There had been busy doings at the Castle, and Merland village was in an
intense state of excitement. Old Chunt--Jonathan Chunt, who kept the
"Black Bull"--said that there was to be some life in the place at last.
He knew, for he had it from Mr Gurdon--old Gurdon's lad, but _Mr_
Gurdon now, and an awfully big man in his master's estimation. He was
butler now, and had come over to superintend the getting in order of the
place, for Sir Murray was fond of company, and there were to be no end
of gaieties at the Castle. Mr Gurdon was setting the old servants to
rights and no mistake, for he'd got full power, and they hadn't had such
a waking up for long enough. Why, what with company's servants coming
down to the "Bull," and post-horses now and then, and one thing and
another, it would be a little fortune to him, Chunt said. Time there
was a change, too: keeping a house like that shut up for the rats to
scamper across the floors, was injuring the trade of the village, where
there was no one else but the old people at the Rectory, and them
Nortons, who might just as well be a hundred miles off, shutting
themselves up as they did.
Chunt knew, and he imparted his knowledge, with no end of nods and
winks, to his fellow-tradesmen, as he termed them--to wit, Huttoft, the
saddler, who made nothing but harness, and Mouncey, the baker, when they
came in for a glass.
"And if here ain't Mr Gurdon himself!" exclaimed Chunt, one evening,
when he had been distilling information to a select knot of customers.
"Take a chair, Mr Gurdon, sir. Glad to see you this evening. Very
curious coincidence, sir: we were just talking about you and your
people;" which was indeed most remarkable, considering that nothing else
had been talked of in the village for weeks past. "What'll you take,
sir? only give it a name. Quite an honour to have you distinguished
furreners amongst us."
Mr Gurdon smiled and rubbed his hands; but, evidently considering that
he had mistaken his position, he frowned the next moment, and nodded
condescendingly to the tradesmen and little yeomen present. Certainly
they had, several of them, known him as a boy; but then he had risen in
the world, and deserved their respect; besides which, look at the
patronage he could bestow. So Mr Gurdon frowned, coughed, and looked
important; but, finding that room was made for him, and that incense in
abundance was being prepared in his behalf, he condescended to take a
seat, and gave what he would take the name of sherry, with which he
smoked a cigar, whose aroma whispered strongly of the box from which it
had been taken.
Mr Gurdon's presence, though, did not tend to the increase of comfort
in the party assembled, for the gentleman's gentleman seemed to have
imbibed a considerable portion of his master's dignity, sitting there
very haughty and reserved, while, the flow of conversation being
stopped, the rest sat still, smoked, breathed hard, and stared.
But Chunt was satisfied, and he winked and nodded, and whispered behind
his hand most mysteriously as he took orders from one and another. He
expected that Mr Gurdon would thaw in time with a little management,
and, putting on his diplomatic cap, he set to work by asking his advice.
"That sherry's not much account, Mr Gurdon, sir," he said, in a
whisper; "but it's the best I've got to offer you. The long and short
of it is, sir, we can't order enough, in a little house like this, to
make a wine-merchant care about sending it good; but I've got a few
gallons of brandy down now that I should just like you to try, and give
me your opinion. You see, it isn't every day as one has a gent in as
understands such things; but you, being used to your cellar, and having
good stuff in your bins, yours is an opinion one would like to have.
There, sir, now just taste that," said Chunt, filling a liqueur-glass
from a big stone bottle; "that's, between ourselves, just as it comes--
untouched, you know. I'll mix you a glass hot; but just give me your
opinion on it as it is."
Mr Gurdon was touched in a weak place, for, though his cellar knowledge
was almost nil, it was not worth while to say so. Incense was nice--
almost as nice as brandy, so accepting Chunt's glass, and confidential
wink, he tasted the brandy--tasted it again, and then agreed that it
wasn't bad, only it wanted age.
"The very words as my spirit-merchant says to me, sir," said Chunt. "If
that brandy had age, sir, it wouldn't be surpassed anywhere."
Mr Gurdon felt better, and agreed with one of the visitors present that
they wanted rain. Then, after finishing the neat brandy, he commenced
the stiff tumbler of hot grog placed before him by Chunt, toyed with the
end of his cigar; and, finding a general disposition to pay him respect,
and to call him "sir," he gradually unbent--more swiftly, perhaps, than
he would have done--under the influence of the brandy and water, for
which he had a decided weakness, the potent spirit unlocking, or, as
Chunt told his wife, oiling the butlers tongue, so that he gratified the
curiosity of the Merlandites that evening to a considerable extent. And
there was no lack of brandy and water that night: every one drank it,
doing as Mr Gurdon did; and there was quite a struggle amongst the
little traders for the honour of "standing" Mr Gurdon's next glass, the
most eager of them, so as not to be outdone, requesting Chunt to fill it
again, while it was yet but half empty.
"And do you like furren parts, Mr Gurdon, sir?" said Chunt, setting the
ball rolling.
"Pretty well--pretty well," said Gurdon. "On the whole, perhaps, better
than England. Society's higher there--more titles."
"I suppose Mr Gurdon ain't brought home a Hightalian wife," said
Huttoft.
Mr Gurdon did not quite approve of this; and Huttoft had to suffer the
frowns of the whole company.
"And so, after all these years, Mr Gurdon, sir," said Mouncey, who was
in high spirits with the prospect of bread supplying, "you haven't
brought us home a heir to the Castle."
"No," said Mr Gurdon; "and it's my opinion as there'll never be one."
"Turned out a happy match, and all that sort of thing, though, I
suppose?" said Mouncey.
"Happy! yes, I should think so. Sir Murray worships her, and she's
never happy unless he's along with her, or else going hunting weeds and
grass and moss in the hills. Lor' bless you! it's wonderful what a
happy pair they are. Awfully jealous man, though, Sir Murray--nearly
had a duel with a foreign Count, who wanted to be too attentive to my
lady; but when my gentleman found as master meant fight, he cooled down,
and made an apology."
"Ladyship changed much?" said Chunt.
"Well, no; not much," said Gurdon. "We all look older at the end of
five years. She always was pale, and perhaps she is a bit thinner than
when she went away. But there, you'll see her safe enough before long;
they'll be home to-morrow, and she'll be always out, either riding or
walking."
"I used to fancy that things wouldn't turn out happily after that
set-out at the church door," said Huttoft, venturing another remark.
"Of course you know as Mr Norton's settled down at the Hall?--married
Miss Lee, you know. Good customer of mine, too."
"Ah, yes; we know all about that," said Gurdon, sarcastically. "Her
ladyship was frightened, of course; and enough to frighten any lady, to
see a mad-brain fellow rush at her like that. Boy and girl love affair,
that's what that was. Them sort of things never come to nought; and
look how soon he got over it and married. Her ladyship was upset about
it, though, when she got the news. She was fond of her cousin, you
know, Miss Lee, and you may say what you like here, but we got the right
tale over abroad about that Captain Norton shooting her; while, when her
ladyship heard that her cousin had been foolish enough to marry him, she
had a brain fever, and was bad for weeks. No wonder, neither. He must
be half-cracked with sunstroke or drink. They do say them Indy officers
drink hard. Well, just one more, gents, and this must be the last."
Mr Mouncey could not help siding with the butler, for he happened to
know that Captain Norton was a bit queer at times, as the servants had
told him more than once, going rushing off to all parts without saying a
word to anybody, not even to Mrs Norton; and he couldn't quite see
through it, unless it was, as Mr Gurdon said, the Captain was, after
all, a bit touched.
"By the way, though," said Chunt, "isn't he taking up with that Iron
Company?"
"Iron!" said Gurdon, thickly. "No iron about here."
"Oh yes," said Huttoft; "they've found a bed, and there's some talk of
trying to work it, bringing coal by canal, but I can't see as it will
answer."
Soon after this the conversation became general upon the future of the
iron, the company being divided, some declaring for riches to those who
took shares in the company, others prognosticating that the shareholders
would find the iron too hot to hold, and would burn their fingers in a
way not to be forgotten. But, at last, remembrances of frowning wives
sitting up for absent lords brought the hour into serious consideration,
and, after glasses round, the enthusiastic party insisted upon seeing
Mr Gurdon home, which they did to the lodge gates, parting from him
most affectionately, though it might have been better had they continued
their escort until he reached his normal bed, the one he chose, when
left to himself, being a bed of verbenas, where he was found, covered
with dew, at early morning, by Alexander McCray, one of the
under-gardeners, who did not fail to treasure up the circumstance
against the next time he might be snubbed.
Book 1, Chapter XI.