44. SANDBOURNE--A LONELY HEATH--THE 'RED LION'--THE HIGHWAY
It was half-past eleven before the Spruce, with Mountclere and SolChickerel on board, had steamed back again to Sandbourne. The directionand increase of the wind had made it necessary to keep the vessel stillfurther to sea on their return than in going, that they might clearwithout risk the windy, sousing, thwacking, basting, scourging Jack Ketchof a corner called Old-Harry Point, which lay about halfway along theirtrack, and stood, with its detached posts and stumps of white rock, likea skeleton's lower jaw, grinning at British navigation. Here strongcurrents and cross currents were beginning to interweave their scrollsand meshes, the water rising behind them in tumultuous heaps, andslamming against the fronts and angles of cliff, whence it flew into theair like clouds of flour. Who could now believe that this roaring abodeof chaos smiled in the sun as gently as an infant during the summer daysnot long gone by, every pinnacle, crag, and cave returning a doubledimage across the glassy sea?
They were now again at Sandbourne, a point in their journey reached morethan four hours ago. It became necessary to consider anew how toaccomplish the difficult remainder. The wind was not blowing much beyondwhat seamen call half a gale, but there had been enough unpleasantnessafloat to make landsmen glad to get ashore, and this dissipated in aslight measure their vexation at having failed in their purpose. Still,Mountclere loudly cursed their confidence in that treacherously shortroute, and Sol abused the unknown Sandbourne man who had brought the newsof the steamer's arrival to them at the junction. The only course leftopen to them now, short of giving up the undertaking, was to go by theroad along the shore, which, curving round the various little creeks andinland seas between their present position and Knollsea, was of no lesslength than thirty miles. There was no train back to the junction tillthe next morning, and Sol's proposition that they should drive thither inhope of meeting the mail-train, was overruled by Mountclere.
'We will have nothing more to do with chance,' he said. 'We may miss thetrain, and then we shall have gone out of the way for nothing. More thanthat, the down mail does not stop till it gets several miles beyond thenearest station for Knollsea; so it is hopeless.'
'If there had only been a telegraph to the confounded place!'
'Telegraph--we might as well telegraph to the devil as to an old boobyand a damned scheming young widow. I very much question if we shall doanything in the matter, even if we get there. But I suppose we hadbetter go on now?'
'You can do as you like. I shall go on, if I have to walk every stepo't.'
'That's not necessary. I think the best posting-house at this end of thetown is Tempett's--we must knock them up at once. Which will youdo--attempt supper here, or break the back of our journey first, and geton to Anglebury? We may rest an hour or two there, unless you feelreally in want of a meal.'
'No. I'll leave eating to merrier men, who have no sister in the handsof a cursed old Vandal.'
'Very well,' said Mountclere. 'We'll go on at once.'
An additional half-hour elapsed before they were fairly started, thelateness and abruptness of their arrival causing delay in getting aconveyance ready: the tempestuous night had apparently driven the wholetown, gentle and simple, early to their beds. And when at length thetravellers were on their way the aspect of the weather grew yet moreforbidding. The rain came down unmercifully, the booming wind caught it,bore it across the plain, whizzed it against the carriage like a sowersowing his seed. It was precisely such weather, and almost at the sameseason, as when Picotee traversed the same moor, stricken with her greatdisappointment at not meeting Christopher Julian.
Further on for several miles the drive lay through an open heath, dottedoccasionally with fir plantations, the trees of which told the tale oftheir species without help from outline or colour; they spoke in thosemelancholy moans and sobs which give to their sound a solemn sadnesssurpassing even that of the sea. From each carriage-lamp the long raysstretched like feelers into the air, and somewhat cheered the way, untilthe insidious damp that pervaded all things above, around, andunderneath, overpowered one of them, and rendered every attempt torekindle it ineffectual. Even had the two men's dislike to each other'ssociety been less, the general din of the night would have prevented muchtalking; as it was, they sat in a rigid reticence that was almost a thirdpersonality. The roads were laid hereabouts with a light sandy gravel,which, though not clogging, was soft and friable. It speedily becamesaturated, and the wheels ground heavily and deeply into its substance.
At length, after crossing from ten to twelve miles of these eternalheaths under the eternally drumming storm, they could discern eyelets oflight winking to them in the distance from under a nebulous brow of palehaze. They were looking on the little town of Havenpool. Soon afterthis cross-roads were reached, one of which, at right angles to theirpresent direction, led down on the left to that place. Here the manstopped, and informed them that the horses would be able to go but a mileor two further.
'Very well, we must have others that can,' said Mountclere. 'Does ourway lie through the town?'
'No, sir--unless we go there to change horses, which I thought to do. Thedirect road is straight on. Havenpool lies about three miles down thereon the left. But the water is over the road, and we had better go round.We shall come to no place for two or three miles, and then only toFlychett.'
'What's Flychett like?'
'A trumpery small bit of a village.'
'Still, I think we had better push on,' said Sol. 'I am against runningthe risk of finding the way flooded about Havenpool.'
'So am I,' returned Mountclere.
'I know a wheelwright in Flychett,' continued Sol, 'and he keeps a beer-house, and owns two horses. We could hire them, and have a bit of sommatin the shape of victuals, and then get on to Anglebury. Perhaps the rainmay hold up by that time. Anything's better than going out of our way.'
'Yes. And the horses can last out to that place,' said Mountclere. 'Upand on again, my man.'
On they went towards Flychett. Still the everlasting heath, the blackhills bulging against the sky, the barrows upon their round summits likewarts on a swarthy skin. The storm blew huskily over bushes of heatherand furze that it was unable materially to disturb, and the travellersproceeded as before. But the horses were now far from fresh, and thetime spent in reaching the next village was quite half as long as thattaken up by the previous heavy portion of the drive. When they enteredFlychett it was about three.
'Now, where's the inn?' said Mountclere, yawning.
'Just on the knap,' Sol answered. ''Tis a little small place, and wemust do as well as we can.'
They pulled up before a cottage, upon the whitewashed front of whichcould be seen a square board representing the sign. After an infinitelabour of rapping and shouting, a casement opened overhead, and a woman'svoice inquired what was the matter. Sol explained, when she told themthat the horses were away from home.
'Now we must wait till these are rested,' growled Mountclere. 'A prettymuddle!'
'It cannot be helped,' answered Sol; and he asked the woman to open thedoor. She replied that her husband was away with the horses and van, andthat they could not come in.
Sol was known to her, and he mentioned his name; but the woman only beganto abuse him.
'Come, publican, you'd better let us in, or we'll have the law for't,'rejoined Sol, with more spirit. 'You don't dare to keep nobility waitinglike this.'
'Nobility!'
'My mate hev the title of Honourable, whether or no; so let's have noneof your slack,' said Sol.
'Don't be a fool, young chopstick,' exclaimed Mountclere. 'Get the dooropened.'
'I will--in my own way,' said Sol testily. 'You mustn't mind my tradingupon your quality, as 'tis a case of necessity. This is a woman nothingwill bring to reason but an appeal to the higher powers. If every man oftitle was as useful as you are to-night, sir, I'd never call them lumberagain as long as I live.'
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p; 'How singular!'
'There's never a bit of rubbish that won't come in use if you keep itseven years.'
'If my utility depends upon keeping you company, may I go to h--- forlacking every atom of the virtue.'
'Hear, hear! But it hardly is becoming in me to answer up to a man somuch older than I, or I could say more. Suppose we draw a line here forthe present, sir, and get indoors?'
'Do what you will, in Heaven's name.'
A few more words to the woman resulted in her agreeing to admit them ifthey would attend to themselves afterwards. This Sol promised, and thekey of the door was let down to them from the bedroom window by a string.When they had entered, Sol, who knew the house well, busied himself inlighting a fire, the driver going off with a lantern to the stable, wherehe found standing-room for the two horses. Mountclere walked up and downthe kitchen, mumbling words of disgust at the situation, the few of thiskind that he let out being just enough to show what a fearfully largenumber he kept in.
'A-calling up people at this time of morning!' the woman occasionallyexclaimed down the stairs. 'But folks show no mercy upon their flesh andblood--not one bit or mite.'
'Now never be stomachy, my good soul,' cried Sol from the fireplace,where he stood blowing the fire with his breath. 'Only tell me where thevictuals bide, and I'll do all the cooking. We'll pay likeprinces--especially my mate.'
'There's but little in house,' said the sleepy woman from her bedroom.'There's pig's fry, a side of bacon, a conger eel, and pickled onions.'
'Conger eel?' said Sol to Mountclere.
'No, thank you.'
'Pig's fry?'
'No, thank you.'
'Well, then, tell me where the bacon is,' shouted Sol to the woman.
'You must find it,' came again down the stairs. ''Tis somewhere up inchimley, but in which part I can't mind. Really I don't know whether Ibe upon my head or my heels, and my brain is all in a spin, wi' beingrafted up in such a larry!'
'Bide where you be, there's a dear,' said Sol. 'We'll do it all. Justtell us where the tea-caddy is, and the gridiron, and then you can go tosleep again.'
The woman appeared to take his advice, for she gave the information, andsilence soon reigned upstairs.
When one piece of bacon had been with difficulty cooked over the newly-lit fire, Sol said to Mountclere, with the rasher on his fork: 'Now lookhere, sir, I think while I am making the tea, you ought to go ongriddling some more of these, as you haven't done nothing at all?'
'I do the paying. . . . Well, give me the bacon.'
'And when you have done yours, I'll cook the man's, as the poor feller'shungry, I make no doubt.'
Mountclere, fork in hand, then began with his rasher, tossing it aboutthe gridiron in masterly style, Sol attending to the tea. He wasattracted from this occupation by a brilliant flame up the chimney,Mountclere exclaiming, 'Now the cursed thing is on fire!'
'Blow it out--hard--that's it! Well now, sir, do you come and begin uponmine, as you must be hungry. I'll finish the griddling. Ought we tomind the man sitting down in our company, as there's no other room forhim? I hear him coming in.'
'O no--not at all. Put him over at that table.'
'And I'll join him. You can sit here by yourself, sir.'
The meal was despatched, and the coachman again retired, promising tohave the horses ready in about an hour and a half. Sol and Mountcleremade themselves comfortable upon either side of the fireplace, sincethere was no remedy for the delay: after sitting in silence awhile, theynodded and slept.
How long they would have remained thus, in consequence of their fatigues,there is no telling, had not the mistress of the cottage descended thestairs about two hours later, after peeping down upon them at intervalsof five minutes during their sleep, lest they should leave without herknowledge. It was six o'clock, and Sol went out for the man, whom hefound snoring in the hay-loft. There was now real necessity for haste,and in ten minutes they were again on their way.
* * * * *
Day dawned upon the 'Red Lion' inn at Anglebury with a timid and wateryeye. From the shadowy archway came a shining lantern, which was seen tobe dangling from the hand of a little bow-legged old man--the hostler,John. Having reached the front, he looked around to measure thedaylight, opened the lantern, and extinguished it by a pinch of hisfingers. He paused for a moment to have the customary word or two withhis neighbour the milkman, who usually appeared at this point at thistime.
'It sounds like the whistle of the morning train,' the milkman said as hedrew near, a scream from the further end of the town reaching their ears.'Well, I hope, now the wind's in that quarter, we shall ha'e a littlemore fine weather--hey, hostler?'
'What be ye a talking o'?'
'Can hear the whistle plain, I say.'
'O ay. I suppose you do. But faith, 'tis a poor fist I can make athearing anything. There, I could have told all the same that the windwas in the east, even if I had not seed poor Thomas Tribble's smokeblowing across the little orchard. Joints be a true weathercock enoughwhen past three-score. These easterly rains, when they do come, which isnot often, come wi' might enough to squail a man into his grave.'
'Well, we must look for it, hostler. . . . Why, what mighty ekkypage isthis, come to town at such a purblinking time of day?'
''Tis what time only can tell--though 'twill not be long first,' thehostler replied, as the driver of the pair of horses and carriagecontaining Sol and Mountclere slackened pace, and drew rein before theinn.
Fresh horses were immediately called for, and while they were being putin the two travellers walked up and down.
'It is now a quarter to seven o'clock,' said Mountclere; 'and thequestion arises, shall I go on to Knollsea, or branch off at CorvsgateCastle for Enckworth? I think the best plan will be to drive first toEnckworth, set me down, and then get him to take you on at once toKnollsea. What do you say?'
'When shall I reach Knollsea by that arrangement?'
'By half-past eight o'clock. We shall be at Enckworth before eight,which is excellent time.'
'Very well, sir, I agree to that,' said Sol, feeling that as soon as oneof the two birds had been caught, the other could not mate without theirknowledge.
The carriage and horses being again ready, away they drove at once, bothhaving by this time grown too restless to spend in Anglebury a minutemore than was necessary.
The hostler and his lad had taken the jaded Sandbourne horses to thestable, rubbed them down, and fed them, when another noise was heardoutside the yard; the omnibus had returned from meeting the train.Relinquishing the horses to the small stable-lad, the old hostler againlooked out from the arch.
A young man had stepped from the omnibus, and he came forward. 'I want aconveyance of some sort to take me to Knollsea, at once. Can you get ahorse harnessed in five minutes?'
'I'll make shift to do what I can master, not promising about theminutes. The truest man can say no more. Won't ye step into the bar,sir, and give your order? I'll let ye know as soon as 'tis ready.'
Christopher turned into a room smelling strongly of the night before, andstood by the newly-kindled fire to wait. He had just come in haste fromMelchester. The upshot of his excitement about the wedding, which, asthe possible hour of its solemnization drew near, had increased till itbore him on like a wind, was this unpremeditated journey. Lying awakethe previous night, the hangings of his bed pulsing to every beat of hisheart, he decided that there was one last and great service which itbehoved him, as an honest man and friend, to say nothing of lover, torender to Ethelberta at this juncture. It was to ask her by some meanswhether or not she had engaged with open eyes to marry Lord Mountclere;and if not, to give her a word or two of enlightenment. That done, shemight be left to take care of herself.
His plan was to obtain an interview with Picotee, and learn from heraccurately the state of things. Should he, by any possibility, bemistaken in his belief as to the contracting parties, a knowledge of themistake woul
d be cheaply purchased by the journey. Should he not, hewould send up to Ethelberta the strong note of expostulation which wasalready written, and waiting in his pocket. To intrude upon her at sucha time was unseemly; and to despatch a letter by a messenger beforeevidence of its necessity had been received was most undesirable. Thewhole proceeding at best was clumsy; yet earnestness is mostly clumsy;and how could he let the event pass without a protest? Before daylighton that autumn morning he had risen, told Faith of his intention, andstarted off.
As soon as the vehicle was ready, Christopher hastened to the door andstepped up. The little stable-boy led the horse a few paces on the waybefore relinquishing his hold; at the same moment a respectably dressedman on foot, with a small black bag in his hand, came up from theopposite direction, along the street leading from the railway. He was athin, elderly man, with grey hair; that a great anxiety pervaded him wasas plainly visible as were his features. Without entering the inn, hecame up at once to old John.
'Have you anything going to Knollsea this morning that I can get a liftin?' said the pedestrian--no other than Ethelberta's father.
'Nothing empty, that I know of.'
'Or carrier?'
'No.'
'A matter of fifteen shillings, then, I suppose?'
'Yes--no doubt. But yond there's a young man just now starting; he mightnot take it ill if ye were to ask him for a seat, and go halves in thehire of the trap. Shall I call out?'
'Ah, do.'
The hostler bawled to the stable-boy, who put the question toChristopher. There was room for two in the dogcart, and Julian had noobjection to save the shillings of a fellow-traveller who was evidentlynot rich. When Chickerel mounted to his seat, Christopher paused to lookat him as we pause in some enactment that seems to have been alreadybefore us in a dream long ago. Ethelberta's face was there, as thelandscape is in the map, the romance in the history, the aim in the deed:denuded, rayless, and sorry, but discernible.
For the moment, however, this did not occur to Julian. He took the whip,the boy loosed his hold upon the horse, and they proceeded on their way.
'What slap-dash jinks may there be going on at Knollsea, then, my sonny?'said the hostler to the lad, as the dogcart and the backs of the two mendiminished on the road. 'You be a Knollsea boy: have anything reachedyour young ears about what's in the wind there, David Straw?'
'No, nothing: except that 'tis going to be Christmas day in five weeks:and then a hide-bound bull is going to be killed if he don't die aforethe time, and gi'ed away by my lord in three-pound junks, as a reward togood people who never curse and sing bad songs, except when they bedrunk; mother says perhaps she will have some, and 'tis excellent if wellstewed, mother says.'
'A very fair chronicle for a boy to give, but not what I asked for. Whenyou try to answer a old man's question, always bear in mind what it wasthat old man asked. A hide-bound bull is good when well stewed, I makeno doubt--for they who like it; but that's not it. What I said was, doyou know why three fokes, a rich man, a middling man, and a poor man,should want horses for Knollsea afore seven o'clock in the morning on ablinking day in Fall, when everything is as wet as a dishclout, whereasthat's more than often happens in fine summer weather?'
'No--I don't know, John hostler.'
'Then go home and tell your mother that ye be no wide-awake boy, and thatold John, who went to school with her father afore she was born orthought o', says so. . . . Chok' it all, why should I think there'ssommat going on at Knollsea? Honest travelling have been so rascallyabused since I was a boy in pinners, by tribes of nobodies tearing fromone end of the country to t'other, to see the sun go down in salt water,or the moon play jack-lantern behind some rotten tower or other, that,upon my song, when life and death's in the wind there's no telling thedifference!'
'I like their sixpences ever so much.'
'Young sonny, don't you answer up to me when you baint in thestory--stopping my words in that fashion. I won't have it, David. Nowup in the tallet with ye, there's a good boy, and down with another lockor two of hay--as fast as you can do it for me.'
The boy vanished under the archway, and the hostler followed at hisheels. Meanwhile the carriage bearing Mr. Mountclere and Sol wasspeeding on its way to Enckworth. When they reached the spot at whichthe road forked into two, they left the Knollsea route, and keepingthence under the hills for the distance of five or six miles, drove intoLord Mountclere's park. In ten minutes the house was before them, framedin by dripping trees.
Mountclere jumped out, and entered without ceremony. Sol, being anxiousto know if Lord Mountclere was there, ordered the coachman to wait a fewmoments. It was now nearly eight o'clock, and the smoke which ascendedfrom the newly-lit fires of the Court painted soft blue tints upon thebrown and golden leaves of lofty boughs adjoining.
'O, Ethelberta!' said Sol, as he regarded the fair prospect.
The gravel of the drive had been washed clean and smooth by the night'srain, but there were fresh wheelmarks other than their own upon thetrack. Yet the mansion seemed scarcely awake, and stillness reignedeverywhere around.
Not more than three or four minutes had passed when the door was openedfor Mountclere, and he came hastily from the doorsteps.
'I must go on with you,' he said, getting into the vehicle. 'He's gone.'
'Where--to Knollsea?' said Sol.
'Yes,' said Mountclere. 'Now, go ahead to Knollsea!' he shouted to theman. 'To think I should be fooled like this! I had no idea that hewould be leaving so soon! We might perhaps have been here an hourearlier by hard striving. But who was to dream that he would arrange toleave it at such an unearthly time of the morning at this dark season ofthe year? Drive--drive!' he called again out of the window, and the pacewas increased.
'I have come two or three miles out of my way on account of you,' saidSol sullenly. 'And all this time lost. I don't see why you wanted tocome here at all. I knew it would be a waste of time.'
'Damn it all, man,' said Mountclere; 'it is no use for you to be angrywith me!'
'I think it is, for 'tis you have brought me into this muddle,' said Sol,in no sweeter tone. 'Ha, ha! Upon my life I should be inclined tolaugh, if I were not so much inclined to do the other thing, at Berta'strick of trying to make close family allies of such a cantankerous pairas you and I! So much of one mind as we be, so alike in our ways ofliving, so close connected in our callings and principles, so matched inmanners and customs! 'twould be a thousand pities to part us--hey, Mr.Mountclere!'
Mountclere faintly laughed with the same hideous merriment at the sameidea, and then both remained in a withering silence, meant to express theutter contempt of each for the other, both in family and in person. Theypassed the Lodge, and again swept into the highroad.
'Drive on!' said Mountclere, putting his head again out of the window,and shouting to the man. 'Drive like the devil!' he roared again a fewminutes afterwards, in fuming dissatisfaction with their rate ofprogress.
'Baint I doing of it?' said the driver, turning angrily round. 'I ain'tgoing to ruin my governor's horses for strangers who won't pay double for'em--not I. I am driving as fast as I can. If other folks get in theway with their traps I suppose I must drive round 'em, sir?'
There was a slight crash.
'There!' continued the coachman. 'That's what comes of my turninground!'
Sol looked out on the other side, and found that the forewheel of theircarriage had become locked in the wheel of a dogcart they had overtaken,the road here being very narrow. Their coachman, who knew he was toblame for this mishap, felt the advantage of taking time by the forelockin a case of accusation, and began swearing at his victim as if he werethe sinner. Sol jumped out, and looking up at the occupants of the otherconveyance, saw against the sky the back elevation of his father andChristopher Julian, sitting upon a little seat which they overhung, liketwo big puddings upon a small dish.
'Father--what, you going?' said Sol. 'Is it about Berta that you'vecome?'
'Yes, I got your letter,' said Chickerel, 'and I felt I should like tocome--that I ought to come, to save her from what she'll regret. Luckily,this gentleman, a stranger to me, has given me a lift from Anglebury, orI must have hired.' He pointed to Christopher.
'But he's Mr. Julian!' said Sol.
'You are Mrs. Petherwin's father?--I have travelled in your companywithout knowing it!' exclaimed Christopher, feeling and looking bothastonished and puzzled. At first, it had appeared to him that, in directantagonism to his own purpose, her friends were favouring Ethelberta'swedding; but it was evidently otherwise.
'Yes, that's father,' said Sol. 'Father, this is Mr. Julian. Mr.Julian, this gentleman here is Lord Mountclere's brother--and, to cut thestory short, we all wish to stop the wedding.'
'Then let us get on, in Heaven's name!' said Mountclere. 'You are thelady's father?'
'I am,' said Chickerel.
'Then you had better come into this carriage. We shall go faster thanthe dogcart. Now, driver, are the wheels right again?'
Chickerel hastily entered with Mountclere, Sol joined them, and they spedon. Christopher drove close in their rear, not quite certain whether hedid well in going further, now that there were plenty of people to attendto the business, but anxious to see the end. The other three sat insilence, with their eyes upon their knees, though the clouds weredispersing, and the morning grew bright. In about twenty minutes thesquare unembattled tower of Knollsea Church appeared below them in thevale, its summit just touching the distant line of sea upon sky. Theelement by which they had been victimized on the previous evening nowsmiled falsely to the low morning sun.
They descended the road to the village at a little more mannerly pacethan that of the earlier journey, and saw the rays glance upon the handsof the church clock, which marked five-and-twenty minutes to nine.