Marlow was soon on horseback, and riding on to the country town. But
he had lingered longer with Emily than he imagined, and the day
declined visibly as he rode along.
"The business hours are over," he thought; "bankers and lawyers will
have abandoned the money-getting and mischief-making toils of the day;
and I must stay at the inn till to-morrow."
He had been riding fast; but he now drew in his rein, and suffered his
horse to walk. The sun was setting gloriously, and the rich, rosy
light, diffused through the air, gave every thing an aspect of warmth,
and richness, and cheerfulness. But Marlow's heart was any thing but
gay. Whether it was that the scenes which he had passed through in
London, his visits to a prison, his dealings with hard official men,
the toiling, moiling crowds that had surrounded him; the wearisome,
eternal, yet ever-changing struggle of life displayed in the streets
and houses of a capital, the infinite varieties of selfishness, and
folly, and vice, and crime, had depressed his spirits, or that his
health had somewhat suffered in consequence of anxious waiting for
events in the foul air of the metropolis, I cannot tell. But certain,
he was sadder than was usual with him. His was a spirit strong and
active, naturally disposed to bright views and happy hopes, too firm
to be easily depressed, too elastic to be long kept down. But yet, as
he rode along, there was a sort of feeling of apprehension upon his
mind that oppressed him mightily. He revolved all that had lately
passed. He compared the state of Mr. Hastings' family, as it actually
was, with what it had been when he first knew it, and there seemed to
be a strange mystery in the change. It had then been all happiness and
prosperity with that household; a calm, grave, thoughtful, but happy
father and husband; a bright, amiable, affectionate mother and wife; a
daughter, to his mind the image of every thing that was sweet, and
gentle, and tender--of every thing that was gay, and sparkling, and
cheerful; full of light and life, and fancy, and hope. Now, there was
a father in prison, deprived of his greatest share of worldly
prosperity, cast down from his station in society, gloomy, desponding,
suspicious, and, as it seemed to him, hardly sane: a mother,
irritable, capricious, peevish, yielding to calamity, and lying on a
bed of sickness, while the bright angel of his love remained to nurse,
and tend, and soothe the one parent, with a heart torn and bleeding
for the distresses of the other. "What have they done to merit all
this?" he asked himself. "What fault, what crime have they committed
to draw down such sorrows on their heads? None--none whatever. Their
lives had been spent in kindly acts and good deeds; they had followed
the precepts of the religion they professed; their lives had been
spent in doing service to their fellow-creatures, and making all happy
around them."
Then again, on the other hand, he saw the coarse, and the low, and the
base, and the licentious prosperous and successful, rising on the
ruins of the pure and the true. Wily schemes and villanous intrigues
obtaining every advantage, and honesty of purpose and rectitude of
action frustrated and cast down.
Marlow was no unbeliever--he was not even inclined to skepticism--but
his mind labored, not without humility and reverence, to see how it
could reconcile such facts with the goodness and providence of God.
"He makes the sun shine upon the just and the unjust, we are told,"
said Marlow to himself; "but here the sun seems to shine upon the
unjust alone, and clouds and tempests hang about the just. It is very
strange, and even discouraging; and yet, all that we see of these
strange, unaccountable dispensations may teach us lessons for
hereafter--may give us the grandest confirmation of the grandest
truth. There must be another world, in which these things will be made
equal--a world where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary
are at rest. We only see in part, and the part we do not see must be
the part which will reconcile all the seeming contradictions between
the justice and goodness of God and the course of this mortal life."
This train pursued him till he reached the town, and put up his horse
at the inn. By that time it was quite dark, and he had tasted nothing
since early in the morning. He therefore ordered supper, and the
landlord, by whom he was now well known--a good, old, honest, country
landlord of the olden time--brought in the meal himself, and waited on
his guest at table. It was so much the custom of gentlemen, in those
days, to order wine whenever they stopped at an inn--it was looked
upon so much as a matter of course that this should be done for the
good of the house--that the landlord, without any direct commands to
that effect, brought in a bottle of his very best old sherry, always a
favorite wine with the English people, though now hardly to be got,
and placed it by the side of his guest. Marlow was by habit no drinker
of much wine. He avoided, as much as in him lay, the deep potations
then almost universal in England; but, not without an object, he that
night gave in to a custom which was very common in England then, and
for many years afterwards, and requested the landlord, after the meal
was over, to sit down, and help him with his bottle.
"You'll need another bottle, if I once begin, Master Marlow," said the
jolly landlord, who was a wag in his way.
Marlow nodded his head significantly, as if he were prepared for the
infliction, replying quietly, "Under the influence of your good chat,
Mr. Cherrydew, I can bear it, I think."
"Well, that's hearty," said the landlord, drawing a chair sideways to
the table; for his vast rotundity prevented him from approaching it
full front. "Here's to your very good health, sir, and may you never
drink worse wine, sit in a colder room, or have a sadder companion."
Now I have said that Marlow did not invite the landlord to join him,
without an object. That object was to obtain information, and it had
struck him even while the trout, which formed the first dish at his
supper, was being placed on the table, that he might be able, if
willing, to afford it.
Landlords in England at that time--I mean, of course, in country
towns--were very different in many respects, and of a different class
from what they are at present. In the first place, they were not fine
gentlemen: in the next place, they were not discharged valets de
chambre, or butlers, who, having cheated their masters handsomely, and
perhaps laid them under contribution in many ways, retire to enjoy the
fat things at their ease in their native town. Then, again, they were
on terms of familiar intercourse with two or three classes, completely
separate and distinct from each other--a sort of connecting link
between them. At their door the justice of the peace, the knight of
the shire, the great man of the neighborhood, dismounted from his
horse, and had his chat with mine host. There came the village lawyer
when he had gained a cause, or won a large fee, or had been paid a
long bill, to indulge in his pint of sherry, and gossipped, as he
drank it, of all the affairs of his clients. There sneaked in the
Doctor to get his glass of eau de vie, or plague water, or aqua
mirabilis, or strong spirits, in short of any other denomination, and
tell little dirty anecdotes of his cases, and his patients. There the
alderman, the wealthy shop-keeper, and the small proprietor, or the
large farmer, came to take his cheerful cup on Saturdays or on
market-day. But, besides these, the inn was the resort, though
approached by another door, of a lower and a poorer class, with whom
the landlord was still upon as good terms as with the others. The
wagoner, the carter, the lawyer's and the banker's clerk, the shopman,
the porter even, all came there; and it mattered not to Mr. Cherrydew
or his confraternity, whether it was a bowl of punch, a draught of
ale, a glass of spirits, or a bottle of old wine that his guests
demanded; he was civil, and familiar, and chatty with them all.
Thus under the rosy and radiant face of Mr. Cherrydew, and in that
good, round, fat head, was probably accumulated a greater mass of
information, regarding the neighborhood in which he lived, and all
that went on therein, than in any other head, in the whole town, and
the only difficulty was to extract that part of the store which was
wanted.
Marlow knew that it would not do to approach the principal subject of
inquiry rashly; for Mr. Cherrydew, like most of his craft, was
somewhat cautious, and would have shut himself up in silent reserve,
or enveloped himself in intangible ambiguities, if he had known
that his guest had any distinct and important object in his
questions--having a notion that a landlord should be perfectly
cosmopolitan in all his feelings and his actions, and should never
commit himself in such a manner as to offend any one who was, had
been, or might be his guest. He was fond of gossip, it is true,
loved a jest, and was not at all blind to the ridiculous in the
actions of his neighbors; but habitual caution was in continual
struggle with his merry, tattling disposition, and he was generally
considered a very safe man.
Marlow, therefore, began at a great distance, saying, "I have just
come down from London, Mr. Cherrydew, and rode over, thinking that I
should arrive in time to catch my lawyer in his office."
"That is all over now, sir, for the night," replied the landlord. "In
this, two-legged foxes differ from others: they go to their holes at
sunset, just when other foxes go out to walk. They divide the world
between them, Master Marlow; the one preys by day, the other by
night.--Well, I should like to see Lunnun. It must be a grand place,
sir, though somewhat of a bad one. Why, what a number of executions I
have read of there lately, and then, this Sir John Fenwick's business.
Why, he changed horses here, going to dine with Sir Philip, as I shall
call him to the end of my days. Ah, poor gentleman, he has been in
great trouble! But I suppose, from what I hear, he'll get clear now?"
"Beyond all doubt," said Marlow; "the Government have no case against
him. But you say very true, Mr. Cherrydew, there has been a sad number
of executions in London--seven and twenty people hanged, at different
times, while I was there."
"And the town no better," said Mr. Cherrydew.
"By the way," said Marlow, "were you not one of the jury at the trial
of that fellow, Tom Cutter?--Fill your glass, Mr. Cherrydew."
"Thank you, sir.--Yes I was, to be sure," answered the landlord; "and
I'll tell you the funniest thing in the world that happened the second
day. Lord bless you, sir, I was foreman,--and on the first day the
judge suffered the case to go on till his dinner was quite cold, and
we were all half starved; but he saw that he could not hang him that
night, at all events--here's to your health, sir!--so he adjourned the
Court, and called for a constable, and ordered all of us, poor devils,
to be locked up tight in Jones's public-house till the next day; for
the jury room is so small, that there is not standing-room for more
than three such as me. Well, the other men did not much like it,
though I did not care,--for I had my boots full of ham, and a
brandy-bottle in my breeches-pocket. One of them asked the judge, for
all his great black eyebrows, if he could'nt go on that night; but his
lordship answered, with a snort like a cart horse, and told us to hold
our tongues, and mind our own business, and only to take care and keep
ourselves together. Well, sir, we had to walk up the hill, you know,
and there was the constable following us with his staff in his hand;
so I had compassion on my poor fellow-sufferers, and I whispered,
first to one, then to another, that this sort of jog would never do,
but I would manage to tell them how to have a good night's rest. You
see, says I, here's but one constable to thirteen people, so when you
get to the cross-roads, let every man take up his legs and run, each
his own way. He can but catch one, and the slowest runner will have
the chance. Now, I was the fattest of them all, you see, so that every
one of them thought that I should be the man. Well, sir, they followed
my advice; but it's a different thing to give advice, and take it. No
sooner did we get to the cross-roads, than they scattered like a heap
of dust in the wind, some down the roads and lanes, some over the
styles and gates, some through the hedges. Little Sninkum, the tailor,
stuck in the hedge by the way, and was the man caught, for he was
afraid of his broadcloth; but I stood stock still, with a look of
marvellous astonishment, crying out, 'For God's sake catch them,
constable, or what will my lord say to you and me?' Off the poor devil
set in a moment, one man to catch twelve, all over the face of the
country. He thought he was sure enough of me; but what did I do I why,
as soon as he was gone, I waddled home to my own house, and got my
wife to put me to bed up-stairs, and pass me for my grandfather. Well,
sir, that's not the best of it yet. We were all in Court next day at
the right hour, and snug in the jury-box before the judge came in; but
I have a notion he had heard something of the matter. He looked mighty
hard at Sninkum, whose face was all scratched to pieces, and opening
his mouth with a pop, like the drawing of a cork, he said, 'Why, man,
you look as if you and your brethren had been fighting!' and then he
looked as hard at me, and roared, 'I hope, gentlemen, you have kept
yourselves together?' Thereupon, I laid my two hands upon my stomach,
sir,--it weighs a hundred and a half, if it were cut off to-morrow, as
I know to my cost, who carry it--and I answered quite, respectful, 'I
can't answer for the other gentlemen, my lord, but I'll swear I've
kept myself together.' You should have heard how the Court rang with
the people laughing, while I remained as grave as a judge, and much
graver than the one who was there; for I thought he would have burst
before he was done, and a fine mess that would have made."
Serious as his thoughts were, Marlow could not refrain from smiling;
but he did not forget his object, and remarked, "There were efforts
made to save that scoundrel, and the present Sir John Hastings
certainly did his best for his friend."
"Call him John Ayliffe, sir, call him John Ayliffe," said the host.
"Here's to you, sir,--he's never called any thing else here."
"I wonder," said Marlow, musingly, "if there was any relationship
between this Tom Cutter and John Ayliffe's mother?"
"Not a pin's point of it, sir," replied the landlord. "They were just
two bad fellows together; that was the connection between them, and
nothing else."
"Well, John stood by his friend, at all events," said Marlow; "though
where he got the money to pay the lawyers in that case, or in his suit
against Sir Philip, is a marvel to me."
Mine host winked his eye knowingly, and gave a short laugh.
That did not entirely suit Marlow's purpose, and he added in a musing
tone, "I know that he wanted to borrow ten pounds two or three months
before, but was refused, because he had not repaid what he had
borrowed of the same party, previously."
"Ay, ay, sir," said the landlord; "there are secrets in all things. He
got money, and money enough, somehow, just about that time. He has not
repaid it yet, either, but he has given a mortgage, I hear, for the
amount; and if he don't mortgage his own carcase for it too, I am very
much mistaken, before he has done."
"Mortgage his own carcase! I do not understand what you mean," replied
Marlow. "I am sure I would not give a shilling for that piece of
earth."
"A pretty widow lady, not a hundred miles off, may think differently,"
replied the landlord, grinning again, and filling his glass once more.
"Ah, ha," said Marlow, trying to laugh likewise; "so you think she
advanced the money, do you?"
"I am quite sure of it, sir," said Mr. Cherrydew, nodding his head
profoundly. "I did not witness the mortgage, but I know one who did."
"What! Shanks' clerk, I suppose," said Marlow.
"No, sir, no," replied the landlord; "Shanks did not draw the
mortgage, either; for he was lawyer to both parties, and Mrs. Hazleton
didn't like that;--O, she's cute enough!"
"I think you must be mistaken," said Marlow, in a decided tone; "for
Mrs. Hazleton assured me, when there was a question between herself
and me, that she was not nearly as rich as she was supposed, and that
if the law should award me back rents, it would ruin her."
"Gammon, sir!" replied the landlord, who had now imbibed a sufficient
quantity of wine, in addition to sundry potations during the day. "I
should not have thought you a man to be so easily hooked, Mr. Marlow;
but if you will ask the clerk of Doubledoo and Kay, who was down here,
staying three or four days about business, you'll find that she
advanced every penny, and got a mortgage for upwards of five thousand
pounds;--but I think we had better have that other bottle, sir?"
"By all means," said Marlow, and Mr. Cherrydew rolled away to fetch
it.
"By the way, what was that clerk's name you mentioned?"
"Sims, sir, Sims," said the landlord, drawing the cork; and then
setting down the bottle on the table, he added, with a look of great
contempt, "he's the leetlest little man you ever saw, sir, not so tall
as my girl Dolly, and with no more stomach than a currycomb, a sort of
cross breed between a monkey and a penknife. He's as full of fun as
the one, too, and as sharp as the other. He will hold a prodigious
quantity of punch, though, small as he is. I could not fancy where he
put it all, it must have gone into his shoes."
"Come, come, Mr. Cherrydew," said Marlow, laughing, "do not speak
disrespectfully of thin people--I am not very fat myself."
"Lord bless you, sir, you are quite a fine, personable man; and in
time, with a few butts, you would be as fine a man as I am."
Marlow devoutly hoped not, but he begged Mr. Cherrydew to sit down
again, and do his best to help him through the wine he had brought;
and out of that bottle came a great many things which Marlow wanted
much more than the good sherry which it contained.