About my Yorkshire journey it is unnecessary to say much. I saw Hover
once more, stately as ever, but lifeless. The great house shut up, its
many treasures swathed in dust sheets and brown paper. When it would
be opened again none knew. Probably Colonel Esdaile would bring some
gentlemen down in August for grouse-shooting, or for covert-shooting in
October. He would hunt there during the winter.--The Colonel, always
and only the Colonel, as man in possession?
I said as much to Warcop--to whom my visit was made--sitting before
the empty stove in that queer sanctum of his, hung round with prints
and spoils of the stud-farm and the chase. Whereupon he stuck out his
bulldog under-jaw and mournfully shook his big grizzled head.
Yes, he answered, that was pretty well what it all came to. Would to
God it did not!--always and only Colonel Jack at Hover in these days.
And my lord lay a-dying, so they said, at Bath; and my young lord gave
no sign. And her ladyship flitted in, like some great bright-painted
butterfly, for a day and a night. Looked round the stables and gardens
with a laugh, hanging on the Colonel’s arm, and flitted off again, as
gay as you please, to London or Bath, or Old Nick knew where; while
Colonel Jack, with a face like thunder and a temper like tinder, cursed
the very guts out of anyone unlucky enough to cross his path for full
twenty-four hours afterwards. Colonel Esdaile was a changed man, as I
gathered; his swaggering manner and jovial good-humour a thing of the
past, save at rare intervals or when her ladyship happened to be about.
All of which was bad hearing. The more so as, without going all lengths
with Braithwaite in his condemnation of our hereditary nobility, I
believed then--and believe firmly still--that if a great nobleman,
or great landowner, is to justify his position--aye, and his very
existence--he must live on his estate, keep in close touch with, and
hold himself directly responsible for the welfare of, all ranks of its
population--labourers, artisans, rent-payers great and small, alike.
The middle-man, however just or able an administrator, introduces, and
must always introduce, a cold-blooded, mechanical relation as between
landlord and tenant, employer and employed. And, now listening to
Warcop’s lament, I trembled lest the curse of absenteeism--which during
recent years has worked such havoc of class hatred and disaffection in
Ireland--should set its evil mark upon this English country-side.
In this connection it was inevitable that memories of my former dreams
and ambitions for Hover should come back to me with a bitter sense
of failure and of regret. Dreams and ambitions of so educating and
training my dear pupil as to make him an ideal landowner, an ideal
nobleman, to whom no corner of his vast possessions, the lives lived
and work done there, would be a matter of indifference; but who would
accept and obey the divinely ordained law of rulership and ownership
which reminds us every privilege carries with it a corresponding
obligation, and that the highest duty of him who governs is to serve.
Where had all those fair dreams and ambitions departed now? Were they
for ever undone and dissipated? It seemed so, alas! Yet who could tell?
Had I not promised Nellie, and that in some sort against my dearest
interests, to watch over Hartover to the best of my power, and care
for him still? And if a poor faulty human creature, such as I, could
be faithful, how much more God, his Maker! Yes, I would set my hope,
both for him and for Hover, firmly there, black though things looked
at present. For Almighty God, loving him infinitely more than I--much
though I loved him--would surely find means for his redemption, and,
notwithstanding his many temptations, still make for him a way of
escape.
And with that I turned my mind resolutely to the practical inquiry
which had brought me north, questioning Warcop concerning the
disappearance of Marsigli and the theft, with which he stood charged,
of jewels and of plate.
Warcop’s first words in reply, I own, set my heart beating.
‘Best ask French Mamzelle, sir,’ he said, with a snarl. ‘For, as sure
as my name’s Jesse Warcop, she’d the main finger in that pie. Picked
out t’ fattest o’ the plums for herself, too, and fathered the job upon
Marsigli to rid herself of the fellow.’
‘To rid herself of him?’
‘’Od, an’ why not? So long as ye were here wi’ us, sir, what she’d
set her mind to have was out of her reach. But, you safe gone, she’d
na more stomach for my lord’s Italian butler, bless you--must fly at
higher game than that.’
‘Lord Hartover?’
‘And who else? Eh! but she’s a canny one; none of your hot-heads,
rushing into a thing afore they’ve fairly planned it. She’d her plan
pat enough. Laid her train or ever she struck a match; waited till she
kenned it was all over between t’ dear lad and Braithwaite’s lass. Had
Marsigli muzzled, seeing that to tell on her was to tell on himself.
And others, that should ha’ shown her up, durstn’t do it, lest she
opened her mouth and set scandal yelping after them. So she’d a
muzzle onto them too, and could afford to laugh t’ whole lot in the
face--upstairs as well as down--and follow her own fancy.’
He ruminated, chewing viciously at the straw he carried in his mouth.
‘And, as the talk goes, she’s followed it to a finish,’ he added, ‘and
fixed her devil she-kite’s claws in my young lord, poor dear lad, safe
enough. Is the talk true, sir?’
I answered, sadly, I feared it was so; but that, as some method might
still possibly be found of unfixing those same kite’s claws, I had come
in search of any information he could give.
‘Then you mean to put up a fight, sir?’ he said, his jaw hard and his
eyes bright. ‘For all your colleging and your black coat, you’re o’ the
same kidney as when ye rode t’ little brown horse across the fells and
saved t’ pack.’
And therewith he settled down to recount all he had puzzled out, all
he believed and thought. Inferential rather than circumstantial,
this, alas! for the most part; yet to me valuable, from the man’s
caution, honesty, power of close observation, shrewd intelligence and
mother-wit. In his opinion the theft had been carried out at Fédore’s
instigation, and upon her undertaking to join Marsigli as soon as
it was accomplished, and fly with him to his native city of Milan.
Having thus involved the Italian--whose long-standing passion for, and
jealousy of her, were matters of common knowledge among the servants,
Warcop said--she evidently played him false, although covering his
escape by putting the police on a wrong scent. Where was he now? In
England, Warcop opined, probably hiding in London, still hoping to
induce Fédore to redeem her promise. Were the two man and wife? Over
that Warcop shook his head. Who could say, save the two themselves?
Yet, if they were, there must needs be a record of the marriage, which
would have taken place during the period of my tutorship at Hover, at
some time when her ladyship was in Grosvenor Square.
Here, at last, I had a definite starting-point. For the church could be
found, the clergyman who performed the ceremony could be found, always
supposing any such ceremony had really taken place.
I returned to Cambridge to talk everything over with the Master; and
subsequently journeyed up to town, where, under seal of the strictest
secrecy, I placed matters in the hands of Inspector Lavender, of the
Detective Police. He must find the church, the clergyman--above all,
must find Marsigli.--This was a desperate game to play. I knew it.
Would the dear boy ever forgive me for interfering in his affairs thus?
I knew not. But I did know it had to be risked both for his fortune and
his honour’s sake. Further, was I not bound by my word solemnly given
to Nellie? Still more, then, had it to be done for my own oath’s sake.