my future life to believe you," earnestly spoke
Lionel; "to believe that there can be no mistake--for my wife's sake."
"There is no mistake," reiterated Captain Cannonby. "I saw him dead; I
saw him buried. A parson, in the company halting there, read the burial
service over him."
"You may have buried him, fancying he was dead," suggested Lionel,
giving utterance to some of the wild thoughts of his imaginings.
"And--forgive me for bringing forward such pictures--the mistake may
have been discovered in time--and--"
"It could not be," interrupted Captain Cannonby. "I am quite certain he
was dead. Let us allow, if you will, for argument's sake, that he was
not dead when he was put into the ground. Five minutes' lying there,
with the weight of earth upon him, would have effectually destroyed
life; had any been left in him to destroy. There was no coffin, you must
remember."
"No?"
"Parties to the gold-fields don't carry a supply of coffins with them.
If death occurs _en route_, it has to be provided for in the simplest
and most practical form. At least, I can answer that such was the case
with regard to Fred Massingbird. He was buried in the clothes he wore
when he died."
Lionel was lost in abstraction.
"He died at early dawn, just as the sun burst out to illumine the
heavens, and at midday he was buried," continued Captain Cannonby. "I
saw him buried. I saw the earth shovelled in upon him; nay, I helped to
shovel it. I left him there; we all left him, covered over; at rest for
good in this world. Mr. Verner, dismiss this great fear; rely upon it
that he was, and is, dead."
"I wish I could rely upon it!" spoke Lionel. "The fear, I may say the
certainty, has been so unequivocally impressed upon my belief, that a
doubt must remain until it is explained who walks about, bearing his
outward appearance. He was a very remarkable-looking man, you know. The
black mark on his cheek alone would render him so."
"And that black mark is visible upon the cheek of the person who is seen
at night?"
"Conspicuously so. This ghost--as it is taken for--has nearly frightened
one or two lives away. It is very strange."
"Can it be anybody got up to personate Fred Massingbird?"
"Unless it be himself, that is the most feasible interpretation,"
observed Lionel. "But it does not alter the mystery. It is not only in
the face and the black mark that the likeness is discernible, but in
the figure also. In fact, in all points this man bears the greatest
resemblance to Frederick Massingbird--at least, if the eyes of those who
have seen him may be trusted. My own butler saw him last night; the man
passed close before him, turning his face to him in the moment of
passing. He says there can be no doubt that it is Frederick
Massingbird."
Captain Cannonby felt a little staggered. "If it should turn out to be
Frederick Massingbird, all I can say is that I shall never believe
anybody's dead again. It will be like an incident in a drama. I should
next expect my old father to come to life, who has lain these twelve
years past at Kensal Green Cemetery. Does Mrs. Verner know of this?"
"She does, unfortunately. She was told of it during my absence
yesterday. I could have wished it kept from her, until we were at some
certainty."
"Oh, come, Mr. Verner, take heart!" impulsively cried Captain Cannonby,
all the improbabilities of the case striking forcibly upon him. "The
thing is not possible; it is not indeed."
"At any rate, your testimony will be so much comfort for my wife,"
returned Lionel gladly. "It has comforted me. If my fears are not
entirely dispelled, there's something done towards it."
Arrived at the Belvedere Road, Lionel looked about for his carriage. He
could not see it. At that moment Jan turned out of the surgery. Lionel
asked him if he had seen Sibylla.
"She is gone home," replied Jan. "She and Miss Deb split upon some rock,
and Sibylla got into her carriage, and went off in anger."
He was walking away with his usual rapid strides, on his way to some
patient, when Lionel caught hold of him. "Jan, this is Captain Cannonby.
The friend who was with Frederick Massingbird when he died. He assures
me that he is dead. Dead and buried. My brother, Captain Cannonby."
"There cannot be a doubt of it," said Captain Cannonby, alluding to the
death. "I saw him die; I helped to bury him."
"Then who _is_ it that walks about, dressed up as his ghost?" debated
Jan.
"I cannot tell," said Lionel, a severe expression arising to his lips.
"I begin to think with Captain Cannonby; that there can be no doubt that
Frederick Massingbird is dead; therefore, he, it is not. But that it
would be undesirable, for my wife's sake, to make this doubt public, I
would have every house in the place searched. Whoever it may be, he is
concealed in one of them."
"Little doubt of that," nodded Jan. "I'll pounce upon him, if I get the
chance."
Lionel and Captain Cannonby continued their way to Verner's Pride. The
revived hope in Lionel's mind strengthened with every step they took. It
did seem impossible, looking at it from a practical, matter-of-fact
point of view, that a man buried deep in the earth, and supposed to be
dead before he was placed there, could come to life again.
"What a relief for Sibylla!" he involuntarily cried, drawing a long,
relieved breath on his own score. "This must be just one of those cases,
Captain Cannonby, when good Catholics, in the old days, made a vow to
the Virgin of so many valuable offerings, should the dread be removed
and turn out to have been no legitimate dread at all."
"Ay. I should like to be in at the upshot."
"I hope you will be. You must not run away from us immediately. Where's
your luggage?"
Captain Cannonby laughed. "Talk to a returned gold-digger of his
'luggage'! Mine consists of a hand portmanteau, and that is at the
Golden Fleece. I can order it up here if you'd like me to stay with you
a few days. I should enjoy some shooting beyond everything."
"That is settled, then," said Lionel. "I will see that you have your
portmanteau. Did you get rich at the diggings?"
The captain shook his head. "I might have made something, had I stuck at
it. But I grew sick of it altogether. My brother, the doctor, makes a
sight of money, and I can get what I want from him," was the candid
confession.
Lionel smiled. "These rich brothers in reserve are a terrible drag upon
self-exertion. Here we are!" he added, as they turned in at the gates.
"This is Verner's Pride."
"What a fine place!" exclaimed Captain Cannonby, bringing his steps to a
halt as he gazed at it.
"Yes, it is. Not a pleasant prospect, was it, to contemplate the being
turned out of it by a dead man."
"A dead--You do not mean to say that Frederick Massingbird--if in
life--would be the owner of Verner's Pride?"
"Yes, he would be. I was its rightful heir, and why my uncle willed it
away from me, to one who was no blood relation, has remained a mystery
to this day. Frederick Massingbird succeeded, to my exclusion. I only
came into it at his death."
Captain Cannonby appeared completely thunderstruck at the revelation.
"Why, then," he cried, after a pause, "this may supply the very
motive-power that is wanting, for one to personate Fred Massingbird."
"Scarcely," replied Lionel. "No ghost, or seeming ghost, walking about
in secret at night, could get Verner's Pride resigned to him. He must
come forward in the broad face of day, and establish his identity by
indisputable proof."
"True, true. Well, it is a curious tale! I should like, as I say, to
witness the winding-up."
Lionel looked about for his wife. He could not find her. But few of
their guests were in the rooms; they had dispersed somewhere or other.
He went up to Sibylla's dressing-room, but she was not there.
Mademoiselle Benoite was coming along the corridor as he left it again.
"Do you know where your mistress is?" he asked.
"_Mais certainement_," responded mademoiselle. "Monsieur will find madam
at the archerie."
He bent his steps to the targets. On the lawn, flitting amidst the other
fair archers, in her dress of green and gold, was Sibylla. All traces of
care had vanished from her face, her voice was of the merriest, her step
of the fleetest, her laugh of the lightest. Truly, Lionel marvelled.
There flashed into his mind the grieving face of another, whom he had
not long ago parted from; grieving for their woes. Better for his mind's
peace that these contrasts had not been forced so continually upon him.
Could she, in some unaccountable manner, have heard the consoling news
that Cannonby brought? In the first moment, he thought it must be so: in
the next, he knew it to be impossible. Smothering down a sigh, he went
forward, and drew her apart from the rest; choosing that covered walk
where he had spoken to her a day or two previously, regarding Mrs.
Duff's bill. Taking her hands in his, he stood before her, looking with
a reassuring smile into her face.
"What will you give me for some good news, Sibylla?"
"What about?" she rejoined.
"Need you ask? There is only one point upon which news could greatly
interest either of us, just now. I have seen Cannonby. He is here,
and--"
"Here! At Verner's Pride?" she interrupted. "Oh, I shall like to see
Cannonby; to talk over old Australian times with him."
Who was to account for her capricious moods? Lionel remembered the
evening, during the very moon not yet dark to the earth, when Sibylla
had made a scene in the drawing-room, saying she could not bear to hear
the name of Cannonby, or to be reminded of the past days in Melbourne.
She was turning to fly to the house, but Lionel caught her.
"Wait, wait, Sibylla! Will you not hear the good tidings I have for you?
Cannonby says there cannot be a doubt that Frederick Massingbird is
dead. He left him dead and buried, as he told you in Melbourne. We have
been terrified and pained--I trust--for nothing."
"Lionel, look here," said she, receiving the assurance in the same
equable manner that she might have heard him assert it was a fine day,
or a wet one, "I have been making up my mind not to let this bother
worry me. That wretched old maid Deborah went on to me with such rubbish
this morning about leaving you, about leaving Verner's Pride, that she
vexed me to anger. I came home and cried; and Benoite found me lying
upon the sofa; and when I told her what it was, she said the best plan
was, not to mind, to meet it with a laugh, instead of tears--"
"Sibylla!" he interposed in a tone of pain. "You surely did not make a
confidante of Benoite!"
"Of course I did," she answered, looking as if surprised at his
question, his tone. "Why not? Benoite cheered me up, I can tell you,
better than you do. 'What matter to cry?' she asked. 'If he does come
back, you will still be the mistress of Verner's Pride.' And so I
shall."
Lionel let go her hands. She sped off to the house, eager to find
Captain Cannonby. He--her husband--leaned against the trunk of a tree,
bitter mortification in his face, bitter humiliation in his heart. Was
this the wife to whom he had bound himself for ever? Well could he echo
in that moment Lady Verner's reiterated assertion, that she was not
worthy of him. With a stifled sigh that was more like a groan, he turned
to follow her.
"Be still, be still!" he murmured, beating his hand upon his bosom, that
he might still its pain. "Let me bear on, doing my duty by her always in
love!"
That pretty Mrs. Jocelyn ran up to Lionel, and intercepted his path.
Mrs. Jocelyn would have liked to intercept it more frequently than she
did, if she had but received a little encouragement. She tried hard for
it, but it never came. One habit, at any rate, Lionel Verner had not
acquired, amid the many strange examples of an artificial age--that of
not paying considerate respect, both in semblance and reality, to other
men's wives.
"Oh, Mr. Verner, what a truant you are! You never come to pick up our
arrows."
"Don't I?" said Lionel, with his courteous smile. "I will come presently
if I can. I am in search of Mrs. Verner. She is gone in to welcome a
friend who has arrived."
And Mrs. Jocelyn had to go back to the targets alone.