"Let Henry crawl about the confounded tunnel on his hands and knees," he said to Jane afterwards, sprawling on his father's chair in the drawing-room.
"I don't give a tinker's curse what he discovers. I'm sick of the whole affair."
"Why did you come over here, dear, if you did not want to help father?"
"Did you ever know me refuse the chance of a holiday? And the woodcock waiting to be destroyed on Doon Island? Come along to the pantry, and help me clean my gun. The fellows can take every bit of copper out of Hungry Hill for all I care."
It was decided that the following night a watch should be set on the hillside, and that during the day Copper John should sound one or two neighbours as to their willingness to help, while Henry and John rode over to Castle Andriff to see Simon Flower. Old Robert Lumley was in Cheltenham, where he usually spent the winter, and even had he been in the country his presence would not have been much help.
The day was fine, and the sky cloudless, and the two young Brodricks rode over to Andriff in good spirits, bearing a present of wood- cock to Mrs. Flower. She was a large, rather formidable woman, with a great sense of her own importance, and she never could forget that her husband Simon was brother to the Earl of Mundy, a fact which Simon Flower himself found it convenient to ignore.
Castle Andriff, therefore, was a perplexing house to visit, for the drawing-room, which on first inspection appeared to be of a grandeur only equalled by that of a royal palace, with marble floor, and gilt chairs, and Mrs. Flower rising like a queen from her throne to receive the caller, would, on looking a little closer, reveal the fact that many of the legs of the gilt chairs were broken, making them unsafe to sit upon, while the marble floor was so muddied and begrimed by Simon Flower's setters that it would bear comparison with a kennel. A powdered footman, in livery, received the two Brodricks, and escorted them to the drawing-room, his fine appearance spoilt by the darns in his white stockings and the odour of manure about his person, suggesting that his morning had been spent in the stables, while heated voices overhead sounded as though a domestic dispute of some magnitude was taking place. The altercation was not improved by the discordant notes proceeding from a pianoforte, which on entering the drawing-room the Brodricks discovered to their surprise were being produced by Simon Flower himself, who, with a hat on the back of his head, eyes closed, and a pipe of great length between his lips, was swaying backwards and forwards to some strange melody of his own composition.
Mrs. Flower, dressed as for a London reception, was mending a tear in her brocaded bedroom curtains, nor did the entrance of the two visitors embarrass her at all.
"I am delighted to see you both," she said, extending a gracious hand, which Henry wondered whether he was expected to kiss. "You find us as usual in a state of disorganisation. Pray take a chair and tell me the news. Not that one, Mr. Brodrick, the leg is unsafe… How kind of your father to send us a present of game! It so happens that my husband's brother, the Earl of Mundy, is not at the moment in residence in this country-he generally keeps us very plentifully supplied with game, as you can imagine… Are your sisters still picnicking in the little farmhouse? Miss Brodrick must fancy herself Marie-Antoinette at the Petit Trianon. Quite a change after Clonmere…?
She rattled on, hardly pausing to draw breath and never waiting for an answer, and as she talked loudly to make herself heard above the piano, so did her husband increase the volume of sound, until one of the setters, which had been crouching between his legs, crawled from his lair and added a mournful howl to his master's strains.
"Poor Boris cannot abide the pianoforte," shouted Mrs. Flower. "Sometimes he will continue howling for an hour on end, but it never puts my husband out of countenance. When are you both coming over to hunt with my father's hounds at Duncroom?"
The strain of conversing under such conditions proved too much for Henry, for all his charm of manner, and he could do little else but smile and bow and gesture with his hands, while John remained steadily mute, as he invariably did when secretly entertained.
At length the concert came to an end, there was a superb flourish of chords and a loud hammering in the bass that drew forth a final moan of protest from the setter, and Simon Flower rose to his feet, slamming the lid of the piano.
"They say it's a sign of intelligence when a dog sings to music," he said, waving his pipe at the brothers. "Did you hear that hound of mine trying to accompany me? I declare he puts his very soul into his voice; it wrings my heart to hear him."
"Don't be absurd, Simon; the animal dislikes it."
"Dislikes it? I tell you the dog will sit by my side like a leech, with his eyes fixed on the notes, so devoted he is to the instrument. But never mind about that; these lads want refreshment after their journey. Come down to the cellar, both of you; we shall do better that way than if we allow my wife to make tea."
He led the way down a narrow, twisting stair to the labyrinths of his castle, and after poking about with a stump of candle he discovered a bottle of old Madeira, which he proceeded to decant on the spot into an ancient carafe hidden in a cranny of the cellar along with some half-dozen glasses.
"When there's frost on the ground in winter and I can't hunt," he said gravely, "I bring my friends down here, and it would astonish you to see how well we pass the time. My wife imagines us to be playing billiards, and to deceive her I get my servant to click the balls about She never knows but what we are there, the dear trusting soul. Fill up your glasses, my boys, and make yourselves comfortable.
There's a beer barrel apiece for you to sit upon."
The two young men and their host did indeed do so much better than if their hostess had made tea for them in the drawing-room, that when they finally emerged from the cellar and blinked their way into the upper regions once more Henry had forgotten his mission, John was in a state of bland benevolence, and their host was singing "O! Mistress mine, where are you roaming?" which song, in John's opinion, could hardly be directed at the formidable Mrs. Flower. Tea, however, was being served in the drawing-room, and Henry recovered himself sufficiently to broach, in a somewhat lame fashion, the reason for the visit. The story he told certainly sounded a little muddled, and Simon Flower, in spite of the interlude in the cellar, could hardly be blamed for shaking his head at the end of it.
"I'll not go crawling around in a rabbit burrow for your father or for any man on earth," he said, yawning, the potency of the old Madeira beginning to show in his sleepy blue eyes. "Why, it might be that I'd lose me way, and never a soul would have sight of me again. Do you remember it was in such fashion we lost poor Trouncer, Maria? She got poking into an old badger's earth and that was the end of her, the best bitch I ever bred."
"You mistake me, sir," said Henry; "there was never a question of your descending the mine and going into the tunnel. My father's plan is for you and the rest of us to mount guard at the outlet of the tunnel on the hillside, and to waylay any of these beggars who may appear."
"Is it foxes or men you are after?"
"Men, Mr. Flower. I have just explained to you.
The fellows who are stealing the copper from the mine.
My father wishes to arrest them and make an example of them. He thinks Morty Donovan is at the back of it."
"Ah, I'll not do a thing against Morty Donovan. Didn't he sell me the father of that same Trouncer I was just telling you of? A wonderful dog, John; you would have appreciated the pair of them. No, why should I lie all night on a hillside to pick a quarrel with Morty Donovan? I don't see what your father wants to meddle in the business for at all."
"But, surely, Mr. Flower, you believe in upholding the law? Are you not a magistrate yourself?"
"Shame on you, Simon," said his wife; "there is poor Mr. Brodrick over at Doonhaven working all alone to save the property belonging to him and to my father, and you don't raise a hand to help him. I only wish my brother-in-law were at home, Mr. Brodrick. The Earl of Mundy would never sit by and see such injustice done, and I d
are say if I used my influence and perhaps got word to him over the prater…"
"Very good of you, madam, but you see the matter is urgent. I gather think my father hoped that Mr.
Flower would accompany us home tonight."
"Tonight? Impossible. I shall not stir from Castle Andriff this night for all the thieves in Europe," said Simon Flower dramatically. "Let Morty Donovan run away with the copper, and may it bring him better fortune than it has to my house."
And clamping his hat more firmly on his head, Simon Flower sat himself down once more to the piano.
Henry looked across at John and shrugged his shoulders, and at this moment the door of the drawing-room flew open and Simon's daughter rushed into the room, her face flushed, her eyes bright with anger, and her mass of chestnut hair in a tangle down her back.
"It's a shame," she shouted, "a wicked shame, and I told her I would not stand it, and no more I will.
And I've scratched her face, and locked her up in the linen-press, and I hope she dies."
So saying, she slammed down the lid of the piano, forcing her father to silence, and stood with heaving breast, her eyes upon her mother.
The vision that had so suddenly descended upon them was too much for the young Brodricks. They rose to their feet, abashed and speechless, and indeed Fanny-Rosa Flower, at seventeen, would have reduced any man with a sense of beauty to the same state of silence.
Her present anger only added to her loveliness, the flush on her cheeks brought new depth to her slanting green eyes, and the untidy curling hair made her look like a Bacchante from the wild woods. The fact that she was stockingless seemed in perfect keeping with the character. She now noticed, for the first time, that her parents had visitors.
"How do you do?" she said, with something of her mother's regal manner, but with her father's smile. "I am sorry to cause such a disturbance, but I have just had a fight with my governess, and I trust it is the last one."
"Fanny-Rosa," said her mother, "I am pained and surprised. What will Mr. Brodrick and his brother think of you?
Miss Harris will be smothered in the linen-press."
She left the drawing-room in great agitation, while Simon Flower regarded his daughter with indulgence from the piano.
"I never cared for that Miss Harris," he said; "she had a mean, snivelling manner with her that did not suit our ways. I think it is high time that you did without a governess."
Fanny-Rosa, recovered from her burst of temper, looked out of the corner of her eyes at the two Brodricks, and sat herself down in her mother's chair.
"I thought you were both in London," she said softly. "You do not generally come to Clonmere till after Christmas, do you?"
Henry found himself telling once again the story of the mine, and this time he had a more receptive audience.
Fanny-Rosa clasped her bare legs, and never took her eyes off his face.
"I wish I could come with you both," she said, "instead of my father. I would dearly love to wait out on the hillside in the middle of the night. And if you had a fight with your miners I would not be afraid."
"I tell you what it is," said Simon Flower; "your bout with Miss Harris has put you in trim for a scrap. I have little doubt these lads would let you ride pillion behind one of them, and you would give a good account of yourself in the bargain. But you never told us what was the trouble with Miss Harris?"
"She told Tilly and me it was time we learnt to fold up our clothes, and I said I would not. All young ladies, she said, should do so from habit, and not have them strewn about the floor like girls from the kitchen.
"What would your uncle, the Earl of Mundy, say to your slovenly ways?"' she said. "Maybe he would forgive me if I sat by his side and pulled his whiskers and told him how handsome he was," I answered her. And with that she looked down her long nose and said I must learn a page of French verbs, so I scratched her face for her, as I told you before, and had her shut in the linen-press, and I can tell from your eyes that you would have served her the same, Mr. Brodrick."
She looked slyly across at John, who blushed to the roots of his hair and laughed under his breath.
Fanny-Rosa then helped herself to a large piece of cake, and poured herself some tea, while the eyes of the two Brodricks were drawn irresistibly to the fascination of the slim bare feet.
"You have been on the Continent, have you not?" she said to Henry, with her mouth full of cake. "Ah, I know all about you, our footman is cousin to your cook. We were in Paris ourselves last winter, because my grandfather let my father have some money to spend, and we went to Paris instead of buying new curtains for my mother's bedroom."
"Yes, you baggage," said Simon Flower, "and whenever we visited a picture-gallery what should we find in every room but a trail of young Frenchmen behind us? So in the end the people were bowing to us, thinking we were a royal procession."
"It was a Miss Wilson who was our governess then," said Fanny-Rosa, "and I slipped away from her twice when she was conducting me through the streets, so that she thought I had been abducted, and went in tears to the policemen, but they, being French, did not understand her. She was forced to go to a quiet place in the country when we returned, as she had developed nervous trouble. Would you believe it, but I have had a dozen governesses since I was fourteen, and I had my seventeenth birthday last month, so this is the end of it all."
"You will be the end of your parents too," said Mrs.
Flower severely, entering the room at this moment, after a vain attempt to mollify the unfortunate Miss Harris. "You may think yourselves lucky, Mr.
Brodrick, that your own sisters do not behave in similar fashion, and I trust you will not give an account of this daughter of mine to Miss Brodrick when you return."
"I tell you what," cried Simon Flower.
"Why do you two boys go back home at all?
Let your father go down the old burrows after the miners if it pleases him. You shall stay and dine with us, and we will pay another visit to the cellar, and Fanny-Rosa shall come with us."
But Henry shook his head and moved towards the door, much to his brother's mortification.
"You are very kind, sir," he said, "but we have already delayed far too long as it is. My father will be in some anxiety concerning U."
Simon Flower waved a careless hand, and sat himself down to the piano.
"I'll shoot with your father any day he fancies, on Doon Island," he said. "I'd never refuse an invitation of that sort. But to go crawling or my stomach after Morty Donovan in the middle of the night, no, I will not do it, and ye can tell him so to hia'oux"
"bb'face."
And with that he burst once more into song, joined by the faithful setter, and the two Brodricks left Castle Andriff to the confused sound of clashing chords, a rich baritone voice, and the barking of at least half-a-dozen dogs, while the elder daughter of the house, an enchanting barefooted figure, waved to them from the stone steps.
Dazed, bewildered, and still slightly intoxicated, the two brothers rode home at a pace that would have infuriated Copper John could he have seen them. It was not until they were within sight of Doon-haven that they drew rein, and Henry pulled himself to his senses.
"You know, John," he said, "my father is perfectly right. This country will never prosper while it continues to breed people like the Flowers."
John did not answer. The prosperity of the country meant nothing to him. Henry could continue his observations in his critical fashion and abuse Simon Flower if he wished. The only thing that mattered to John was this: that never in his life had he set eyes on anything quite so lovely as Simon Flower's daughter Fanny-Rosa.
On the following Saturday evening the Brodricks were seated round the fire in the library, having dined early, as was their custom. Jane had been gathering cones from the woods during the day, and these she now scattered on the smoking turf, making the fire hiss and crackle, the better to shut out the sound of the wind as it moaned in the trees behind Clonmere. There
was a full gale blowing outside in Mundy Bay, but the long Atlantic rollers swept past the entrance to Doonhaven, while the straggling length of Doon Island acted as a natural breakwater.
The tide ebbed swiftly in the creek below the castle, making a strong ripple against the wind, but so sheltered was Clonmere from the full force of the gale that only the sudden tremor of the woods above the house gave warning that the still weather had broken at last.
Henry was seated at his father's desk, writing a letter to Barbara at Lletharrog, while John sprawled as usual in the most comfortable chair, one hand fondling the ear of his favourite greyhound, the other propping up a book he did not read. He was watching the cones as they burst in the fire, and Jane, glancing up at his half-closed eyes, wondered what he was thinking.
The week had been quiet. No further pilfering had been discovered at the mine, and though a watch had been stationed on the hillside every night no one had come upon the hill save the watchers themselves. Yet there was a strange feeling of unrest in the air, a brooding sense of disquiet. And the miners, watching one another in suspicion, went about their work sullenly and in silence.
It was not only at the mine that this atmosphere prevailed. Down in Doonhaven, when Jane, accompanied by old Martha, went to make a purchase at Murphy's shop, and would have chatted as usual in her happy way to Murphy, whom she had known from babyhood, the man avoided her eye, looking uncomfortable, and muttering some excuse, disappeared into the back of his shop, leaving a young ignorant lad to serve her. It seemed to her too that the people in the market square stared at her with hostility, and when she smiled and said good-morning they turned their backs and pretended not to see.
Doonhaven had suddenly become a place of whispers, of figures peering round doorways and then withdrawing, and Jane, who had a place in her heart for all comers and loved the people of Doonhaven, returned home with a heavy feeling of foreboding.
"I don't like it," she said to Henry. "I believe my father takes this business of the mine not seriously enough. All he thinks about is to catch the few miners and to punish them for taking the copper. He does not realise that his mine is hated by every one of the people in Doonhaven."