RETURN HOME--CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES--HOW THEY WERE INTERRUPTED--THE HEIR
OF BLOXHOLME MISSING--DAME MARLOW'S REVENGE--ARTHUR HAVILAND GOES IN
SEARCH OF HIS FRIEND.
There were great rejoicings when just before Christmas time Digby's
jovial, smiling, and sunburnt countenance beamed forth in the hall of
Bloxholme. How pleased were his father and mother to see him--how
delighted Kate was--how fondly she kissed him, and how eagerly she asked
him, as soon as he could, to come and tell her about everything. Gusty
shouted and cheered as if some great event had occurred--so it had to
him--for one of the most important personages he had ever known, had
just returned, after a long absence, to the home of his ancestors. John
Pratt came to the door, hat in hand, grinning all over with glee, and
eagerly helped the coachman to unstrap Digby's trunk and play-box.
Alesbury, the butler, looked benignly at him--"Glad to see you, Master
Digby, very glad, that I am," he exclaimed, in his usual well-bred
undertone; "so grown too, you are. Well, we've all sorts of things
ready for the holidays--very glad to see you, very." Mrs Carter
hurried out of the housekeeper's room to welcome him, and after shaking
hands and looking at him proudly for a minute, she gave way to the
feelings of her heart, and seizing him in her arms, covered his cheeks
with kisses. Nurse treated him much in the same way. He was too happy
to resent the indignity, though he did rub his cheeks pretty hard
afterwards with his handkerchief, when they were not looking. His two
elder sisters were out riding when he arrived. When they came back they
gave him as hearty a welcome as the rest of the family. Miss Apsley,
too, in her quiet ladylike way, expressed her pleasure at seeing him.
Her discernment enabled her to discover that he possessed many qualities
which, if properly directed, would make him both generally liked, and a
useful member of society. She liked him because she thought that he was
an honest true-hearted, English boy.
Digby had good reason, therefore, to be satisfied with the reception he
met with from every member of the family after this his first absence
from home. So he was, and he felt that he was a very happy fellow.
Still more full of glee was he, when he at length having been
sufficiently looked at, and talked to, and cross questioned, and kissed,
and hugged, and fed, found himself running through the grounds, with
Kate by his side, towards their favourite resort, the summer-house on
the mound.
It was a bright clear day, and though the air was cold, the sun striking
through the glass windows for several hours made the room warm and
pleasant. Then looking out together at the view, which, even in winter,
was beautiful, Digby told Kate of all that had happened him at Mr
Nugent's. How she did laugh at the idea of firing off the old guns at
the Castle, though she very nearly cried with horror when he described
how they had burst, and how narrowly he and Julian had escaped being
killed.
Digby touched very lightly on Julian's behaviour, but he could not help
saying enough to make Kate exclaim--
"Oh, I hate him!--mean-spirited, disagreeable boy. I hope papa will not
ask him here again. I never liked him--I did not know why--now I guess
the reason."
Kate then told Digby that all sorts of preparations had been made for
his amusement during the holidays, and that several people, young and
old, had been invited to come to the house.
"And who do you think is among them?" she asked. "Somebody you will be
very glad to see, and whom I never saw. I begged that I might be the
first to tell you, because I know that it will give you so much
pleasure."
Digby guessed all sorts of people, but gave it up at last. Perhaps he
knew how much Kate would like to tell him.
"Then I won't leave you longer in doubt," she exclaimed, eagerly.
"Arthur Haviland is coming."
"You don't say so," said Digby, clapping his hands. "How very jolly."
"Yes, he is, though," cried Kate. "Papa, it seems, knew Mr Haviland,
who wrote to him about your having helped to pull Arthur out of the sea,
and then they found that they were old friends, and so it was arranged
that Arthur should come here for your holidays. Who else do you suppose
is coming? I'll tell you, as you are not in a guessing mood to-day.
Cousin Giles. We could not get on this Christmas without him, I'm sure.
He'll manage everything. He'll direct all our games in the evening,
and settle about all the sports in the morning for you boys. We were
quite anxious till we knew that he would come; now I am certain that
everything will go smoothly."
"Capital! how jolly!" exclaimed Digby.
Everything which promised to be pleasant was jolly with him. If he had
been asked what was the most jolly thing in existence, he would have
answered--his sister Kate.
Cousin Giles and Arthur Haviland were to arrive the very next day, and
several other people who had sons with them were coming before
New-year's-day, so that the house would be full from the top to the
bottom.
Kate had another surprise for Digby. After they had had their
confabulation, and the sinking sun warned them that it was time to
return home, she led him round the back way, under pretence of showing
him the dogs and some young pups Juno had produced. By chance, it
appeared, as she passed the stables, she threw open the door, and there
stood John Pratt, grinning with pleasure, and holding by the head a
beautiful little pony, with a new bridle and saddle on.
"Oh Kate, how kind, how delightful, how jolly!" exclaimed Digby. "Is
that really for me? What a beauty. What grand gallops I'll have on
him, and go out with you on your Tiny. It is of all things just what I
should have liked the best, if I had been asked. What is his name? I
hope that it is a pretty one."
"Guess," said Kate, who, although Digby never had guessed anything in
his life, always persisted in making him try and do so.
"Oh, I can't! Angel, or Fairy, or Beauty, or something of that sort,"
he answered.
"You burn, you burn--something very nice," cried Kate. "Well, then, if
you give it up I'll tell you--Sweetlips. We didn't give him the name.
It was what he was called by the person from whom papa bought him, but
as he knows it, and will follow like a dog when he is called, we did not
like to change it."
"It's a funny name for a pony, but as he has got it, we will still call
him by it, and I shall like it very much," answered Digby. "But I say,
John Pratt, can't I have a gallop on him at once across the park? I
won't be ten minutes away, and it would be so delightful."
"I sees no reason again it, Master Digby," replied John; "I thought as
how you'd be liking it, and so I put the new saddle on him, which the
Squire sent and made me buy for you."
"Says he, `John, our Digby will be coming to cover with me, to see the
hounds throw off, and he'll be by my side I hope when I go a coursing;
and I wish him to appear as my son should appear, John.' This was afore
we bought the pony. I heard of it, and I was certain that it would just
do, so the Squire told me to go and settle for it at once, and not to
stand on price, and right glad I was when I brought back Master
Sweetlips; and says the Squire, `I never saw a greater beauty in my
life, John. He'll just do for our boy. Now go and buy a new saddle and
bridle to fit him. You can judge of what it ought to be just as well as
I can.' Wasn't I proud; and so, Master Digby, here he is, all your own.
And here's a new whip I bought at the same time. The Squire didn't
tell me to get that, but if you'll accept it from an old man, you'll
make his heart right glad."
"Oh, thank you, John--thank you, John Pratt," exclaimed Digby, his heart
so swelling with kindly and grateful feelings that the tears almost came
into his eyes. "You run in, Kate, and say I'll be back directly, but I
must have a gallop on Sweetlips."
John had been assisting him to mount, and adjusting his stirrups all the
time. Away trotted the young heir of Bloxholme, and truly he looked the
worthy scion of a sturdy race. John Pratt stood outside the yard gate,
watching him with admiration, and Kate remained on the upper step of the
hall-door, gazing at him with affectionate interest, till he was lost to
sight among the trees, and the sound of his pony's hoofs died away in
the distance.
"He is a dear fellow!" she exclaimed, as at length she entered the
house, and ran up stairs to prepare for dinner. She was to dine late
that day in honour of Digby's arrival. She anticipated a delightful
evening. He would have so much to tell her, so much to talk about--she
felt so proud of him. He looked so well--so manly, she thought, and was
so much improved in every way. Kate dressed and came down to the
drawing-room long before dinner-time, that she might have another talk
with Digby. He had not made his appearance, so she sat down and took up
a book, thinking that he would come soon. Miss Apsley appeared next.
Kate remarked that she thought Digby was a long time dressing for
dinner. She ran up to his room, but he was not there. When she came
back, expecting to find that he had in the mean time come to the
drawing-room, she felt blank at not seeing him.
"He probably is with your papa or mamma, dear," observed the governess;
"it is scarcely fair to wish to monopolise his society."
"No, I will not; of course everybody will wish to speak to him," said
Kate, and she resumed her book.
In a few minutes, however, she laid it down again.
"It is very odd that he does not come," exclaimed Kate; "I must go and
find him."
She ran again to his room. His evening clothes and shoes were put out,
the hot-water jug was on his wash-hand stand untouched, and his
hair-brushes were in order on the dressing-table. He evidently had not
been there to dress. She ran to her father's room, and then to her
mother's and sisters', but he was not with them.
"Then he must be with Mrs Carter," she said to herself, and away she
ran to the housekeeper's room, but Mrs Carter had not seen him nor was
he in the nursery.
She was in hopes that he might have gone to play with Gusty before he
went to bed. Coming back she met Alesbury, and begged him to send to
the stables to ascertain if Digby was still there. Hoping that her
brother might have gone into the drawing-room during her absence, she
returned there. Her father was standing before the fire, her mother and
sisters were sitting down on sofas and comfortable chairs, attempting to
snatch a few minutes light reading in that generally very idle portion
of the day.
"Kate, where is Digby?" asked her father, as she entered.
"I have been looking for him, papa, but I cannot find him," she
answered.
"He has forgotten the dinner-hour, and is still renewing his
acquaintance with the horses and dogs," said the Squire, adjusting his
cravat.
He poked the fire, turned himself about before it once or twice, and
then took up the newspaper. While thus occupied, the footman abruptly
entered the room with a startled expression:--
"Mr Alesbury sent me out to the stable to bring in Master Digby, sir,"
he exclaimed in a hurried tone; "I went, sir, but neither John Pratt nor
any of the men could I see; and while I was there the new pony came
trotting in by himself with the reins hanging over his head."
"What is this, what is this I hear?" cried Mr Heathcote, in a state of
great agitation, running to the hall-door.
He was going out, he scarcely knew where, when Alesbury came into the
hall, and handed him his hat.
"You will put on your coat, sir; the evening is cold. We don't know
where Master Digby is," he said in a tone which showed that he also was
much agitated.
Meantime Mrs Heathcote, who had not exactly understood the footman's
announcement, was very much alarmed.
"Has Digby been thrown? is he hurt? where is he?" she asked, hurriedly,
trying to go out into the hall, but her elder daughters and Miss Apsley
held her back, thinking that it was much better to keep her quiet till
they could ascertain what had really happened.
Kate had followed her father out of the room; she thought that she would
at once set off to find Digby; she flew up into her room to put on her
walking things.
Into the hall speedily hurried Mrs Carter, and nurse, and all the
servants. Everybody was asking questions which no one was able to
answer. Neither John Pratt nor any of the other men had yet come back.
Mr Heathcote, telling Thomas the footman to attend on him, seized a
thick stick, and set out in the direction he understood Digby had gone
with the pony. He had no definite plan; he forgot that it would have
been wiser had he remained at home to have directed the search, and
heard the reports of those sent to look for his son.
Kate came down prepared for her expedition soon after her father had
gone out and disappeared in the darkness. She wanted to follow, but she
did not know which way he had gone, and Alesbury, who thought that she
ought not to go out, would not tell her.
"I will go," she exclaimed vehemently; "I have as good eyes as anybody,
and I am as likely to see him."
Eleanor and Mary came out several times to make inquiries, and then
Alesbury and Mrs Carter were summoned into the drawing-room to state
all they knew and had heard. All anybody could say was, that Master
Digby galloped off on his new pony, and that when John Pratt and the
other men found that he did not come back, they set off to look for him.
They must have missed his pony, because the pony came back by itself.
As soon as Kate saw that she was not watched, she opened the hall-door,
and slipping out, closed it behind her unperceived. Then down the steps
she went, and away she ran as fast as her light feet could carry her
along the path she had seen Digby go. She could not bear to think that
any very serious injury had happened to him, but she fancied that he had
been thrown from his pony and stunned; or, perhaps, that his ankle might
have been sprained or broken, and that he was, in consequence, unable to
walk home.
The sky had become overcast and the night was very dark. Poor little
Kate ran on, looking anxiously on every side and calling out Digby's
name.--Snow, too, began to fall, and came down in large flakes on hat
face. For herself she did not care, she did not feel the cold, but she
thought of dear Digby, lying on the bare ground; and, perhaps, unable to
move or to call out. Perhaps he might have attempted to leap, and got
thrown, or his pony might have stumbled. Still it appeared so
sure-footed and sagacious a beast, that that could scarcely have
happened.
"Oh Digby, Digby, where are you?" she every now and then cried out in a
piteous tone.
Not a ditch nor a recess in the road of any sort, escaped her
scrutinising glance. But no Digby replied, no sign of him could she
discover. On she went, it appeared that she had got a long way from
home. The road, and the country seemed strange to her; she had scarcely
ever been out at night during her life; she did not like to turn back,
but she began to fear that she might be looking for him in one
direction, while he might have gone another. She had just begun to
think this, when a snow-flake fell on something shining on the ground,
she stooped down, and she found that it was Digby's whip. She had no
doubt about it.
"He must be near! he must be near!" she exclaimed. "Digby, Digby,
answer, where are you? it is Kate calls you. Digby, dear. Brother,
brother, speak to me. Oh do! do speak, Digby, just one word that I may
know where to look for you. It is so dark that I cannot see you.
Digby, Digby, brother, brother, speak!" she screamed out almost
frantically.
No answer came to her repeated calls.
"He must have dropped his whip as the pony was galloping on," she
thought; "he may have gone further than this before he fell; and yet
Digby was not likely to be thrown off; no boy of his age rides better."
So again the brave little girl ran on, crying out his name as before.
Oh, what a loving affectionate sister was Kate, well worthy to be
cherished. I fully believe that there are many such who would do the
same, if occasion required, for their brothers' sakes. She did not feel
faint, or fatigued, or cold; she did not think of herself, all her
thoughts were for Digby, as she pictured him lying maimed on the cold
ground. The snow fell thickly, the north wind blew keenly, she did not
feel it herself, but she thought he did. She would have run on crying
out Digby's name till daylight, or till nature had given way and she had
sunk on the ground. She heard footsteps coming along the road.
"Oh, can you tell me anything of my brother Digby?" she cried out, "Mr
Heathcote's son, he is lost. He rode away and has not come back."
"Mercy on me, my sweet Miss Kate, is this you?" exclaimed a voice near
her. It was that of John Pratt.
"Dear, oh dear, we mustn't be a losing two on you in one day. We cannot
find him, Miss Kate; but bear up, dear. It will break my heart, that it
will; but that's no matter. We be a going back to get lanterns and
torches, and more people, to help in the search. The Squire will be for
sending out all the men and boys from the village to look for him. He
must be somewhere, and not far off, that's my opinion. But come along
back, Miss Kate; you'll be catching your death of cold, and they'll be
wondering what has become of you next at the Hall."
John Pratt spoke so rapidly that Kate had not been able to put in a
word. She at last told him that she had found Digby's whip not far from
where they were, and that she should know the spot by some high trees of
peculiar form, which were near it. Many people would have picked up the
whip, and afterwards would have been unable to tell where they had found
it, but her natural sagacity at once showed her the importance of being
able to return to the exact spot. John wanted to carry Kate, but she
would not hear of it; she consented only to hang on his arm as he
hurried along. He tried to keep up her spirits in his somewhat uncouth,
though not rough way.
"He'll come back, Miss Kate, no fear. It's not likely any great harm
could have happened to him. Mayhap he has got into some cottage, and
the pony ran away. When we gets lights we'll find him. He'll be late
for dinner. It can't be that any great harm can have happened to the
heir of Bloxholme; it's impossible, Miss Kate, I am sure it is."
Thus rambling on in his talk, John, with poor Kate, reached the Hall.
Everybody there was in a state of consternation. In the first place,
Kate had been missed, and it was supposed that she had been spirited
away, as had been Digby. Then, not far from the Hall, the Squire and
Thomas had been set upon by half a dozen men or more, whose aim seemed
to be to inflict a severe injury on them. The Squire cried out who he
was, but they only seemed the more eager to conquer him. Fortunately
his thick stick stood him in good stead; and Thomas being armed in a
similar manner, they had for some time kept their assailants at bay; but
the Squire was at length brought on his knees, being very severely
handled, and almost overpowered, when some of the men who had gone out
to look for Digby, came up, and his assailants fled. He called on his
people to pursue, but, much injured as he was, he stumbled and fell
before he got far, and the ruffians escaped. His condition was
deplorable. He was brought back to the Hall, his mind racked with
anxiety at the disappearance of his son, and indignant at the way he
himself had been treated. He was puzzled to ascertain whether the two
circumstances were in any way connected. As soon as he was a little
recovered, and had been able to collect his thoughts, he sent off to the
village to demand the services of most of the male population, as John
Pratt had suspected he would do. He also sent off in every direction to
borrow lanterns, and anything that would serve as torches.
John Pratt, on his return with poor little Kate, was heartily welcomed.
The Square was too ill to direct the search, so he desired John to make
all the arrangements he thought necessary, and to carry them out without
delay. He wished to go out again himself, and would have done so had
not Mrs Heathcote and his daughters entreated him to remain within.
The attack on the Squire had naturally created a new cause for alarm
about Digby. It seemed more than probable that the same ruffians who
had attacked him had got hold of his son. Still it was not supposed
that they had killed him; the very idea was too dreadful.
Through the active measures taken by John Pratt, the inhabitants of
every cottage and house for miles round were aware of what had occurred;
but John's hopes that he might have got into some cottage were
disappointed; not a trace of him could be found.
A sleepless night was passed by all the inmates of the Hall; no one
thought even of going to bed. Everybody sat up expecting to receive
information about Digby; but though people continued constantly to
return, no satisfactory information was brought. The place where Kate
had found her brother's whip was carefully searched by men with torches
and lanterns, but nothing else belonging to him could be discovered in
the neighbourhood. It became evident, at last, that they must wait for
daylight to make a more satisfactory search.
Never had the inmates of Bloxholme Hall passed a more anxious and
miserable night. The morning brought no news of the lost one; not a
trace of him could be discovered. The snow lay thickly on the ground,
and must completely have covered up all marks of every description, if
any had been left.
Poor Kate wandered about the house more like a ghost than a thing of
this world, watching anxiously for every person who came in, and
trembling at every footstep she heard.
Early in the day, cousin Giles--or rather Mr Woodcock, for that was his
proper designation--arrived with Arthur Haviland. They, of course, were
very much shocked at what had occurred. Arthur was eager to go out at
once to assist in the search.
Mr Giles Woodcock had seen a great deal of the world, and had profited
by what he had seen. He was an acute, sensible, energetic man, full of
life and spirits, and fun too, which he was always ready to exercise in
its proper time and place. He was more, also, than all that--he was a
devout, serious-minded Christian, and never ashamed of acknowledging the
motives of his conduct. His arrival at the moment was most opportune.
The Squire, although up and dressed, was, both in mind and body, so
prostrate that he could not take that active superintendence of all the
arrangements which were necessary.
Cousin Giles saw the state of things, and at once set to work. He
called everybody in, and made them give their reports, of which he made
notes. He called for a map of the district; he inquired whether anybody
in the neighbourhood could have a motive for attacking Digby and the
Squire. He strongly suspected that the men who had assaulted Mr
Heathcote were in some way concerned in the disappearance of his son.
How to find out who they were, and to get hold of them, was the
difficulty. Although, however, he suspected one thing, he did not, as
is often the case, exert himself to prove his suspicions correct to the
neglect of all other points, but he directed the search to be continued
and inquiries to be made in every possible direction and way.
At last John Pratt returned after another prolonged search over the
country.
"Well, John," said cousin Giles, "this is a sad matter. We won't waste
words, though. Have you a suspicion who has got hold of the lad? Had
anybody any reason for attacking the Squire? Can you suggest any means
of finding this out?"
John thought a little. "Old Dame Marlow may tell us something about it,
zur," he said, after scratching his head vehemently. "She knows
zomething of everything; and if she don't know, nobody does."
Cousin Giles, having made further inquiries as to the dame's character,
was about to dispatch John to bring her to the Hall, when Mr Bowdler
arrived.
He had been absent from home, and immediately on his return, hearing
what had occurred, set off for the Hall.
Cousin Giles told him what he was about to do.
"She may know something about the matter, but not by supernatural means,
as these poor ignorant people suppose," he remarked. "A magistrate's
warrant, in the hands of a constable, will have the best effect in
eliciting the truth from her. The Squire can issue it; a constable is
in attendance; we will send it off at once. A grandson of her's was
lately apprehended and transported through the Squire's means, and it is
probable that she has instigated some of her friends to this act, to
revenge herself."
In less than an hour the wretched old woman was brought up to the Hall.
Mr Bowdler first endeavoured by gentle persuasion to induce her to
confess all she knew; but she was deaf to all his exhortations. Though
she put on a stolid, dull look, and answered only in monosyllables,
there was a cunning twinkle in her eye, which showed that she fully
understood what was said to her, and was evidently not ignorant of the
matter.
Cousin Giles next tried to draw some information out of her by threats.
She looked up several times with an inquiring look to ascertain whether
he had the power of doing what he threatened. When brought before the
Squire, she scowled fiercely at him, and not a word could be drawn from
her. She was sent under charge of the constable to remain in the
servants' hall.
"Give her food and treat her kindly," said the Squire; "she is an old
woman, and feels the loss of her grandson."
The old woman heard what was said, but made no remark.
"At all events I am convinced she can, if she will, give us some of the
information we require," remarked cousin Giles; "she completely betrayed
herself by her looks and gestures. I remarked particularly her fear of
me, not knowing who I was, and her hatred of the Squire, while she had
made up her mind to turn a deaf ear to your exhortations, Mr Bowdler."
"What do you advise, then?" asked the clergyman.
"Keep her here, and work upon her fears. Then show her that it is her
interest to tell us what we want to know," answered cousin Giles; "force
will not do. I doubt if even the judges of the Inquisition would get
much out of her."
The whole day passed by and no clue as to what had become of Digby was
obtained. Even John Pratt was knocked up, and was obliged to go to bed
to recover strength, that he might continue the search.
When it was known that Dame Marlow was had up to the Hall, two men came
in and stated that they had heard her threaten both the Squire and his
heir with her vengeance, though they supposed that she intended to carry
it out by means of her incantations. Their evidence, however, was
sufficient to enable the Squire to detain her at the Hall. A bed was
made up for her in a little room where people, who came to speak to him
on magisterial business, were put till their turn arrived to see him.
She much wanted to be left alone.
"No, no, old lady," answered the constable, laughing; "you'd be flying
up the chimney, or burning the house down, or playing some prank or
other. That would never do."
Arthur Haviland felt very sorry. He was very anxious to be doing
something, but did not know what to do. Kate very naturally took him
into her confidence.
"Oh, I wish that I was a boy," she exclaimed. "I would roam the country
round till I found Digby, or cross the seas, and search for him through
every land, if I thought he had been carried there. But they will not
let me go. Mamma says I must not, and Miss Apsley made me promise to
obey, and so I must submit; but it is very cruel."
"Fortunately I am a boy, and I will go," cried Arthur, enthusiastically.
"He saved my life, and I am sure that my father would not disapprove of
my going."
"Thank you, Arthur, thank you," she answered. "I am sure that he is
alive. I should have felt very differently had he been dead. I could
not have borne that thought. You will find him; I feel that you must
find him, remember that. Poor mamma and my sisters think that he has
been killed by those dreadful men who attacked papa."
This sad event made Arthur at once feel himself at home, and one of the
family. He was prompt in all he did. He went at once to Mr Woodcock,
and asked him to obtain a man to accompany him, saying that he would set
off the next morning at daybreak, and prosecute his inquiries through
the neighbouring districts.
"Perhaps I may find out something which has escaped the notice of the
people here," he remarked.
"I like your zeal and spirit, and will gladly aid your plan," answered
cousin Giles.
Arthur was ready at the hour he had arranged; and he found a lad of
about eighteen prepared to be his companion. Adam Hodder seemed a very
intelligent fellow; and Arthur felt that he would rather have him than
an older person.
Both Arthur and his companion were warmly clad and well prepared to
brave the cold. Arthur had put on his roughest clothing, but still he
looked the gentleman. They carried some provisions in a bag that they
might not have to go out of their way to obtain them: but they had taken
a good breakfast in the dark, that no time might be lost of the short
day of that season. The air smelt pure and fresh as they stepped out in
the grey light of the early dawn; and as they walked on briskly Arthur
found his spirits rising, and he felt sure that he should again see his
friend.
"Well, Adam Hodder, what do you think can have become of Master
Heathcote?" he asked.
"That's more than I can say, sir," answered Adam. "But I don't think
with some of the people about here, that old Dame Marlow has spirited
him away. It's more than likely that some of her people may have got
hold of him, and will either carry him away out of the country, or make
the Squire pay pretty largely before they give him back."
This was a new idea to Arthur, and it served to help him in his
inquiries. He told Adam also to make his own observations, and to gain
certain information at every cottage they visited. He learned that some
men in the dress of seamen had been seen in the parish. They had not
spoken to any one, and no one knew where they were going. Then, again,
these were the men probably who had attacked the Squire, and they might
possibly have had nothing to do with Digby's disappearance. Still, from
their being dressed as seamen, Arthur resolved to prosecute his
inquiries towards the coast. He accordingly sent a messenger back to
the Hall to say what he had heard, and what he proposed doing. He hoped
to get as far as Osberton that night. He had gone some way when he
heard some horses' hoofs clattering along the hard road. He looked
round, and, as the riders approached, he saw that it was John Pratt and
another man.
"I've come after you, sir, to tell you that we've got hold of some
information that may lead us on the right scent," said John, jumping
from his horse. "I am to go along with you, sir. If you like to ride
there's a horse, if not, I'll send him back."
"I infinitely prefer walking such weather as this," answered Arthur.
"Send the horse back, and now tell me the news."
"Why, sir, first, Mr Woodcock sent off to London for what they call a
detective, a sort of ferrety-like fellow, who pokes his head in
everywhere, and finds out everything. When Dame Marlow heard of it she
was in a great taking, and asked what reward she would have if she tried
to find out where the young Squire is?
"`I'll tell ye what, Dame,' says Mr Woodcock to her, `if he isn't soon
found, you'll have very much the contrary to a reward, let me tell you.
When the detective comes down, you'll find that tricks like these can't
be played, and you go unpunished. However, I'll tell you what, Dame, we
don't want to be hard upon you, and if you help in any way to find the
young master, depend on it the Squire will be liberal to you, and you'll
be a richer woman than you have been for many a day.'
"She made no answer, but sat smoking a pipe they had given her over the
fire, for a long time; she smoked and smoked away. At last, says she,
`I want to speak to that strange gentleman. He can see better with half
an eye than all you people can with two; and I have a respect for him.'
"When Mr Woodcock went to her, says she--
"`I may put you in the way of finding the young Squire, but send at
once; there's no time to be lost. Look out an honest man, if you can
find such. It won't do to be sending a beak, remember that. Send a lad
with him; he may want somebody to help him.'
"Mr Woodcock at once thought of me, as he knows that no one loves the
young Squire better; and so he sent for me, and told the old dame that I
was the man he would send, and that he was sure you, Master Haviland,
would wish to go also. She seemed well satisfied at this, and then went
on to tell me what to do.
"`A mile to the west of Osberton, in Luccombe Cove, there's a
fisherman's cottage, close down to the beach,' said she; `there's no
other near. You'll find an old man there. Ask for Jem the Spotsman.
Say that I sent you to him. Tell him that if he shows you where the
young Squire is you'll give him five golden guineas. He'll not do it
for less. If he says he knows nothing about the matter, tell him that
the beaks will be on him, and that he'd better do as I bid him. If you
can get another fearless man to go with you it may be better. Jem will
lead you to a strange place, where you'll meet strange people. Speak
them fair; you'll not do much by force. Tell them that you've plenty of
friends at your back, who know where you are, and will come and look for
you if you don't soon return to them. I tell you this because I don't
want any more mischief to come out of the matter. Again I say, you
mustn't lose time. It's just possible that, even now, you may be too
late, and that the lad is on his way to far distant lands. That's no
fault of mine, remember. Those who have got him may be thinking of
taking him, or they may not. It is not very likely that they will be
wishing to send him back after they have shown him their hiding-place,
and let him into other of their secrets.'
"I didn't stop to hear more, but I just got a couple of brace of
pistols, and came away at once to overtake you. We might have ridden
all the way into Osberton, but Mr Woodcock cautioned me to go in
quietly, lest the smugglers or the people, whoever they are, who have
got Master Digby, should hear of our coming, and suspecting treachery,
should carry him off elsewhere."
"I am rejoiced to hear what you tell me," exclaimed Arthur, when John
Pratt had finished his account. It is impossible, by the by, to do
justice to the quaint and thoroughly provincial way in which he
expressed himself; so that Arthur at times could scarcely understand
him. "There can be but little doubt, from what you tell me, that he is
alive, and that we are in a fair way of recovering him. We must
proceed, I see, with caution and courage; and as we may employ another
man, I know one who will gladly aid us. He is a friend, too, of
Digby's--Toby Tubb is his name. If we want help, he can help us better
than anybody."
"He may be a friend of Master Digby's, and I hope he has many friends,
but he can't be a greater, nor one who would give every day he has to
live for him," exclaimed John, with a very natural burst of feeling.
They were walking on all this time rapidly towards Osberton. On
arriving there, they first went to Mr Nugent's house. He had been made
aware of what had occurred, and had already consulted with Toby Tubb on
the subject. While Arthur took some tea, and rested, he sent off for
Toby.
When Toby, who had been thinking the matter over, as he said, arrived,
and was told Arthur's errand, he slapped his thigh, and exclaimed, "I
thought it was so. I know the gang; a set of daring ruffians as ever
lived. Poor Master Digby; it was hard for him to fall into their power.
But we will get him out again as soon as we can, if they haven't
spirited him away." Toby had come prepared for an expedition. He
begged Mr Nugent to lend him a brace of pistols. Arthur and John Pratt
were already armed. Adam Hodder had gone back with the horses. Arthur,
with his two attendants, therefore, John and Toby, immediately set forth
on their undertaking. As Toby Tubb knew every inch of the way, they
soon reached the high ground above Luccombe Cove.
"There's the cottage," he observed, pointing to a hut low down on the
beach. "I know Jem the Spotsman well--a terrible old ruffian he is. Do
you, Master Haviland and John Pratt, go in and give him your message.
If he refuses to help you, call me, and I'll see what I can do."
Arthur, followed by John Pratt, stepped boldly in. The expedition,
independent of the object, had peculiar charms for him; there was so
much romance and excitement in it. He did not stop to knock, but flung
open the door of the hut, and unhesitatingly entered. An old man, in a
blue Guernsey frock, sat bending over a drift-wood fire, which
spluttered and smoked as he kept piling on the yet damp chips. He
looked round at the noise, and, seeing strangers, rose with considerable
activity to his feet. He scowled at them beneath his white shaggy
eyebrows.
Arthur had begged that he might be the spokesman; he felt fully up to
the emergency. At an early age, indeed, he had learned much to rely on
himself. "Jem the Spotsman, I have a message for you," he began.
"Who told you that was my name?" asked the old man, with a growl.
"Never mind, if it is your name," said Arthur. "We've come to do you
good, and show you how to gain five golden guineas."
"Time was when I could gain fifty without much trouble," interrupted the
old man.
"You cannot now, though; and five guineas is a good sum," observed
Arthur. "You'll get that, but not more. Dame Marlow bids me tell you
that the beaks will be on you; that you know where the young Squire of
Bloxholme is hid away, and that if you would keep your neck out of a
noose, you will show us where he is to be found."
The old man sat down and began to rake the ashes of the fire with a
stick. He did not ask his visitors to take seats, though, but he kept
watching them warily out of the corners of his eyes. "Five golden
guineas, five golden guineas," he kept muttering. "Who are you who make
the promise?"
"A friend of Mr Heathcote's," answered Arthur. "It will be faithfully
kept with you, depend on that."
"Who's that man with you?"
Arthur told him.
"Ay, he looks as if he had the hay-seed in his hair," observed old Jem.
"I'd rather trust a seaman."
"If I bring a seaman, one, perhaps, whom you know, will you trust him?"
asked Arthur.
"Yes," answered the old man, after a little thought.
Arthur made a sign to John Pratt to go and fetch Toby; but he seemed
unwilling to leave Arthur alone.
"Go, go. What have I to fear?" said Arthur, firmly.
The old man looked up at him. "Some who have been here have been
afraid, though," he muttered. "Take a seat, young gentleman. I like
your spirit."
Arthur thanked him, and sat down on a three-legged stool, near a table,
which, from its appearance, he knew had formed part of the furniture of
the cabin of a ship, probably wrecked on the coast. Every portion of
the hut, indeed, was evidently composed of wreck-wood--the roof, the
sides, and floor.
John Pratt soon returned with Toby.
"Ho, ho, old shipmate," said Toby, as he entered, "so you won't believe
what the young gentleman promises; but you'll believe me. Five golden
guineas or a rope's-end, remember that."
"The guineas," answered old Jem, who at once recognised Toby as an
acquaintance. "But I was placed here to receive a message; when they
come who will they give it to?"
"Never you mind that; we'll be be back in time, I dare say," answered
Toby.
"Then come along," said the old man, whose weak mind was evidently
powerfully influenced by the prospect of receiving the five golden
guineas to the exclusion of every other consideration. "It will be
rough work for the young gentleman, but he looks as if he wouldn't fear
it."
Getting up, and walking with wonderfully firm steps, the old man led the
way to a little inlet of the sea, into which a stream fell. It was
large enough to allow four or five boats to float in it at once. One
only was seen, and she was drawn up on the beach. A pair of oars and a
rudder, and a mast and sails were in her. The old man called to Toby to
help him launch her.
"What, be'es we going by the sea?" asked John Pratt, who had a thorough
dread of the ocean.
"It's better than going by the land, seeing that we could not get there
at all, if I guess the place we are bound for," observed Toby. "Now
step in, young gentleman--step in, master."
"Can you steer?" old Jem asked of Arthur.
"Yes, I am well accustomed to it," he answered.
"Then take the helm, and do as I bid you," said the old man, taking the
after oar.
Toby took the other, and they pulled away from the land. The cove was
sheltered by a high reef of rocks, so the water was perfectly smooth--so
smooth, that a thin coating of ice had been formed at the margin,
through which the boat easily forced her way. The stars shone brightly
forth from the dark sky, and enabled Arthur to discern the whole outline
of the wild, and fantastically-shaped cliffs, which formed the coast, as
they towered high above his head on the right. The boat had gone out to
clear a reef of rocks which ran out from the shore, and having got to
the end of it, old Jem told Arthur to port his helm, and thus doubling
it, he steered close in under the cliffs. In many places there was no
beach, the water coming close up to their bases; and so close was the
boat that frequently the oars touched their rugged fronts. Often, too,
the sea-fowl, roosting low down on ledges of rocks, were disturbed from
their perches, and flew up with loud screams, circling round and round
their heads, till they had passed their resting-places.
John Pratt looked about him with considerable awe, if not dread; all was
strange and new to him.
Arthur had witnessed similar scenes. The boat made but slow progress,
for she was kept all the way in and out, through all the little bays,
and bends, and inlets of the shore. Many thoughts passed through
Arthur's mind during the long pull. He hoped to recover his friend, and
to enjoy the delight of restoring him to his family. At the same time,
he could not help recollecting what Dame Marlow had said to John Pratt,
and also the remarks of old Jem, and often he feared that they might
arrive too late at the cavern where they expected to find him; that he
might already be carried off to the distant lands of which the old woman
spoke. Such things had occurred before, and might occur again; yet he
was puzzled to know what motives the smugglers could have in such a mode
of proceeding. He thought and thought over the matter without coming to
any satisfactory conclusion. No one spoke above a whisper.
"We might be seen or heard by some passing coastguard man," observed old
Jem.
Now a lofty, dark, and beetling headland was seen before them.
"It's on t'other side of St. Niven's Head. We'll have to go round it,"
said old Jem.
Arthur did not object to the long pull, but he was eager to discover
Digby, and to relieve him from all the anxiety he must be feeling.
On pulling out towards the end of the promontory, a swell was felt
which, as it rolled in, broke on the cliffs, and compelled them to keep
at a somewhat greater distance. On they went. As Arthur looked up it
appeared as if the cliffs rose to a prodigious height above his head,
almost reaching the sky. In several places, indeed, they appeared to be
completely overhanging the water; and he could scarcely divest himself
of the feeling that they were about to fall down and overwhelm the boat.
The boat now rose and fell more rapidly to the heaving wave, and
nothing but John Pratt's earnest desire to find his young master,
prevented him from bitterly repenting that he had trusted himself on the
treacherous ocean.
"Starboard your helm!" suddenly exclaimed Jem, with an energy which he
did not seem capable of exerting.
A loud splashing, washing sound, was heard, and Arthur saw the sea
breaking wildly over a rock, on which, in another instant, the boat
would have struck. The danger passed, they pulled on till they rounded
the headland. Wilder than ever was the scene. On one side the lofty
cliffs, with their steep front, on which there appeared scarcely a ledge
on which a sea-fowl might set its foot; while on the other was the broad
boundless expanse of ocean. Arthur thought what would have been their
fate if the boat had struck on the rock, and sunk.
"The cave where we may find him is not many hundred fathoms off," said
old Jem.
Arthur's heart beat eagerly at the information; and John Pratt forgot
all his fears.
"Remember, you have to deal with men who care not for law of any sort.
You must speak them fair, or you will gain nothing," said the old man.
"Now steer in for that white spot. You'll find some steps and a path
cut in the face of the rock. Take care you don't slip, or you'll chance
to break your neck. Enter the cave as boldly as you entered my nephew's
cottage; say your say, and wait for the answer. If they threaten you,
call for me. I want my five golden guineas."
Arthur sprang out of the boat, followed by Toby and John Pratt.
Toby whispered that he had no idea of the place they were going to.
Arthur carefully groped his way up the cliff, but had great difficulty
in finding the path. He could not help allowing it to occur to him how
completely they were in the power of the ruffians they had come to seek.
A few stones rolled down would have precipitated them all into the sea.
Still the idea was far from making him repent that he had come on the
expedition. His chief thought and earnest wish was to rescue Digby.
Toby Tubb puffed up after him, but John Pratt, once on dry land, was
himself again, and came along with easy strides. Lichens and
salt-loving plants grew on the face of the cliff, and served Arthur as
handles to assist him to mount, though he trusted chiefly to his feet
and the ledges and excrescences in the rock. Up he went--on, on, on.
He thought that he must have got into the wrong path; not a sight of a
cave appeared. Then he thought that perhaps old Jem had played them a
trick, and having placed them on the wild rock had pulled away. The old
man had charged him not to speak, so he was afraid of stopping and
consulting with Toby and John Pratt. He was beginning to despair, when
suddenly he found that he had reached a broad ledge. The party
collected on it. A dark spot on the face of the cliff was before them;
that was evidently the entrance to the cavern. He drew his breath
faster; who would not on such an occasion? Then he and his two
attendants walked rapidly forward, till they found themselves under the
arched roof of the cave. There was no light, or signs of any one being
there. Toby had brought a lantern; he lighted it. As he did so, he
whispered to Arthur--
"There may be pitfalls in the way; it's as well not to tumble into
them."
The cave did not run directly into the cliff, but turned sharply round
to the left. Toby holding up his lantern, they boldly advanced. Still
no voices were heard.
"The fellows are asleep," whispered Toby.
They soon reached a narrower part of the cave, with a screen of rough
planks running across it. At one end of the screen was a low door;
Arthur pushed it open, and entered, fully believing that, in another
instant, he should grasp Digby's hand. Arthur saw before him a large
vaulted cavern. In the centre was a fire, over which an old man and a
boy were sitting toasting some slices of fish at the points of their
knives. So eager were they in their occupation that they did not
perceive his approach. Could the boy be Digby? The idiotic expression
of wonder and fear with which the lad looked up at him showed him that
he was not. The few inarticulate words uttered by the lad made the man
turn round, when, starting up, he drew a pistol, and presented it at
Arthur.
"We come in peace, and have no wish to hurt you," said Arthur. "Tell me
where is Squire Heathcote's son. We come to seek him."
While the man stood irresolute, without replying, Arthur's eye fell on
some clothes on the top of a cask. He took them up: there was a cap,
and jacket, and waistcoat, such as Digby was accustomed to wear. He had
little doubt that they were Digby's. His heart sunk within him.
"Where is Squire Heathcote's son?" he repeated.
The man stretched out his hand. "They have carried him off; he is far
down Channel by this time."
All Arthur's worst apprehensions were realised; he was too late to save
his friend.