Read Ebook: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature Science and Art Fifth Series No. 39 Vol. I September 27 1884 by Various

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'But how can he do that?'

Her own observations of Philip's changing moods recently, formed a convincing argument in favour of the importance of what the doctor said. The doctor shook his head and smiled regretfully.

'But surely Philip is not so bad as that!'

'You asked me to speak plainly, and I am quoting extreme cases,' said Dr Joy, anxious to mitigate the alarm which he saw his verdict had created, whilst at the same time holding to his point. 'Philip is not quite so bad as that yet; but he will be in a few months, unless something occurs to relieve him from his present anxieties.'

The doctor's last words gave her more encouragement than he could have expected, or perhaps intended to give; and the terror which had made her pulse seem to stop, was changed to confident hope. She had every reason to believe that in a few weeks, it might be in a few days, Philip would be relieved of all his anxieties. But this did not lessen in any degree her eagerness to have direct and frequent information as to the state of his health. Dr Joy readily agreed to call at the chambers in Gray's Inn on the following day, and report to her on his return; then they were to arrange about further visits. Thus being relieved to some extent on this important point, she prepared to take leave; but Dr and Mrs Joy suggested that she should have a fly to take her home, as the snow was falling fast, and already lay three or four inches deep on the ground, whilst it had drifted into an embankment against the opposite houses.

'I should not think of your hiring a conveyance,' said the doctor; 'but we have had a long and heavy day, and both my horses are fagged out.'

But Madge would not hear of this kindly proposal. 'I like the snow,' she answered, 'and a brisk walk will do me good.' At another time, she would have smiled at the timidity of her friends on account of the weather.

'You will catch your death of cold, my dear,' said Mrs Joy, 'and then you will not be able to come to Edwin's lecture next week. I assure you it is the most interesting one he has yet delivered.'

'Why, what brings you so far from home on such an evening as this? There is going to be a regular out and outer of a snowstorm, and I would not be here myself, only this is the night of the feed I give every year to my men, and all the arrangements were made.'

She was more pleased to meet him than she was generally, for he might be able to give her some news of Philip. So, without troubling to answer his inquiries, she put her own.

'Don't know anything about him,' he answered--callously, as she thought, 'except that he has got into a precious scrape, and will disgrace our family, unless that uncle of his helps him out of it.'

'Disgrace?--How is it disgrace to fail in a noble enterprise?'

'Ah, it's something worse than failing in a noble enterprise,' answered Coutts, returning to his habitual tone of cynical indifference. 'But don't let us talk about it, if you please. I would rather not, even to you, until all the ins and outs are known.'

'When will you know about your brother's affairs?'

'I cannot say; but he will tell you all about them; and if he doesn't, I will. Meanwhile, let me do him a service--get into the carriage, and Toomey will drive you home. I am sure that is what Phil and the guv'nor, too, would say, if they found you trudging along the road in such weather. Do get in, or they will both have me down in their black books. The carriage is not to come back for me, so you won't give the horses any extra work.'

She consented; and Toomey, who was glad enough to turn homeward for his own comfort as well as that of the horses, wheeled round, and drove off at a good pace. A little way out of the village they nearly ran over a man, who, walking in the same direction, had not heard the carriage making up on him, either on account of the preoccupation of his thoughts or the thick carpeting of snow on the road.

'All right,' growled the man, having saved himself, and Toomey drove on.

Madge recognised the voice of Caleb Kersey. She would have liked to speak to him, but it was too late. She supposed, however, that he was on his way to visit Sam Culver, from whom he would learn the cause of Pansy's disappearance. Caleb was on this quest, as she surmised, and he was going to Ringsford, but not to seek information from the gardener.

Coutts Hadleigh relished good wine; but he was cautious in his cups, as in everything else. On this evening, however, he 'drank fair,' as it is called, with his comrades; and those who were acquainted with his habits noted the fact with increasing curiosity as the evening advanced. This was the fifth annual dinner he had given to 'his men' since the captain's commission had been thrust upon him, and he had on no previous occasion displayed so much hilarity or provided so many cynical anecdotes for the entertainment of the company. His lieutenant and sub.--both proprietors of the land they farmed--concluded that the captain must have made some exceptionally lucky stroke in business recently. Coutts believed he had.

The members of the Kingshope Volunteer corps were mostly young farmers and the sons of farmers, who should have possessed the physical proportions which would have specially qualified them for the soldier's career. But it was surprising to observe how few of them presented these qualifications. When Dick Crawshay first saw them mustered, he exclaimed in loud indignation, his huge form towering over the whole troop: 'What! is that all our county can show in the way of Volunteers? Why, half a dozen of our old yeomen would scare them into the middle of next week without a tussle! They are more like a set of town scarecrows than country-bred lads.... Ah, this comes ov givin' the land to people that have money and no muscle, and meddle with things they know nothing about.'

He was right in a certain degree, for these youths were the sons of wealthy merchants who take up farming as a hobby, and leaving the work to hired labourers, are indifferent to losses, and therefore able to pay rents which the working farmer has struggled for a time to compete with, and given up in despair, or emigrated. This was a sore subject with yeoman Dick, and although regularly invited by Coutts to this annual feast, he regularly refused to go--and even kept within his own bounds whenever he knew there was a parade. The prejudice prevented him from learning that a goodly number of these young fellows made up for physical deficiencies by skill as marksmen and efficiency in drill; so that the Kingshope Volunteer corps formed a by no means unsatisfactory body of men for home defence. But had any one dared to hint that even in some respects they might be favourably compared with the old yeomanry, he would have made Dick his foe.

The lieutenant's powerful cob had its work to do, for at every step its hoofs sank deep in the snow-covered road. But the travellers were merry, and did not mind the slowness of their progress. Their chief trouble was to keep the road and avoid the open ditches. They succeeded in this, and also succeeded in distinguishing the point where the Manor gates broke the white wall.

Coutts made his way through the side-gate, which shook large pancakes of snow down upon him as he opened it.

The avenue being guarded by its long arch of tree-branches, the path was comparatively easy to traverse, and Coutts was soon in front of the house, which, like the church, was a shapeless white mass, broken by a few points of light. Underneath these few lights was dark shadow. As Coutts ascended the steps of the portico, a man stepped out from the shadow.

'I want to speak to you a minute, Mr Coutts Hadleigh; I've been waiting all evening for you.'

Coutts was no coward, although his brain was somewhat muddy with wine; but this sudden apparition made him spring to the top of the steps and ring the bell, as he exclaimed fiercely:

'Who are you, and what do you want with me at this hour?'

'I want to know where is Pansy Culver?' said the man with enforced calmness, which contrasted to his advantage with the blustering ire of the other.

'Confound your impudence--how should I know?'

'I saw you with her at the London station. Where has she gone to? Where did you send her to?'

'She didn't tell me where she was going to, and I didn't send her anywhere.'

Caleb Kersey's calmness broke bounds, and he next spoke with savage determination:

'You are lying, and you shall tell me the truth.'

'You're an insolent fool.'

As Caleb swiftly ascended the steps, he received a vigorous buffet on the breast, which tumbled him backward on the snow. The door was open; Coutts entered; the door was instantly closed, bolted, chained, and locked.

'Tell that fellow Kersey to go about his business,' said Coutts to the attendant who had been waiting up for him; 'he is drunk or mad. If he has any business with me, he knows where to find me at proper hours.'

With that he went up-stairs in a furious temper with the man who had insulted him, and had evidently intended to offer violence to his person. Before he had reached the first landing, there was an impatient but not a very loud knock at the door. The servant repeated his young master's message, put out the hall lights, and gladly enough went off to bed.

Caleb stood in the portico hesitating as to what he should do. He had been waiting there for hours; he had been told that Mr Coutts Hadleigh was not at home--the servant declined to say where he might be found. The snow and the cold did not appear to affect him. He waited, and at last the man had come, but had not given the watcher any satisfaction. Caleb was aware that his application was untimely: but that was not his fault: the circumstances were exceptional. He must know from this villain what he had done with Pansy, and then he would seek her father, whose authority would rescue her from the evil influence under which she had fallen.

The poor fellow never thought that his first step ought to have been to consult Pansy's father. A natural delicacy, rude and earnest, made him shrink from the idea, because he felt sure it would cause him pain. He learned from his friends in the village that Pansy had gone away somewhere; and as the gardener had no special need or liking to speak of her grandfather, he had not mentioned to any of his gossips whither she had gone. So Caleb, sitting in a train which was just starting, having caught sight of Pansy and Coutts Hadleigh talking together on the platform at Liverpool Street Station, instantly concluded that there was something wrong. He would have jumped out of the carriage; but the other passengers prevented him, and he had to endure cruel torments of speculation and rage until he reached his destination.

He had no hope of winning Pansy; but he might save her from the fate to which she seemed to be hasting. He had no doubt she had been taught to repeat some falsehood to her father, which kept him quiet about her absence, and he had no doubt of her danger. Then with a sullen resolution, in which the anxiety of a lover was combined with the suppressed fury of a maniac, he sought Coutts Hadleigh, determined to force the truth from him.

In those cold weary hours when he was hanging about the Manor waiting, the words of Philip frequently recurred to him: 'Trust her, man; trust her.' He imagined that he did trust her; he was sure that she did not mean to do wrong. But at the same time the wicked comment of Wrentham also presented itself, reminding him that trust gave the woman opportunity to deceive. He did not like the man who spoke or the words he uttered; but the remembrance made him uneasy.

'Ah, if Master Philip had not been in such a pickle with his own affairs, I'd have gone to him now, and he would have told me what was best to do, even though the villain be his own brother. But it would be a mortal shame to put more trouble on him when he's down enough already. I'll go my own way.'

All these things were careering through his mind, as he stood under the portico wondering how he should act. He heard a casement open above--it seemed to be directly over his head--and Captain Hadleigh shouted:

'You'd better move off quietly, Kersey, or I'll call our fellows and send for the police.'

The casement was closed violently, the two sides banging together, the principal windows of the Manor opening on hinges like doors, in the French fashion.

Caleb stepped out from beneath the portico and looked up. There was a ruddy glow--the effect of the light shining through deep maroon-coloured curtains--in two windows on the first floor. One of these windows opened on to the top of the portico which formed part of a balcony. That was the one from which Hadleigh must have spoken, thought Caleb; and was immediately satisfied on the point by seeing the shadow of a man who was passing slowly between the light and the curtains.

'The stable ain't far off, and I can find a ladder there,' muttered Caleb, moving away from the front of the house.

Mr Hadleigh, sen., was seated at his writing-table, his back towards the windows. Before him lay those sheets of manuscript which he had written at intervals during the past year. The broad shade on the lamp cast the soft light down on the table, and had it not been for the bright glow of a huge fire, the rest of the room--and especially the upper part--would have been in comparative darkness. As it was, the flickering flame of the fire made the shadows above and around him flutter and change like living things.

He was not writing. He was carefully separating certain pages from the others; having done so, he fastened them together neatly, and with his hand covering them, as if to hide the words from himself, he leaned back on his chair. Suddenly he rose and paced the floor slowly in melancholy reflection.

When he resumed his seat, there was a placid expression on his face, like that of one who, after a long mental struggle, has come to a final decision and found peace.

Over the second packet his pen was poised for some moments, and his hand was not so steady as before when he began to write.

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