CHAPTER VI
A Child of Misfortune
Mavis and Merle were brimming over with curiosity about Bevis and aboutseveral other affairs in Chagmouth, but they had to keep their questionsto themselves, for Dr. Tremayne considered that narrow Devon roads inthe gathering darkness required his whole attention, and thatconversation might mean an accident.
"You're requested not to speak to the man at the wheel," he replied, inanswer to Merle's first eager inquiry; "it takes me all my time todrive."
So the girls subsided into quiet, and did not even speak to one another,but sat watching the glare of the headlights on the road and the darkoutlines of the high hedges and banks above. They made up for theirsilence, though, after supper, for they found Jessop in the pantry, and,offering to wipe the silver for her as an excuse for their presence,they began a brisk catechism.
Jessop was a kindly old gossip, a native of Chagmouth, and had all theaffairs of the little town at her fingers' ends. She was nothing loathto discuss its inhabitants while she washed up the supper things.
"To begin with, who is Bevis?" asked Mavis eagerly. "We can't make himout at all. He speaks and looks like a gentleman, and yet he talkedabout working in the fields. Does he live at Grimbal's Farm? Whatrelation is he to Mr. and Mrs. Penruddock?"
"He called Mrs. Penruddock 'Mother'," added Merle, "but he doesn't lookthe least bit like her son. Is he or not?"
"Yes and no," said Jessop, wielding her dish-cloth as she talked. "Mrs.Penruddock has been a good mother to him for a matter of over fourteenyears now, but his own mother lies in Chagmouth churchyard. She musthave been a handsome woman from all accounts, though I never saw hermyself. It was my cousin, Mary, who was barmaid at the 'King's Arms' atthe time, who told me. It's a long story. There are many in Chagmouthbesides you who've asked themselves if Bevis isn't a gentleman born. Butnobody has ever been able to answer the question."
"Why? Oh, do tell us!"
"We want so immensely to know."
Jessop wrung out her dish-cloth with rather irritating slowness, thenhung it to dry on a nail. She seemed turning matters over in her mind,and her mental processes were apparently no swifter than her actions.
"I don't see why I shouldn't. There's nothing you oughtn't to hear,"she replied at last, as if coming to a conclusion. "Everybody inChagmouth knows about Bevis, and if I don't tell you somebody else will.It's nothing to the lad's discredit, I'm sure. I always say I've a softcorner for Bevis. Such a fine boy he always was, and he'll make a fineman yet--he's worth two of young Williams at The Warren in my opinion.But some folks are born with silver spoons in their mouths and othersaren't. Bevis isn't one of the lucky ones, poor lad! Providence alwaysseems to be taking him up and throwing him down again. What'll be theend of him goodness only knows!"
The story which Jessop told to the girls, while she polished the silverin the pantry, was lengthy and interspersed with many comments andreflections of her own, and many quotations from what other people hadsaid, but the main facts of the case, as related to Mavis and Merle,were briefly as follows.
Rather more than fourteen years ago, on a stormy afternoon in lateautumn, such inhabitants of Chagmouth as happened to be standing ontheir doorsteps, or looking out of their windows, noticed a closedconveyance from Kilvan station drive along the main street. Theoccurrence was sufficiently unusual to arouse comment. Except in thesummer season tourists rarely came to Chagmouth, and if any strangermade his appearance during the quiet months of the year the villagerswere naturally inquisitive as to his errand. In a small place every itemof news is of interest, and those who saw the conveyance pass at oncebegan to speculate whether the Rector's sister had come to pay him avisit, or whether old Mrs. Greaves's sailor son had returned home onleave. The bystanders near the market square had the opportunity ofsatisfying their curiosity, for the carriage stopped at the King's ArmsHotel, and from it stepped a lady, young, handsome, and well-dressed,and carrying a little child in her arms. She interrogated the landlord,who had come to the door at the sound of wheels, paid and dismissed thedriver, gave one hasty glance round the square, then entered the hotel.
Those inhabitants of Chagmouth who witnessed her arrival agreedafterwards that she was "a dark-eyed, smart-looking sort of person, withan air of London fashions about her", but their glimpse was a brief one,for next moment she and her child and her travelling-bag had disappearedinside the doorway of the little hotel, and the conveyance was toilingup the hill on its way back to Kilvan station.
Inside the "King's Arms" the lady gave her name as Mrs. Hunter, andengaged a private sitting-room and a bedroom, explaining that she hadheard of the mild climate of Chagmouth and wished to try the benefit ofits sea air. With the help of the chambermaid she bathed her little boyand put him to bed. Later she was served with dinner. At about nineo'clock she rang the bell violently, and the servant, who came inresponse to her summons, found her huddled in an armchair, half faintingand fighting for breath.
"My heart," she panted. "It's one of my heart attacks. Can you fetch adoctor? Oh, I am dying!"
The terrified girl ran for the landlord, who hurried in with brandy. Inthe midst of the general panic someone was dispatched for the villagenurse, and the ostler mounted a bicycle and rode away to Durracombe tosummon Dr. Tremayne. The people at the "King's Arms" did their ignorantbest. They laid the patient on the sofa, rubbed her hands, bathed herhead, and tried to force brandy between her blue lips; but long beforeany medical aid could reach her, she gave one last shuddering gasp, andpassed away beyond reach of human help. Dr. Tremayne had been paying anight visit to a farm on the moors. It was not possible for him toarrive at Chagmouth until the following morning. He found the place allagog about the tragic event that had happened. Mrs. Jarvis, the villagenurse, had performed the last offices. Mr. Tingcomb, the landlord, hadsolemnly collected the poor lady's possessions and had locked them up inhis safe, and his wife and the barmaid between them were trying to stillthe wails of the little, dark-eyed boy, who did not take readily tostrangers and refused all their well-meant offers of comfort.
Such a case had never been known in the neighbourhood, for not only hadthe stranger succumbed within a few hours of her arrival at Chagmouth,but the news soon leaked out that it was impossible to identify her.There were no papers of any kind either in her pockets or in hertravelling-bag. Her purse contained six pounds in gold and a littlesilver, but no card or address to mark its owner. The police, called into investigate matters, could obtain no clue. On hearing all theevidence they ventured the opinion that the lady had probably given afalse name. London newspapers published an account of the romantichappening, and for perhaps a week the public wondered over it, thenother and more important matters cropped up and it was forgotten.
Meanwhile, in the absence of any information as to who she was or whenceshe had come, the stranger had been laid to rest in the littlechurchyard on the hill, and the rector, in charity, presuming her to beone of his flock, read Christian burial-service over her. Whatever hererrand in Chagmouth her earthly body found its last home there, and mostof the villagers, some in kindly sympathy and some in mere curiosity,attended the funeral and left flowers upon her grave.
Naturally, amid the whole of the sad and perplexing business, the greatcentre of interest was the dark-eyed baby who was toddling about thepassages of the "King's Arms". He had made friends with Mrs. Tingcomband the barmaid, but resented being kissed by the dozens of women whocame to see him and gossip over him. He was a bonny, sturdy, littlefellow, possibly about two years old, who could walk, but beyond a fewwords had not mastered even the elements of speech. The chambermaid, whohelped at his first bath, remembered that his mother had called himBevis. The possession of his Christian name was felt to be something,though all other information about him was painfully lacking. Forseveral weeks the police did their best to trace his relations, and Mr.Tingcomb lived in hourly expectation that somebody would arrive suddenlyin a station conveyance to claim him and take him away. But nobody came
.The excitement died down, and presently even the local newspapers ceasedto refer to the case. People began to shake their heads and say it wasplain the poor lamb wasn't wanted, or his friends would have turned upfrom somewhere to find him. Mrs. Tingcomb, very much occupied with herhouse and the bar, began to complain to her neighbours of the burden ofher charge. It was nobody's business at the "King's Arms" to look aftera lively boy whose toddling feet led him into every mischief. She evenhinted that she considered the time had arrived when she couldconscientiously hand him over to the Poor Law Guardians at the "Union",whose obvious duty it was to provide for him.
At this point of the proceedings Mr. and Mrs. Penruddock had steppedinto the breach. Eight years before they had lost their only child, aboy of three, and they now proposed to adopt little Bevis to fill up theempty gap in their household. They were kind, homely people, withoutmuch education, but thoroughly respected in the village, and everybodyat once agreed that their offer solved the difficult problem. To savethe child from the stigma of being brought up at the Union waseverything. Even the poorest fisherman's home would have been preferableto that. So little Bevis, with the approval of the whole of Chagmouth,was formally adopted and transferred to Grimbal's Farm, where he grewapace and learnt to call Mr. and Mrs. Penruddock Father and Mother. Ifgossiping tongues could only have kept silent he might have continued tobelieve they were his parents, but one day, when he was about sevenyears old, he came back from school crying as if his heart was broken.Some of the boys had teased him and told him the story, with severalexaggerations, of how he had been left at the "King's Arms" and neverclaimed. Mrs. Penruddock comforted him as best she could, but sheacknowledged to her neighbours that he was never the same childafterwards. The knowledge had shattered his Paradise. He was a veryproud, sensitive boy, and the taunts of his schoolfellows rankled.Henceforward he felt a sense of difference between himself and otherchildren. He was quick to catch any allusions to his position, and aword or a glance was enough to bring the colour flooding into hischeeks. He fought many battles at school on this score, for he was hottempered as well as proud, and for a year or two he was somewhat of anIshmael, shunning his companions and hurrying home to the haven ofGrimbal's Farm directly lessons were over.
Then the fates, who seemed to use the boy as a shuttlecock, brought himan unexpected turn of good fortune. A lady, who was a summer visitor atthe farm, took an interest in him, and was much touched by the romanceof his story. She was well off, and she offered to pay for his educationat a high-class school. So Bevis went as a boarder to Shelton College,where nobody knew anything about his antecedents, and he held his ownamong other boys, and only came back to Grimbal's Farm for holidays, andgrew up so different from the fisher children of Chagmouth that he wasless inclined than ever to make friends with them, and was a source ofmuch gratification to Mr. and Mrs. Penruddock, who marvelled at hislearning and his manners, and were as proud of him as a pair of robinswho have hatched a young cuckoo.
Mrs. Martin, the lady who had provided for Bevis's education, threw outhints of Cambridge, and of training him for one of the professions, agoal which had spurred his ambition and caused him to work his hardest.He was making most satisfactory progress at Shelton College, and wasalready beginning to look forward to choosing a career, when fickle fateagain interfered, and toppled over all his castles in the air. Mrs.Martin died suddenly and left no will. Her heirs-at-law took over herestate, and paid any outstanding debts, but they saw no necessity forcontinuing her charities. Bevis's schooldays, therefore, came to a briefend, and he returned to Grimbal's Farm with no prospect of everrealizing the hopes that tantalizing Fortune had dangled before hislonging eyes.
"I do say it's hard on him," finished Jessop, as she told the tale toMavis and Merle in the pantry. "He's been educated a gentleman as muchas young Williams at The Warren--and my cousin, Mary, who saw her,sticks to it his mother was a lady born!--yet there he is, working onthe farm like any labourer, and it's not his job. A head-piece like hiswas meant for book learning and college."
"Can't Mr. and Mrs. Penruddock send him back to school?" asked Mavis.
"No; the farm's not been doing over well lately. They want his help onthe land, too, and, fair play to the lad, he's giving them of his best.It's a poor look-out for him, though, just to carry on at the farm. Thedoctor has been teaching him to dispense, but that's only a step towardsmedicine, and won't do much for him in the long run, I'm afraid. Somesay it was foolish kindness of Mrs. Martin, and his schooling will havedone him more harm than good, but you know how folks talk. They're all abit jealous of him really, down Chagmouth way, if the truth be told.He's a fine lad, and he sticks to his foster-parents right loyally, butyou've only to look at him to see he was made for something differentfrom farm life, and if ever he gets the chance he'll be off and away, orI'm greatly mistaken. There, I've told you all about Bevis, and a littletoo much perhaps, though there's no harm in your knowing, that I cansee."
"Thank you!" said Mavis. "We're so glad to know. It explains so verymuch that we thought queer about him. I understand it all now. PoorBevis!"
"Yes, poor Bevis, indeed!" echoed Merle. "We'd no idea he had all thatromantic story behind him when we walked down the cliffs with him thisafternoon. What you say is just right--he's different altogether fromother people, and you wonder how it is until you really know the reasonwhy."