*CHAPTER III.*
*THE SCHEMING KINSMAN.*
They sat face to face in a room which Grey well remembered. It had beenlined with folios in those days--great tomes in which he had dug withbreathless delight, for the treasures of wood-cuts and the strangestories they possessed--and illuminated missals, where, amid a mass ofgilding and wonderful colours, the story of saint or martyr could betraced. Other and more modern works had been also there, specimens ofthe art of printing as carried on through the days of the Stuarts. Butwhere were all these tomes and scrolls and books now? Grey swept theempty shelves with quick, indignant glances. A motion of his handsseemed to ask the question his lips were too proud to speak.
A small and wizened man sat before him, his eyes furtively scanning theyoung man's face with an unwinking attention. He could not have beenold, this parchment-faced kinsman--not more than five-and-forty at themost--and yet he wore the look of an old man, and was fond of speakingof himself as such. The unhealthy pallor of his face bespoke a life ofinaction, and the lines and wrinkles on the puffy skin, and theemaciation of the frame and claw-like hands, seemed either to indicatesome wasting disease, or else a miser-like habit of life which deniedits owner the common necessaries of existence. Grey fancied thatperhaps this latter surmise might be the right one; for he himself wouldhave fared ill at breakfast that morning, had it not been for the fishwhich Dicon had caught and cooked for the pair, ere he presented himselfat the meal to which his kinsman invited him on hearing of his advent tothe old house. That meal had been so frugal that Grey almost disdainedto partake of it. And now he and Mr. Dumaresq sat facing each other inthe green light which fell through the big north window, against whichthe trees almost brushed, rather like combatants in a duel, each ofwhich measures the strength and skill of the other before attempting tostrike.
The wizened man made a deprecating gesture with his hand, and answeredthe unspoken question.
"Sold, sold--every one of them! I did my best to keep them in thefamily, but it was of no avail. Your father would have money--no matterat what cost. I was toiling all I knew for him, as it was. Everythingthat could be got out of the estate I squeezed out for him. Never manhad so faithful a steward as I was to my poor cousin. But it was likepouring water through a sieve. Nay, you need not look so fiercely atme. I am not traducing the dead. Ask those with whom he consorted. Askthe boon companions he made in gay London town. Ask his very servants,an you will. You will hear the same tale from all. He spent money likewater. Never did he trouble his head where it was to come from. I havepapers; I can show them if you have knowledge of the law enough tounderstand. I advanced him sum after sum, on such poor security as thistumble-down house and impoverished estate has to offer. I beggaredmyself for his sake. He was the only kinsman left me. I could deny himnothing. And when my funds were gone, I must needs squeeze all thatcould be squeezed out of the house and land. The books went; the timberwas felled; the pictures were taken away; the best of the furniture wentto adorn the houses of merchants and parvenus. I argued and entreatedin vain. When the wild fit was upon him, Hugh would listen to nothing.I had to content myself with serving him, by seeing that he was notcheated beyond bearing by the crew of harpies he had around him. Atleast I secured him equitable prices for family heirlooms; but it wentto my heart to see them vanish one by one. And now, what is left savethe shell of the old house, and an estate burdened and impoverishedwell-nigh beyond the power of redemption?"
He heaved a great sigh, looking cunningly at the young man out of thecorners of his ferret-like eyes. Grey's glance was stern and direct.His words were quietly and coldly spoken.
"We will see about that. I am here to take up my burden. I will learnwhether or not Hartsbourne be past redemption."
"You!" cried 'Mr. Dumaresq quickly; "and pray what can you do?"
"I can live here quietly, and see what can be done towards retrievingthe past. Even if I toil with my own hands, I shall think it no shame,if it be for the home of my forefathers."
"You live here!" sneered the other, seeking to mask the sneer by asmile; "and by what right will you do that, pray?"
"I am the owner," answered Grey proudly. "I presume that I have theright to live in my own house, and to administer such revenues as may beleft to the estate?"
"Oh yes, fair kinsman, so soon as the mortgages be paid. I will getthem out for your high mightiness to examine. Pay them off, and houseand manor are yours to do with as you will. But till that time come, I,and not you, am master here. The revenues are mine; the house I havethe right to occupy, to the exclusion of any other. It is all writ fairto see--signed and sealed. Will you see the papers for yourself? Theywill make pleasant study for a summer morning."
"I will look at the papers anon," answered Grey quietly; "but first Iwould know from you what it all means. It is you, not I, to whomHartsbourne belongs, then? You are the master, and I am the guest?"
"For the present, yes; but a welcome guest, none the less," spoke theolder man with a repulsive leer. "The situation, my bold young cousin,is easily understood. Your father loved not the old family house. I didlove it. Could he have sold it, it would have been mine long since; buthe had not the power to alienate it from the title. But he did all elsethat was possible. He raised mortgage upon mortgage upon it--first onthe house, then on the land. I came to live in the house, and paid himrent for it once. Then I supplied him with money and took up themortgages. He and I had been boys together. The tie between us wasstrong. I verily believe he was glad to have me here, and when he wassick and smitten with mortal disease he came hither to die, and I waswith him to the last. He was grateful for my devoted service. He wasglad to think that I should live on here afterwards. 'It is no life fora young man,' he said almost at the last. 'Grey will carve out a careerfor himself. Here he could only rot and starve like a rat in a hole.'And I pointed out that you were my natural heir, and that you might nothave very long to wait before coming a second time into yourinheritance."
Grey sat silent and baffled. It was little he knew of the law; but hehad heard before this of men who had left nothing save debts andtroubles for those who came after them. Many a fair manor and estatepassed into alien hands for years, or even for generations, when troublefell upon the owners. He understood only too well how it had been hereat Hartsbourne--everything squeezed out of the estate, nothing put in,till at last the house was falling into ruin, and the rights of the lordof the manor had passed away from the owner. It was no consolation toGrey that a Dumaresq had supplanted him. He was cut to the heart by theselfish extravagance of his father, and the way in which he had playedinto the hands of this schemer. He saw how impossible it would be toattempt to live here himself, even if he could establish a legal rightto do so. He was not certain if his father could have done anythingwhich should actually hinder him from claiming possession of the housewhich was his, but to find money to pay off the mortgages--he might aswell have sought for money to buy the moon! And even then, how could helive in a house without money, without servants, without friends? No;he must seek to carve out a fortune for himself. His fair dream of apeaceful life in England as a country squire was shattered into athousand pieces. Some day perhaps--some day in the dim and distantfuture, when fortune and fame were his--he might come back to takepossession of his own. It should be his dream--the goal of hisambition--to dwell at Hartsbourne as its lord and master. But for thepresent he could call nothing his own save the good horse cropping thelush June grass in the paddock, and that casket so carefully hiddenbeneath the hearthstone of old Jock's living-room. He would look at thepapers. He would make careful study of them. He would take notes as tothe amount necessary to clear the estate and make him master in reality.And then he would go; he would not be beholden to this kinsman, whoseshifty face he distrusted heart and soul, though his words were smoothand fair. He would ride forth into the fair world of an Englishmidsummer, and wo
uld see what the future held there for him.
It was not an exhilarating hour which he spent over the parchmentsspread out before his eyes, which were eagerly explained to him by thelynx-eyed kinsman, who seemed half afraid to trust them out of his ownclaw-like clutches. But Grey perused them with attention, making notesthe while; and after studying these at the close, whilst the deeds werebeing locked away, he said,--
"Then when I return with thirty thousand pounds in my pocket, I can takeover Hartsbourne, house and lands and all, and be master of my ownestate in deed as well as in word?"
"And how are you to come by this thirty thousand pounds, fair coz?"asked Mr. Dumaresq, with something slightly uneasy in his shifty glance."Right gladly would I receive mine own, and make way for a gallantgentleman like you; but where are these riches of Aladdin to come from?"
"Perchance from the same source as yours did come, sir," answered Grey,looking full at his interlocutor. "The Dumaresqs have not ranked as awealthy family since the days of the Civil War, when they lost so much.But you seem to have found fortune's golden key; and if you, why not I?"
Did he shrink and cower under these words, or was it only Grey's fancythat he did so? The young man could not be sure, though he had hissuspicions. At any rate he spoke suavely enough.
"Thrift and care, my young friend, care and thrift--these qualities arebetter than any golden key of hazard. My father was a careful, savingman, and at his death bequeathed me greater wealth than I dreamed he didpossess. I followed in his footsteps until, for your father's sake, Ielected to prop the falling fortunes of the house rather than live inselfish affluence on my own revenues. Well, I did what seemed right;and my reward shall be the hope of seeing Hartsbourne one day restoredto its former glories. But for the present I must needs live like apoor man, though that is no trouble to one who has ever made thrift thelaw of life."
Grey went forth from the presence of his kinsman with a cloud on hisbrow and a fire in his heart.
"Why doth he speak of himself as poor?" he asked of himself. "He takesto himself all the revenues of the estate; and when I was a boy, Ialways heard that the farms were prosperous, the land fertile, thetimber fine, game and deer plentiful, and the tenants able to pay theirdues. If all that comes in goes into his pocket, wherefore doth he livelike a miser? wherefore doth he let the house fall into decay? he ruinedhimself for my father's sake? Tush! A man with that face sacrificehimself for another! Nay; but he is hoarding up gold for himself, or Igreatly mistake me. Truly do I believe that he is playing some deepgame of his own. Well, I can but wait and see what time will bringforth. It is a shame that the old house should be left to go to ruinlike this, with its revenues falling regularly into the hands of aDumaresq! Why doth he not spend them upon the fine old structure, tomake it what it was before? Why, now I see. He thinks it wouldstimulate me to fresh desire to make myself master. He may haply thinkthat I care not for a habitation given up to rats and ghosts andcobwebs. He little thinks that every fallen stone seems to cry outaloud to me, and that the lower falls the old house in ruin and neglect,the more urgent is the voice with which it urges me to come and saveit."
The young man was walking up and down the grass-grown avenue as he thusmused. From thence he could see in perspective the long south front,with its many mullioned windows, its beautiful oriels, and the terraceup and down which he had raced in the days of his happy childhood.Straight in front was the eastern portion of the house, with its greatentrance doors, led up to by a fine double stairway, beneath which acoach could stand, and its occupants in wet weather enter by a lowerdoor. But the stone work was chipped and broken; the balustrade hadlost many of its balls, which lay mouldering in the long grass that grewup to the very walls. Moss and lichen and stone-crop clothed all, andthe creepers which clung about the house itself were wild and tangled,and in many cases had completely overgrown the very windows, so thatscarce a trace of them could be seen.
Yet even in its decay the old house was strangely beautiful, and Grey'sheart was stirred to its depths. He wandered through the tangled garden,and out towards the fish-ponds beyond and then by a winding pathway hemade his way to the churchyard, and stood bare-headed at his mother'sgrave.
"I will win it back, mother; I will win it back!" He spoke the wordsaloud, in a low-toned, earnest voice. "You loved the place, and youtaught me to love it. For that alone I would seek to call it one daymine own. I will win it back, and methinks your heart will rejoice whenyour son is ruling there at last."
Grey had meant to leave that very day; but there was much he longed tosee, and his kinsman had given him an earnest invitation to pass thenight beneath the old roof-tree. Repugnant as this man was to him, andbitterly as he resented his conduct and distrusted his motives, it wasnot in the young man's nature to be churlish. Every hour of daylight hespent wandering about the place, revisiting his boyish haunts, andchatting with old Jock, who, without being able to give any exact reasonfor it, distrusted and despised the present master as heartily as Greyhimself.
"The old master did too, at the last. I am main sure of it," he said;"else for why should he have given me yon box, sir? And why should hehave bidden me hide it and guard it, and let none see it till Sir Greyshould claim it himself? For years he had thought him a friend; but Itrow he knew him for a false one at the last. You'll best him yet, SirGrey--see if you don't. A villain always outwits himself in the end.You'll be master here one day, please God, or my name's not JockJarvis!"
Grey had taken out the casket, and found that it contained three hundredgolden guineas--the remnant of his father's fortune, and all that he hadbeen able to preserve to his son of what had once been a fine estate. Afew words cautioned Grey to be careful of the hoard, and let no one knowof its existence--"no one" plainly meaning his kinsman. It alsocontained a few faintly traced words of farewell, and just a plea forforgiveness--evidently written when mortal weakness was upon thewriter--which brought sudden tears to the eyes of the son, and blottedout the bitterness of heart which had been growing up as he mused uponhis fallen fortunes and his lost inheritance.
That evening Grey supped with his kinsman in a corner of the despoiledlibrary, which seemed the only room in the house now lived in. He hadwalked through some of the other state apartments, denuded of theirpictures and the best of the furniture, and looking ghostlike withclosed shutters and overgrown windows. He had not had heart to pursuehis investigations far; and all that he carried away with him weresaddened memories, and one little mouldering volume of poems, with hismother's name on the fly leaf, which he had found lying in a corner ofthe little room with the sunny oriel, where she had passed the greaterpart of her time. He thought he even remembered the book in her hands;and he slipped it into his breast as though it were some great treasure.The sneering smile of his kinsman as he bade him keep the volume, andsaw where he placed it, did not endear him any the more. He wished hecould get rid of his companionship, but that seemed impossible; and Greysoon gave up the tour of the house, and let himself be led back to thelibrary.
"No, I have no plans," he said briefly, as they sat at their frugalsupper, to which, in honour of the occasion, a small flagon of wine hadbeen added. "I think I shall remain in England. I have been a wanderersomething too long. A homely saying tells us that the rolling stonegathers no moss. I have youth and health and strength, and the worldlies before me. Men have won success with more against them beforethis, and why not I?"
"I should have thought the battlefield would have tempted you. There ishonour and renown to be won there, to say nothing of the spoils of avanquished foe," spoke Mr. Dumaresq, looking at him in a peering, craftyfashion. "Surely a gallant young gentleman of your birth and trainingwould not lack for opportunities of distinction amid the perils andglories of war!"
Suddenly Grey became aware that his kinsman was anxious for him to goand fight in the cause of the Allies. It could not be that he had heardof the happy chance which had made Marlborough his friend, for he had
spoken of that to none; and even if Dicon had boasted to old Jock,neither cared to have aught to do with the deaf and cross-grainedserving-man who waited upon the master within doors. A moment more andGrey had found the clue, and realized that his own death would makeBartholomew Dumaresq not only absolute master of Hartsbourne, but abaronet to boot; and in every battle thousands of brave soldiers wereleft dead upon the field, whilst many fell victim to wounds and theravages of disease caught during the hard weeks of campaigning.
"I think I shall remain in England," he answered quietly. "I have seensomething of war, but a career of peace has more attractions for me;"and he smiled to see the look of chagrin which played for a moment overthe crafty face of his kinsman.
Grey did not find it easy to sleep when he had climbed up into the greatcanopied bed in the guest chamber allotted to him. He scarcelyremembered this room. It was very large, and before he went to restGrey drew aside all the mouldering draperies from the windows, andopened every casement wide to the summer night. Even so the place feltmusty. There were strange creakings and groanings of the furniture, andthe owls without hooted and hissed in the ivy wreaths. More than onebat flew in and out, circling over his head in uncanny flight; and hadit not been that the previous night had been an almost sleepless one,Grey would scarce have closed an eye. As it was, he grew drowsygradually, and felt a strange swimming in his head to which he was astranger. He was just wondering whether the wine he had taken atsupper, the taste of which seemed curious to him at the time, could haveanything to do with this, when sleep suddenly fell upon him like a pall,and for a space he could not gauge he remained lapped in theunconsciousness of oblivion.
What was it roused him? Or was he indeed awake? The moonlight streamedinto the room, and lay like bars upon the floor. Its radiance wassufficient to light every corner of the room, and Grey found himselflying still as a stone, yet sweeping every corner with his gaze, forsurely he was not alone. He felt some presence close beside him, yetwhere could it be?
Suddenly his gaze travelled upwards, and for a few awful seconds he laygazing as the bird before the gaze of the snake.
A shining poniard hung, as it were, over his head. He saw the gleamingsilver of the blade. Its haft was grasped by a hand--a lean, claw-likehand. Its point was aimed at his own heart.
For a few endless seconds Grey lay staring up helplessly. Then theblade moved swiftly downwards. With a motion as swift, the young manthrew himself sidewise out of bed and upon the floor, and turning,sprang to his feet to meet the murderous foe.
Behold there was nothing! He was alone in the great moonlit room. Thecurtains behind the bed's head were slightly shaken--nothing more.
Horrified and bewildered, Grey dashed them aside. Behind was a wallpanelled like the rest of the room in black oak. Was it his fancy, orhad he heard just as he sprang to his feet the click as of a closingspring? Grey passed his hand over and over the woodwork, but could findnothing to give a clue. Old memories of secret sliding panels, unknownpassages to hiding-places, and ghostly visitants to sleeping guests,rose in succession before him. But this was something more than anordinary ghostly visitor. Grey saw again the murderous gleam of coldsteel over his head--saw the claw-like hand in its faded russet sleeve,the fierce downward sweep of the weapon.
"It was my kinsman, and he sought to do me to death--here in the hauntedchamber, where perhaps some infernal machinery exists whereby the corpsecould have been quickly and quietly removed and heard of no more. Whowould care save Dicon, and what could a poor varlet like that do if themaster of Hartsbourne were to assert that his kinsman had ridden off inthe early hours of the morning, he knew not whither? Did he drug thewine? Was this in his head all the while? Or was the idea suggestedonly by my refusal to place my neck in peril at the wars? O Barty,Barty Dumaresq, a pretty villain art thou! Before this I might perhapshave been tempted to return to the Duke, and seek to win my spurs at hisside; but now--no. I will take the safer, if the slower, path to fameand fortune, and I will live to make you rue the day you sought to ridyourself, by secret assassination, of the man in whose shoes you hopesome day to stand."