Geoffrey looked in astonishment at the old gentleman, and then glanced
at the doctor.
"You can't do better, Mr Trethick," said that individual, "for those
are the only decent apartments you are likely to get here."
"Of course," said the old gentleman. "Come along, boy;" and thumping
the ferrule of his cane down upon the granite paving-stones, which in
rough irregular masses formed the path, he led the way along the cliff,
and then turned off up a very steep zigzag path, which led up higher and
higher, the old fellow pausing at every turn to get breath, as he
pointed with his stick at the glorious prospects of sea and land which
kept opening out.
"Lovely place, boy," he panted. "Come along. Takes my breath away, but
it's better for the bile than old Rumsey's drugs. Suppose you could run
up here?"
"I dare say I could," said Geoffrey; "or carry you up if I tried."
"Confound your ugly great muscles! I dare say you could. But look
yonder--that's some of your work."
"My work?" cried Geoffrey, as the old man pointed to the great granite
engine-house on the promontory already known to the new arrival as Wheal
Carnac.
"Well, the work of you engineering mining fellows. Thousands of pounds
have gone down that hole."
"Yes, I suppose so," replied Geoffrey, as they still ascended, until the
old gentleman stopped short before a pretty granite-built house in a
nook of the huge cliff that sloped down to the sea. It was well
sheltered from the north and east, and its broad terrace-like garden was
blushing with bright-hued flowers. In one corner was a well-built
summer-house, which served as a look-out over the shimmering sea, and
from which the putting out of the fishing-fleet, or the sailing to and
fro of the great vessels in the Channel, could be plainly seen.
"Ah! this looks homely and snug," said Geoffrey, as he noticed the clean
windows, white curtains, and pleasant aspect of the place.
"Yes, it's pretty well," said the old gentleman, who was always
furtively watching his companion, and as he spoke he laid his hand upon
the green gate at the foot of a rough granite flight of steps. "This is
the way up from the cliff; there's a road from Carnac town on the other
side. Will it do?"
"Depends on terms and accommodation," said Geoffrey, sharply, as he
followed his guide up to the pleasant green terrace lawn.
"Humph! Go and see Mrs Mullion, then, and say Mr Paul sent you. I am
going in here to smoke a cheroot," and he pointed to the summer-house.
"Do you live here, then?" said Geoffrey, for the old man seemed quite at
home.
"Live here?" said the choleric old fellow, sharply. "Of course I do.
Didn't see a shell on my back, did you? Where the deuce do you suppose
I lived?"
As he spoke he drew out a handsome silver cigar-case, and selecting a
very long, black cheroot, held it out to his companion.
"Here," he said, "can you smoke one of these?"
"To be sure I can," said Geoffrey. "Try one of mine."
"It's strong. Mind it don't make you sick, boy," said the old fellow
grimly, as Geoffrey took the black cheroot, and then opened his own
case--an effeminate silk-worked affair--which he handed to his
companion.
The old man turned it about with the yellow corners of his lips curled
down in disgust.
"Girl work that for you?" he said, with quite a snarl.
"No! Mother," said Geoffrey, abruptly.
"Ho!" said the old gentleman, picking and turning over one cigar after
another, and then replacing it. "There, take your case, boy; I can't
smoke your town-made trash."
"Town-made trash, eh?" said Geoffrey, laughing. "Why, they're as good
as your Trichinopolies."
"Rubbish!" said the old fellow.
"Real Havanas, given me by old Sir Harry. Dunton."
"Not Harry Dunton, Governor of Ginjaica?"
"Yes! Do you know him?"
"Did once," said the old fellow, with asperity. "Here, boy, I'll have
one. Now go and see about your lodgings; and come back to me," he added
imperatively.
Geoffrey stood smiling at him for a few moments.
"I say, old gentleman," he said, "how many coolies used you to have
under you in the East?"
"Over a thousand, sir," said the old gentleman, irascibly.
"I thought so," said Geoffrey, and he turned on his heels, and walked up
to the clematis-covered porch that shaded the open door.
"I'd give some thousands to be as young and strong, and--and yes,
confound him!--as impudent as that fellow. Hang him! he hasn't a bit of
veneration in him," muttered the old gentleman, entering the
summer-house, and striking a match for his cheroot. "He'll just be
right for them, as they've lost the parson. Hang 'em, how I do hate
parsons!"
He took a few pulls at his cheroot, and emitted cloud after cloud of
smoke, as he stood in the shade of the summer-house, looking at
Geoffrey's back.
"He's a good-looking fellow, too, and--phew!" he added, with a
long-drawn whistle, "what a fool I am. There's Madge, of course, and at
the door first thing."
"If I am any thing of a judge, you are a very pretty girl," said
Geoffrey to himself, as his summons was answered by a merry-looking
brunette, in a very simple morning dress and print apron, a book in one
hand, a feather dusting-brush in the other. Her rather wilful hair, of
a crisp, dark brown, had evidently been touched by the sea-breeze, for a
waving strand was brushed hastily back as the girl saw the visitor; and
the same, or other breezes, had given a rich tone to her complexion,
which was heightened by the flush which came to her cheeks, as she
hastily threw brush and book on to a chair, and gave a tug at the string
of her apron, which absolutely refused to come off.
"Can I speak to Mrs Mullion?" said Geoffrey, unable to repress a smile
at the girl's vanity and confusion.
"Oh! yes. Please will you step in?"
"Who's that, Madge?" cried a voice from somewhere at the back. "If it's
Aunt Borlase, we don't want any fish to-day, and tell her--"
"Hush, mamma!" exclaimed the girl, turning sharply, but without checking
the voice, whose owner--a very round, pleasant-looking little matron--
came forward, with a piece of black silk in one hand, a sponge in the
other, and bringing with her a peculiar smell of hot irons lately
applied to the material she held.
"Well, my dear," she said, volubly, "how was I to know that it was
company? Oh! good-morning, sir."
"Good-morning," said Geoffrey, who was pleasantly impressed by the
mother and daughter, who now led the way into a comfortable
old-fashioned parlour, whose window looked direct upon the foam-fringed
promontory on which stood the ruined mine. "A Mr Paul, whom I have
just left, advised me to see you about your apartments."
"Oh! yes," said the elder lady, smoothing herself down in front, as if
trying to free herself from a little exuberance--the younger lady having
now got rid of brush, book, and apron, and given a furtive touch to her
pretty hair. "You are Mr Lee, our new clergyman," she continued
volubly, "and--"
"Indeed I am not!" said Geoffrey, laughing, and glancing at the younger
lady, who blushed, and gave her head a conscious toss.
"But I sent word to the hotel that I should be glad to take him in,"
said the elder lady; "and now that's just the way with that Aunt
Borlase. Madge, dear, they never got the message."
"Is this one of the rooms?" said Geoffrey, to stem the flood of
eloquence.
"Yes, sir; and Mr Paul, who is my late husband's half-brother, has the
other front parlour, which we sometimes share with him when he is in a
good temper. When he isn't, my daughter and I--this is my daughter,
sir--sit in the--"
"Oh, mamma, hush!" exclaimed the younger lady, acknowledging Geoffrey's
bow.
"Well, my dear, it's the simple truth," said mamma. "I hope you don't
object to the smell of black silk being ironed, sir?"
"Oh, dear, no," said Geoffrey, smiling.
"It's the being sponged over with beer first," continued the little
woman. "It makes it so stiff, and when it's done it looks almost as
good as new."
"But, mamma," remonstrated the younger lady.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Quite superior people turn
their black silks, and have them re-made over and over again. There
really is no cheaper wear than a good black silk."
"But about the apartments," said Geoffrey, to the younger lady's great
relief.
"Oh! yes; of course. To be sure," continued the little lady. "I let
the bedchambers over the rooms, sir. One to each."
"Exactly," said Geoffrey, who was much amused at the simplicity of the
elder lady, and the assumption of gentility on the part of the younger;
"but do I understand you to say that the apartments are engaged?"
"Well, sir, I feel as if I ought to wait and see if Mr Lee, our new
clergyman, wants the rooms, especially as there are no other apartments
fit for a gentleman to be had in Carnac, and where he could get proper
attention. Not that I make a profession of letting lodgings, sir. Oh,
dear, no! Mr Paul is a relative, and he occupies--"
"Mamma, dear," said the younger lady, "I don't think this gentleman will
care to hear that."
"But how can he understand my position, Margaret, if I do not explain
it?" remonstrated the elder.
"You hold out very pleasant prospects," interposed Geoffrey, hastily.
"No other apartments to be had. But suppose Mr Lee does not take
them?"
"Who the deuce is Mr Lee?" said a sharp voice at the open window.
"Come: what is it--terms? Haven't you settled yet?"
"Mr Lee is the new clergyman, brother Thomas," said the plump little
lady, giving herself another smooth down, "and if he wants the rooms
that Mr Owen had, dear, why of course--"
"He'll have to want them," said the old gentleman, sharply, as he sent a
puff of smoke into the room. "I won't have another parson in the house
while I stay. If you mean to have him here, I go."
"Oh, pray don't talk like that, brother Thomas!" cried Mrs Mullion,
hastily, her aspect showing plainly enough that she was greatly in awe
of the old man. "Of course you know, dear, that I will do precisely as
you wish."
"What I wish? Do what I wish?" snapped out the old gentleman. "Do what
you like. But you told me distinctly that you were very eager to let
these two rooms, and I take the trouble to put myself out, and go out of
my way when I had a pressing engagement with Dr Rumsey, to bring up a--
a--somebody who wants them. What more would you have? You, Madge," he
added fiercely, "don't make eyes at strangers like that: it's rude."
"Oh, uncle?" cried the girl, indignantly, and her face was scarlet.
"So you were. Give me that letter off the chimney-piece."
The girl obeyed, fetching a large blue missive ready directed for the
post, and stood holding it while the old gentleman, smoking away the
while, took some stamps from his pocket-book, and tore one off.
"Now then," he continued, sharply, and to Geoffrey Trethick's great
astonishment, "put out your tongue."
"I'm--I'm quite well, uncle," stammered the girl.
"Put out your tongue, miss!" cried the old fellow, sharply. "I don't
care how you are: I want to wet this stamp."
"Oh, uncle!" cried the girl, in confusion, and she rushed out of the
room, leaving the old man chuckling with satisfaction.
"Ah, well; I must lick it myself," he said. "I hate licking stamps.
Here, Jane, you put it on," he continued, handing letter and stamp to
the little woman, who proceeded to obey his command. "Well, now then,
are you going to let the rooms, or are you not? This gentleman can't
stop shilly-shallying all day."
"I shall be very happy to let them, I'm sure," stammered the poor woman;
and, after the settlement of a few preliminaries, it was arranged that
the new-comer's luggage should be fetched from the hotel, and he took
possession at once, after the old gentleman had suggested that a month
in advance should be paid for, which was done.