CHAPTER XIV
UNCLE MARMADUKE
That very same evening Patty had a chance to speak to Sinclair alone.
It was just after dinner, and the lovely English twilight was beginningto cast long, soft shadows of the tall cypresses across the lawn. Thevarious members of the family were standing about on the terrace, whenSinclair said, "You need some exercise, Patty; let's walk as far as thealcove."
Patty assented, and the two strolled away, while Mabel called after them,"Don't be gone long, for we're all going to play games this evening."
They all loved games, so Patty promised to return very soon.
"I never saw anything like this alcove before in my life," said Patty, asthey reached the picturesque spot and sat down upon the curving marbleseat.
"They are often found in the gardens of old English homes. Any arched orcovered seat out of doors is called an alcove. But this is rather anelaborate one. The marble pillars are of fine design, and the whole thingis beautifully proportioned."
"Is it very old?"
"Yes, older than the house. You know the Cromartys have lived on thisestate for several hundred years. But the original house was destroyed byfire, or nearly so, and the present house was built on the oldfoundations about the middle of the seventeenth century. If you'reinterested in these things, there are lots of books in the library,telling all about the history of the place."
"Indeed I am interested, and I shall look up the books, if you'll tell mewhat they are. Is there any legend or tradition connected with theplace?"
"No. We have no ghosts at Cromarty Manor. We've always been a peacefulsort, except that my great uncle quarrelled with my grandfather."
"Mrs. Cromarty's husband?"
"Yes. He was Roger Cromarty--grandfather was, I mean--and he had abrother Marmaduke. They were both high-tempered, and Marmaduke after anunusually fierce quarrel left home and went to India. But have you neverheard the story of the Cromarty Fortune?"
"No, I never have. Is it a sad story? Would you rather not tell me?"
"Why, no; it isn't a sad story, except that the conditions are rather sadfor us. But there's no reason in the world why you shouldn't hear it, ifyou care to. Indeed, I supposed Mabel had already told it you."
"No, she never did. Will you?"
"Yes. But not here. Let us go in, and get the family all together, andwe'll give you a dramatic recital of the Great Cromarty Mystery."
"Oh, is it a mystery story? How delightful. I love a mystery."
"I'm glad you do, but I assure you I wish it wasn't a mystery."
"Will it never be solved?"
"I fear not, now. But let us go back to the house, and tell the tale asit should be told."
They found that the others had already gone into the house, and weregathered round the big table that stood in the middle of the living room.As they joined the group, Sinclair said:
"Before we play games this evening, we are going to tell Patty the storyof Uncle Marmaduke's money."
Patty was surprised to note the different expressions on her friends'faces. Mabel seemed to shrink into herself, as if in embarrassment orsensitiveness. Mrs. Cromarty looked calmly proud, and Mrs. Hartley smileda little.
But Bob laughed outright, and said:
"Good! I'll help; we'll all help, and we'll touch up the tale until ithas all the dramatic effect of a three-volume novel."
"It won't need touching up," said Sinclair. "Just the plain truth isstory enough of itself."
"You begin it, Grandy," said Bob, "and then, when your imagination givesout, I'll take a hand at it."
The old lady smiled.
"It needs no imagination, Robert," she said; "if Patty cares to hear ofour family misfortune, I'm quite willing to relate the tale."
"Oh, I didn't know it was a misfortune," cried Patty. "I thought it was amystery story."
"It's both," said Mrs. Cromarty, "but if the mystery could be solved, itwould be no misfortune."
"That sounds like an enigma," observed Patty.
"It's all an enigma," said Bob. "Go ahead, Grandy."
"The story begins," said Mrs. Cromarty, "with my marriage to RogerCromarty. I was wed in the year 1855. My husband and I were happy duringthe first few years of our married life. He was the owner of thisbeautiful place, which had been in his family for many generations. Mydaughter, Emmeline, was born here, and when she was a child she filledthe old house with her happy laughter and chatter. My husband had abrother, Marmaduke, with whom he was not on good terms. Before mymarriage, this brother had left home, and gone to India. My husband heldno communication with him, but we sometimes heard indirectly from him,and reports always said that he was amassing great wealth in some Indiancommerce."
"Is that his portrait?" asked Patty, indicating a painting of afine-looking man in the prime of life.
"Yes," said Mrs. Cromarty. "But the picture represents him as lookingamiable, whereas he was always cross, grumpy, and irritable."
"Like me," commented Bob.
"No," said his mother, "I'm thankful to say that none of you childrenshow the slightest signs of Uncle Marmaduke's disposition. I was onlyfifteen years old when he died, but I shall never forget his scowlingface and angry tones."
"Was he always cross?" asked Patty, amazed that any one could beinvariably ill-tempered.
"Always," said Mrs. Cromarty. "At least, whenever he was here. I neversaw him elsewhere."
"Go back, Grandy; you're getting ahead of your story."
"Well, I tried my best to bring about a reconciliation between the twobrothers, but both were proud and a bit stubborn. I could not persuade myhusband to write to Marmaduke, and though I wrote to him myself, myletters were torn up, and the scraps returned to me."
"Lovely old gentleman!" commented Bob. "I'm glad my manners are at leastbetter than that!"
"At last, my husband, Mr. Roger Cromarty, became very ill. I knew hecould not recover, and wrote Marmaduke to that effect. To my surprise, Ireceived a grim, but fairly polite letter, saying that he would leaveIndia at once, and hoped to reach his brother's bedside in time for areconciliation."
"And did he?" asked Patty, breathlessly.
"Yes, but that was all. My husband was dying when his brother came. Theymade peace, however, and arranged some business matters."
"Oh," cried Patty, "how glad you must have been that he did not come toolate. What a comfort all these years, to know that they did make up theirquarrel."
"Yes, indeed," assented Mrs. Cromarty. "But I have talked all I can.Emmeline, you may take up the narrative."
"I'll tell a little," said Mrs. Hartley, smiling; "but I shall soon letSinclair continue. We all know this tale by heart, but only Sinclair cando full justice to the mysterious part of it. I was only ten years oldwhen my father died, and Uncle Marmaduke came here to live. It changedthe whole world for me. Where before all had been happiness and love, nowall was unkindness and fear. None of us dared cross Uncle Marmaduke, forhis fiery anger was something not to be endured. And beside beingbad-tempered, he was erratic. He did most peculiar things, without anyreason in them whatever. Altogether, he was a most difficult man to livewith. But at my father's death he owned this estate, and we had to livewith him or go homeless. He had plenty of money, and he repaired andrestored much about the place. But even in this he was erratic. He wouldhave masons in to renew the crumbling plaster and brickwork in thecellars, while the drawing-room furniture could go ragged and forlorn. Hespent his money freely for anything he wanted himself, but was niggardlytoward mother and myself. However, he always told us that at his death weshould inherit his wealth. The estate, also, he willed to mother. Helived with us for about five years, and then was killed by a fall fromhis horse. I was a girl of fifteen then, and when he was brought in,mangled and almost dead, he called for me. I went to his bedside,trembling, for even then I feared he was going to scold me. But he couldonly speak in hesitating, disjointed sentences. It was with difficulty Igathered that he was trying to give me some
information about hisfortune. I wish now I had tried to help him tell me; but at that time itseemed heartless to think of such things when the poor man was dying, andI soothed him, and begged him not to try to talk, when it was such anexertion."
"Oh, Mother," wailed Bob, "if you'd only listened, instead of talkingyourself!"
Mrs. Hartley smiled, as if she were used to such comments at this part ofthe story.
"Well," she said, "I think Sinclair may take up the recital here. Thatis, if you're interested, Patty?"
"If I'm interested! Indeed I am! It's very exciting, and I want it allnow; no 'continued in our next.'"
"We don't know the end, ourselves," said Mabel, with such a wistful lookin her eyes that Patty went over and sat by her, and with her arm roundher listened to the rest of the story.
"Well, then," said Sinclair, in his grave, kindly voice, "Uncle Marmaduketried very hard to communicate to mother and Grandy something about hisfortune. But his accident had somehow paralysed his throat, and he couldscarcely articulate. But for an hour or more, as he lay dying, he wouldlook at them with piercing glances, and say what sounded like dickens!gold!"
"Did he mean gold money?" asked Patty, impulsively.
"They didn't know, then. But they thought at the time that dickens! wasone of his angry expletives, as he was given to such language. The gold,they felt sure, referred to his fortune, which he had always declared hewould leave to Grandmother. Then he died, without being able to say anyother except those two words, gold and dickens."
"He might have meant Charles Dickens," suggested Patty, who dearly lovedto guess at a puzzle.
"As it turned out, he did," said Sinclair, serenely; "but that's ahead ofthe story."
"And, too," said Mrs. Hartley, "the way in which he finally articulatedthe word, by a great effort, and after many attempts, was so--soexplosive, that it sounded like an ejaculation far more than like a notedauthor."
"Years went by," continued Sinclair, "and Grandy and mother were leftwith the old Cromarty estate, and nothing to keep it up with."
"We had a small income, my boy," said his grandmother.
"Yes, but not enough to keep the place as it should be kept. However, notrace could be found of Uncle Marmaduke's money. He was generallysupposed to have brought a large fortune home from India, but it seemedto have vanished into thin air. His private papers and belongings showedno records of stocks or bonds, no bank books, and save for a small amountof ready money he had by him, he seemed to be penniless. Of course, hewasn't; the way he had lived, and the money he had spent indicated thathe had a fortune somewhere; and, too, there was his promise to leave itto Grandy. Of course, the conclusion was that he had hidden thisfortune."
"A hidden fortune!" exclaimed Patty, blissfully. "Oh, what a lovelymystery! Why, you couldn't have a better one!"
"I think a discovered fortune would be far better," said Mabel, and Pattyclasped her friend's hand in sympathy.
"At last," said Sinclair, "a _very_ bright lawyer had a glimmering of anidea that Uncle Marmaduke's last words had some meaning to them. Heinquired of the ladies of the house, and learned that the late Mr.Marmaduke had been exceedingly fond of reading Dickens, and that he wasgreatly attached to his own well-worn set of the great author's works.'Ah, ha!' said the very bright lawyer. 'Between those well-thumbed pages,we will find many Bank of England notes, or certificates of valuablestocks!' They flew to the library, and thoroughly searched all thevolumes of the set. And what do you think they found?"
"Nothing," said Patty, wagging her head solemnly.
"Exactly that! Save for a book-marker here and there, the volumes heldnothing but their own immortal stories. 'Foiled again!' hissed the _very_bright lawyer. But he kept right on being foiled, and still no hoard ofsecurities was found."
"But what about the gold?" said Patty. "They didn't expect to find goldcoins in Dickens' books?"
"No, but they fondly hoped they'd find a mysterious paper in cryptogram,like the 'Gold Bug,' you know, telling them to go out in the dark of themoon, and dig north by northwest under the old apple tree."
"Don't try to be funny, Clair," put in Bob; "go on with the yarn. You'retelling it well to-night."
"And then," said Sinclair, looking from one to another of his interestedhearers, "and then the years rolled by until the fair maiden, EmmelineCromarty, was of sufficient age to have suitors for her lily-white hand.As we can well believe, after a mere glance in her direction, she was thebelle of the whole countryside. Brave gallants from far and near camegalloping into the courtyard, and dismounting in feverish, haste, cried,'What ho! is the radiant Emmeline within?' Then the old warden with hisclanking keys admitted them, and they stood in rows, that the coquettishdamsel might make a selection."
"How ridiculous you are, Sinclair!" said his mother, smiling. "Can't youomit that part?"
"Nay, nay, fair lady. And so, it came to pass, that among the shoals ofsuitors was one who was far more brave and strong and noble than all therest. Edgar Hartley----"
Sinclair's voice broke a little as he spoke the name of his reveredfather. But hiding his emotion, he went on.
"Edgar Hartley wooed and won Emmeline Cromarty, and in the beautiful Juneof 1880 they were wed and merrily rang the bells. Now while Edgar Hartleywas by no means wealthy, he had a fair income, and the fortunes ofCromarty Manor improved. The young couple took up their abode here, andthe Dowager Duchess of Cromarty lived with them."
"I'm not a Duchess," interposed Mrs. Cromarty, in her calm way.
"You ought to have been, Grandy," declared Bob. "You look the part, andI'm sure there's a missing title somewhere that belongs to you. PerhapsUncle Marmaduke concealed it with the rest of his fortune."
"No, dear boy; we are not titled people. But the Cromartys are an oldfamily, and much beloved and respected by all the country round."
"We are so!" declared Bob, with great enthusiasm.