Mr Chunt presided over a good many discussions in his parlour, where
farmer and tradesman met to talk over the course of events during the
first few weeks. The subject of Lady Gernon's disappearance was tabooed
by general consent. It was not the first event of the kind that had
happened through badly-assorted marriages, and wouldn't be the last,
said the baker, sententiously; and then it was acknowledged by general
consent that money didn't make happiness, and that there was a deal of
wickedness in this world.
Upon another night Mr Chunt took to bewailing in public the injury done
to his trade, by the shutting up of the Castle.
"Looks a reg'lar devastation, gentlemen," he said; "things all in
holland, shutters closed, stables locked up, and all just as if it
didn't belong to nobody."
"Oh, Sir Murray will be back one of these days," said a small farmer,
cheerfully, "and then trade will brighten up again; meanwhile, you must
be contented with our custom, Chunt. He'll tire of foreign parts,
you'll see."
"Don't hear any likelihood of Mrs Norton going, I suppose?" said one.
"Not she, poor little woman; she even looks quite cheerful, and is
always out with that little boy of hers. Noble little chap he grows!"
"Ah!" said another, "he played his cards well, the Captain did. He
hadn't been gone long before there was two couples down to arrest him--
two parties, one after the other. Stopped here, they did.
Post-chaises: come down in style. Didn't they, Chunt?" The landlord
nodded in confirmation. "Just got away in time. Pity, though. He'd
have been a bonny man if it hadn't been for his disappointment, and
those iron shares. It was on account of his being director, and
answerable for a good deal, I suppose, that the bailiffs wanted him."
A week passed, and then Chunt, who had been waiting to have a good full
audience, brought out a large auctioneer's posting bill, and laid it
before his customers as a surprise.
"What d'yer think of that, gentlemen, eh?" he said. "Merland will be
another place soon. There's poor old Gurdon and poor old Barker both
dead within the last four-and-twenty hours, and now that's been sent to
me to stick up in the bar. Read it out, Mr Mouncey."
The baker put on his spectacles, and read aloud the list of the "elegant
and superior household furniture and effects, to be sold by auction,
without reserve, at Merland Rectory, by direction of the Reverend Henry
Elstree, who was leaving the place."
"Chunt's about right," said Huttoft, the saddler: "the place won't be
the same, soon. The old people at the Rectory ain't looked the same,
since I saw them coming back that day from the Hall--the day after Lady
Gernon elop--disappeared."
"Well, gentlemen," said the landlord, "I believe I'm as sorry as any one
present; but it's no use to fret for other folks' troubles. I propose
that we have glasses round of brandy hot, gentlemen, for I feel quite
sinking."
"Do you pay, Chunt?" said Mouncey, jocosely.
"There ain't a man present as would be more free, gentlemen," said the
landlord, "if I could; but, I put it to the company, with the present
fall off in my trade, am I able?"
"No--no!" was chorused; and, the glasses being filled, Jonathan Chunt
proposed a toast which was drunk with acclamation, and the landlord's
toast was:
"Gentlemen, here's to happier times!"
End of Book I.
Book 2, Chapter I.