CHAPTER XI.
GIVES US AN INSIGHT INTO CHARLES'S DOMESTIC RELATIONS, AND SHOWS HOW THEGREAT CONSPIRATOR SOLILOQUISED TO THE GRAND CHANDELIER.
It may be readily conceived that a considerable amount of familiarityexisted between Charles and his servant and foster-brother William. But,to the honour of both of them be it said, there was more than this--amost sincere and hearty affection; a feeling for one another which, weshall see, lasted through everything. Till Charles went to Shrewsbury,he had never had another playfellow. He and William had been allowed topaddle about on the sand, or ride together on the moor, as they would,till a boy's friendship had arisen, sufficiently strong to obliterateall considerations of rank between them. This had grown with age, tillWilliam had become his confidential agent at home, during his absence,and Charles had come to depend very much on his account of the state ofthings at head-quarters. He had also another confidential agent, to whomwe shall be immediately introduced. She, however, was of another sex andrank.
William's office was barely a pleasant one. His affection for his masterled him most faithfully to attend to his interests; and, as a Catholic,he was often brought into collision with Father Mackworth, who took alaudable interest in Charles's affairs, and considered himself injuredon two or three occasions by the dogged refusal of William tocommunicate the substance and result of a message forwarded throughWilliam, from Shrewsbury, to Densil, which seemed to cause the oldgentleman some thought and anxiety. William's religious opinions,however, had got to be somewhat loose, and to sit somewhat easily uponhim, more particularly since his sojourn to Oxford. He had not very longago confided to Charles, in a private sitting, that the conviction whichwas strong on his mind was, that Father Mackworth was not to be trusted.God forgive him for saying so; and, on being pressed by Charles to statewhy, he point-blank refused to give any reason whatever, but repeatedhis opinion with redoubled emphasis. Charles had a great confidence inWilliam's shrewdness, and forbore to press him, but saw that somethinghad occurred which had impressed the above conviction on William's mindmost strongly.
He had been sent from Oxford to see how the land lay at home, and hadmet Charles at the Rose and Crown, at Stonnington, with saddle horses.No sooner were they clear of the town than William, without waiting forCharles's leave, put spurs to his horse and rode up alongside of him.
"What is your news, William?"
"Nothing very great. Master looks bothered and worn."
"About this business of mine."
"The priest goes on talking about it, and plaguing him with it, when hewants to forget it."
"The deuce take him! He talks about me a good deal."
"Yes; he has begun about you again. Master wouldn't stand it the otherday, and told him to hold his tongue, just like his own self. Tom heardhim. They made it up afterwards, though."
"What did Cuthbert say?"
"Master Cuthbert spoke up for you, and said he hoped there wasn't goingto be a scene, and that you weren't coming to live in disgrace, for thatwould be punishing every one in the house for you."
"How's Mary?"
"She's well. Master don't trust her out of his sight much. They willnever set him against you while she is there. I wish you would marryher, Master Charles, if you can give up the other one."
Charles laughed and told him he wasn't going to do anything of the sort.Then he asked, "Any visitors?"
"Ay; one. Father Tiernay, a stranger."
"What sort of man?"
"A real good one. I don't think our man likes him, though."
They had now come to the moor's edge, and were looking down on theamphitheatre which formed the domain of Ravenshoe. Far and wide thetranquil sea, vast, dim, and grey, flooded bay and headland, cave andislet. Beneath their feet slept the winter woodlands; from whose brownbosom rose the old house, many-gabled, throwing aloft from its chimneyshospitable columns of smoke, which hung in the still autumn air, andmade a hazy cloud on the hill-side. Everything was so quiet that theycould hear the gentle whisper of the ground-swell, and the voices of thechildren at play upon the beach, and the dogs barking in the kennels.
"How calm and quiet old home looks, William," said Charles; "I like toget back here after Oxford."
"No wine parties here. No steeplechases. No bloomer balls," saidWilliam.
"No! and no chapels and lectures, and being sent for by the Dean," saidCharles.
"And none of they dratted bones, neither," said William, with emphasis.
"Ahem! why no! Suppose we ride on."
So they rode down the road through the woodland to the lodge, and sothrough the park--sloping steeply up on their left, with many a clump ofoak and holly, and many a broad patch of crimson fern. The deer stoodabout in graceful groups, while the bucks belled and rattled noisily,making the thorn-thickets echo with the clatter of their horns. Therabbits scudded rapidly across the road, and the blackbird fledscreaming from the mountain-ash tree, now all a-fire with golden fruit.So they passed on until a sudden sweep brought them upon the terracebetween the old grey house and the murmuring sea.
Charles jumped off, and William led the horses round to the stable. Ayoung lady in a straw hat and brown gloves, with a pair of scissors anda basket, standing half-way up the steps, came down to meet him,dropping the basket, and holding out the brown gloves before her. Thisyoung lady he took in his arms, and kissed; and she, so far fromresenting the liberty, after she was set on her feet again, held him byboth hands, and put a sweet dark face towards his, as if she wouldn'tcare if he kissed her again. Which he immediately did.
It was not a very pretty face, but oh! such a calm, quiet, pleasant one.There was scarcely a good feature in it, and yet the whole was so gentleand pleasing, and withal so shrewd and _espiegle_, that to look at itonce was to think about it till you looked again; and to look again wasto look as often as you had a chance, and to like the face the more eachtime you looked. I said there was not a good feature in the face. Well,I misled you; there was a pair of calm, honest, black eyes--a very goodfeature indeed, and which, once seen, you were not likely to forget.And, also, when I tell you that this face and eyes belonged to theneatest, trimmest little figure imaginable, I hope I have done my worksufficiently well to make you envy that lucky rogue Charles, who, as weknow, cares for no woman in the world but Adelaide, and who, between youand me, seems to be much too partial to this sort of thing.
"A thousand welcomes home, Charley," said the pleasant little voicewhich belonged to this pleasant little personage. "Oh! I am so gladyou're come."
"You'll soon wish me away again. I'll plague you."
"I like to be plagued by you, Charley. How is Adelaide?"
"Adelaide is all that the fondest lover could desire" (for they had nosecrets, these two), "and either sent her love or meant to do so."
"Charles, dearest," she said, eagerly, "come and see him now! come andsee him with me!"
"Where is he?"
"In the shrubbery, with Flying Childers."
"Is he alone?"
"All alone, except the dog."
"Where are _they_?"
"They are gone out coursing. Come on; they will be back in an hour, andthe Rook never leaves him. Come, come."
It will be seen that these young folks had a tolerably goodunderstanding with one another, and could carry on a conversation about"third parties" without even mentioning their names. We shall see howthis came about presently; but, for the present, let us follow thesewicked conspirators, and see in what deep plot they are engaged.
They passed rapidly along the terrace, and turned the corner of thehouse to the left, where the west front overhung the river glen, and thebroad terraced garden went down step by step towards the brawlingstream. This they passed, and opening an iron gate, came suddenly into agloomy maze of shrubbery that stretched its long vistas up the valley.
Down one dark alley after another they hurried. The yellow leavesrustled beneath their feet, and all nature was pervaded with the smellof decay. It was hard to believ
e that these bare damp woods were thesame as those they had passed through but four months ago, decked outwith their summer bravery--an orchestra to a myriad birds. Here andthere a bright berry shone out among the dull-coloured twigs, and asolitary robin quavered his soft melancholy song alone. The flowers weredead, the birds were flown or mute, and brave, green leaves were stampedunder foot; everywhere decay, decay.
In the dampest, darkest walk of them all, in a far-off path, hedged withholly and yew, they found a bent and grey old man walking with atoothless, grey old hound for his silent companion. And, as Charlesmoved forward with rapid elastic step, the old man looked up, andtottered to meet him, showing as he did so the face of Densil Ravenshoe.
"Now the Virgin be praised," he said, "for putting it in your head tocome so quick, my darling. Whenever you go away now, I am in terror lestI should die and never see you again. I might be struck with paralysis,and not know you, my boy. Don't go away from me again."
"I should like never to leave you any more, father dear. See how wellyou get on with my arm. Let us come out into the sun; why do you walk inthis dismal wood?
"Why?" said the old man, with sudden animation, his grey eye kindling ashe stopped. "Why? I come here because I can catch sight of a woodcock,lad! I sprang one by that holly just before you came up. Flip flap, andaway through the hollies like a ghost! Cuthbert and the priest are awaycoursing. Now you are come, surely I can get on the grey pony, and go upto see a hare killed. You will lead him for me, won't you? I don't liketo trouble _them_."
"We can go to-morrow, dad, after lunch, you and I, and William. We'llhave Leopard and Blue-ruin--by George, it will be like old times again."
"And we'll take our little quiet bird on _her_ pony, won't we?" saidDensil, turning to Mary. "She's such a good little bird, Charley. We sitand talk of you many an hour. Charley, can't you get me down on theshore, and let me sit there? I got Cuthbert to take me down once; butFather Mackworth came and talked about the Immaculate Conception throughhis nose all the time. I didn't want to hear him talk; I wanted to hearthe surf on the shore. Good man! he thought he interested me, I daresay."
"I hope he is very kind to you, father?"
"Kind! I assure you, my dear boy, he is the kindest creature; he neverlets me out of his sight; and so attentive!"
"He'll have to be a little less attentive in future, confound him!"muttered Charles. "There he is. Talk of the devil! Mary, my dear," headded aloud, "go and amuse the Rooks for a little, and let us haveCuthbert to ourselves."
The old man looked curious at the idea of Mary talking to the rooks; buthis mind was drawn off by Charles having led him into a warm, southerncorner, and set him down in the sun.
Mary did her errand well, for in a few moments Cuthbert advanced rapidlytowards them. Coming up, he took Charles's hand, and shook it with afaint, kindly smile.
He had grown to be a tall and somewhat handsome young man--certainlyhandsomer than Charles. His face, even now he was warmed by exercise,was very pale, though the complexion was clear and healthy. His hair wasslightly gone from his forehead, and he looked much older than he reallywas. The moment that the smile was gone his face resumed the expressionof passionless calm that it had borne before; and sitting down by hisbrother, he asked him how he did.
"I am as well, Cuthbert," said Charles, "as youth, health, a conscienceof brass, and a whole world full of friends can make me. _I'm_ allright, bless you. But you look very peaking and pale. Do you takeexercise enough?"
"I? Oh, dear, yes. But I am very glad to see you, Charles. Our fathermisses you. Don't you, father?"
"Very much, Cuthbert."
"Yes. I bore him. I do, indeed. I don't take interest in the things hedoes. I can't; it's not my nature. You and he will be as happy as kingstalking about salmon, and puppies, and colts."
"I know, Cuthbert; I know. You never cared about those things as we do."
"No, never, brother; and now less than ever. I hope you will stay withme--with us. You are my own brother. I will have you stay here," hecontinued in a slightly raised voice; "and I desire that any oppositionor impertinence you may meet with may be immediately reported to me."
"It will be immediately reported to those who use it, and in a way theywon't like, Cuthbert. Don't you be afraid; I shan't quarrel. Tell mesomething about yourself, old boy."
"I can tell you but little to interest you, Charles. You are of thisworld, and rejoice in being so. I, day by day, wean myself more and morefrom it, knowing its worthlessness. Leave me to my books and myreligious exercises, and go on your way. The time will come when yourpursuits and pleasures will turn to bitter dust in your mouth, as minenever can. When the world is like a howling wilderness to you, as itwill be soon, then come to me, and I will show you where to findhappiness. At present you will not listen to me."
"Not I," said Charles. "Youth, health, talent, like yours--are thesegifts to despise?"
"They are clogs to keep me from higher things. Study, meditation, lifein the past with those good men who have walked the glorious road beforeus--in these consist happiness. Ambition! I have one earthlyambition--to purge myself from earthly affections, so that, when I hearthe cloister-gate close behind me for ever, my heart may leap with joy,and I may feel that I am in the antechamber of heaven."
Charles was deeply affected, and bent down his head. "Youth, love,friends, joy in this beautiful world--all to be buried between four dullwhite walls, my brother!"
"This beautiful earth, which is beautiful indeed--alas! how I love itstill! shall become a burden to us in a few years. Love! the greater thelove, the greater the bitterness. Charles, remember _that_, one day,will you, when your heart is torn to shreds? I shall have ceased to loveyou then more than any other fellow-creature; but remember my words. Youare leading a life which can only end in misery, as even the teachers ofthe false and corrupt religion which you profess would tell you. If youwere systematically to lead the life you do now, it were better almostthat there were no future. You are not angry, Charles?"
There was such a spice of truth in what Cuthbert said that it would havemade nine men in ten angry. I am pleased to record of my favouriteCharles that he was not; he kept his head bent down, and groaned.
"Don't be hard on our boy, Cuthbert," said Densil; "he is a good boy,though he is not like you. It has always been so in our family--one adevotee and the other a sportsman. Let us go in, boys; it gets chill."
Charles rose up, and, throwing his arms round his brother's neck,boisterously gave him a kiss on the cheek; then he began laughing andtalking at the top of his voice, making the nooks and angles in the greyold facade echo with his jubilant voice.
Under the dark porch they found a group of three--Mackworth; ajolly-looking, round-faced, Irish priest, by name Tiernay; and Mary.Mackworth received Charles with a pleasant smile, and they joined inconversation together heartily. Few men could be more agreeable thanMackworth, and he chose to be agreeable now. Charles was insensiblycarried away by the charm of his frank, hearty manner, and for a timeforgot who was talking to him.
Mackworth and Charles were enemies. If we reflect a moment, we shall seethat it could hardly be otherwise.
Charles's existence, holding as he did the obnoxious religion, was anoffence to him. He had been prejudiced against him from the first; and,children not being very slow to find out who are well disposed towardsthem, or the contrary, Charles had early begun to regard the priest withdistrust and dislike. So a distant, sarcastic line of treatment, on theone hand, and childish insolence and defiance, on the other, had grownat last into something very like hatred on both sides. Every soul in thehouse adored Charles but the priest; and, on the other hand, thepriest's authority and dignity were questioned by none but Charles. And,all these small matters being taken into consideration, it is notwonderful, I say, that Charles and the priest were not good friends evenbefore anything had occurred to bring about any open rupture.
Charles and Mackworth seldom met of late years without a "sparringmatch." On t
his day, however--partly owing, perhaps, to the presence ofa jolly good-humoured Irish priest--they got through dinner pretty well.Charles was as brave as a lion, and, though by far the priest's inferiorin scientific "sparring," had a rough, strong, effective method offighting, which was by no means to be despised. His great strength layin his being always ready for battle. As he used to tell his cronyWilliam, he would as soon fight as not; and often, when rebuked byCuthbert for what he called insolence to the priest, he would exclaim,"I don't care; what did he begin at me for? If he lets me alone, I'lllet him alone." And, seeing that he had been at continual war with thereverend gentleman for sixteen years or more, I think it speaks highlyfor the courage of both parties that neither had hitherto yielded. WhenCharles afterwards came to know what a terrible card the man had held inhis hand, he was struck with amazement at his self-possession in notplaying it, despite his interest.
Mackworth was hardly so civil after dinner as he was before; butCuthbert was hoping that Charles and he would get on without abattle-royal, when a slight accident brought on a general engagement,and threw all his hopes to the ground. Densil and Mary had gone up tothe drawing-room, and Charles, having taken as much wine as he caredfor, rose from the table, and sauntered towards the door, when Cuthbertquite innocently asked him where he was going.
Charles said also in perfect good faith that he was going to smoke acigar, and talk to William.
Cuthbert asked him, Would he get William or one of them to give the greycolt a warm mash with some nitre in it; and Charles said he'd see itdone for him himself; when, without warning or apparent cause, FatherMackworth said to Father Tiernay,
"This William is one of the grooms. A renegade, I fancy! I believe thefellow is a Protestant at heart. He and Mr. Charles Ravenshoe are veryintimate; they keep up a constant correspondence when apart, I assureyou."
Charles faced round instantly, and confronted his enemy with a smile onhis lips; but he said not a word, trying to force Mackworth to continue.
"Why don't you leave him alone?" said Cuthbert.
"My dear Cuthbert," said Charles, "pray don't humiliate me byinterceding; I assure you I am greatly amused. You see he doesn't speakto me; he addressed himself to Mr. Tiernay."
"I wished," said Mackworth, "to call Father Tiernay's attention, as astranger to this part of the world, to the fact of a young gentleman'scorresponding with an illiterate groom in preference to any member ofhis family."
"The reason I do it," said Charles, speaking to Tiernay, but steadilywatching Mackworth to see if any of his shafts hit, "is to gaininformation. I like to know what goes on in my absence. Cuthbert here isburied in his books, and does not know everything."
No signs of flinching there. Mackworth sat with a scornful smile on hispale face, without moving a muscle.
"He likes to get information," said Mackworth, "about his villageamours, I suppose. But, dear me, he can't know anything that the wholeparish don't know. I could have told him that that poor deluded fool ofan underkeeper was going to marry Mary Lee, after all that had happened.He will be dowering a wife for his precious favourite some day."
"My precious favourite, Father Tiernay," said Charles, still closelywatching Mackworth, "is my foster-brother. He used to be a greatfavourite with our reverend friend; his pretty sister Ellen is so still,I believe."
This was as random an arrow as ever was shot, and yet it went home tothe feather. Charles saw Mackworth give a start and bite his lip, andknew that he had smote him deep; he burst out laughing.
"With regard to the rest, Father Tiernay, any man who says that therewas anything wrong between me and Mary Lee tells, saving your presence,a lie. It's infernally hard if a man mayn't play at love-making with thewhole village for a confidant, and the whole matter a merry joke, butone must be accused of all sorts of villainy. Isn't ours a pleasanthousehold, Mr. Tiernay?"
Father Tiernay shook his honest sides with a wondering laugh, and said,"Faix it is. But I hope ye'll allow me to put matters right betune youtwo. Father Mackworth begun on the young man; he was going out to hisdudeen as peaceful as an honest young gentleman should. And some of thebest quality are accustomed to converse their grooms in the evening overtheir cigar. I myself can instance Lord Mountdown, whose hospitality Ihave partook frequent. And I'm hardly aware of any act of parliament,brother, whereby a young man shouldn't kiss a pretty girl in the way offun, as I've done myself, sure. Whist now, both on ye! I'll come withye, ye heretic, and smoke a cigar meeself."
"I call you to witness that he insulted me," said Mackworth, turninground from the window.
"I wish you had let him alone, Father," said Cuthbert, peevishly; "wewere getting on very happily till you began. Do go, Charles, and smokeyour cigar with Father Tiernay."
"I am waiting to see if he wants any more," said Charles, with a laugh."Come on, Father Tiernay, and I'll show you the miscreant, and hispretty sister, too, if you like."
"I wish he hadn't come home," said Cuthbert, as soon as he and Mackworthwere alone together. "Why do you and he fight like cat and dog? You makeme perfectly miserable. I know he is going to the devil, in a worldlypoint of view, and that his portion will be hell necessarily as aheretic; but I don't see why you should worry him to death, and make thehouse miserable to him."
"It is for his good."
"Nonsense," rejoined Cuthbert. "You make him hate you; and I don't thinkyou ought to treat a son of this house in the way you treat him, You areunder obligations to this house. Yes, you are. I won't be contradictednow. I will have my say when I am in this temper, and you know it. Thedevil is not dead yet by a long way, you see. Why do you rouse him?"
"Go on, go on."
"Yes, I will go on. I'm in my own house, I believe. By the eleventhousand virgins, more or less, of the holy St. Ursula, virgin andmartyr, that brother of mine is a brave fellow. Why, he cares as muchfor you as for a little dog barking at him. And you're a noble enemy forany man. You'd better let him alone, I think; you won't get much out ofhim. Adieu."
"What queer wild blood there is in these Ravenshoes," said Mackworth tohimself, when he was alone. "A younger hand than myself would have beensurprised at Cuthbert's kicking after so much schooling. Not I. I shallnever quite tame him, though he is broken in enough for all practicalpurposes. He will be on his knees to-morrow for this. I like to make himkick; I shall do it sometimes for amusement; he is so much easiermanaged after one of these tantrums. By Jove! I love the man betterevery day; he is one after my own heart. As for Charles, I hate him, andyet I like him after a sort. I like to break a pointless lance with thatboy, and let him fancy he is my equal. It amuses me.
"I almost fancy that I could have fallen in love with that girl Ellen. Iwas uncommon near it. I must be very careful. What a wild hawk she is!What a magnificent move that was of hers, risking a prosecution forfelony on one single throw, and winning. How could she have guessed thatthere was anything there? She couldn't have guessed it. It was an effortof genius. It was a splendid move.
"How nearly that pigheaded fool of a young nobleman has gone to upset mycalculations! His namesake the chessplayer could not have done moremischief by his talents than his friend had by stupidity. I wish LordAscot would get ruined as quickly as possible, and then my friend wouldbe safe out of the way. But he won't."