CHAPTER V
THE MUMMERS
It was a strange meeting for Beatrice and Ralph the next morning. Shesaw him first from the gallery in chapel at mass, kneeling by hisfather, motionless and upright, and watched him go down the aisle whenit was over. She waited a few minutes longer, quieting herself,marshalling her forces, running her attention over each movement or wordthat might prove unruly in his presence; and then she got up from herknees and went down.
It had been an intolerable pain to tell the dying woman that she lovedher son; it tore open the wound again, for she had never yet spoken thatsecret aloud to any living soul, not even to her own. When the questioncame, as she knew it would, she had not hesitated an instant as to theanswer, and yet the answer had materialised what had been impalpablebefore.
As she had looked down from the gallery this morning she knew that shehated, in theory, every detail of his outlook on life; he was brutal,insincere; he had lied to her; he was living on the fruits of sacrilege;he had outraged every human tie he possessed; and yet she loved everyhair of his dark head, every movement of his strong hands. It was thatthat had broken down the mother's reserve; she had been beaten by thegirl's insolence, as a dog is beaten into respect; she had only onething that she had not been able to forgive, and that was that thisgirl had tossed aside her son's love; then the question had been askedand answered; and the work had been done. The dying woman hadsurrendered wholly to the superior personality; and had obeyed like achild.
* * * * *
She had a sense of terrible guilt as she went downstairs into thepassage that opened on the court; the fact that she had put into wordswhat had lain in her heart, made her fancy that the secret was writtenon her face. Then again she drove the imagination down by sheer will;she knew that she had won back her self-control, and could trust her owndiscretion.
Their greeting was that of two acquaintances. There was not the tremorof an eyelid of either, or a note in either voice, that betrayed thattheir relations had once been different. Ralph thanked her courteouslyfor her attention to his mother; and she made a proper reply. Then theyall sat down to breakfast.
Then Margaret had to be attended to, for she was half-wild with remorse;she declared to Beatrice when they went upstairs together that she hadbeen a wicked daughter, that she had resented her mother's words againand again, had behaved insolently, and so forth. Beatrice took her inher arms.
"My dear," she said, "indeed you must leave all that now. Come and seeher; she is at peace, and you must be."
The bedroom where Lady Torridon had died was arranged as a _chapelleardente;_ the great bed had been moved out into the centre of the room.Six tall candlesticks with escutcheons and yellow tapers formed aslender mystical wall of fire and light about it; the windows weredraped; a couple of kneeling desks were set at the foot of the bed.Chris was kneeling at one beside his father as they went in, and MaryMaxwell, who had arrived a few hours before death had taken place, wasby herself in a corner.
Beatrice drew Margaret to the second desk, pushed the book to her, andknelt by her. There lay the body of the strange, fierce, lonely woman,with her beautiful hands crossed, pale as wax, with a crucifix betweenthem; and those great black eyebrows beyond, below which lay the doublereverse curve of the lashes. It seemed as if she was watching them both,as her manner had been in life, with a tranquil cynicism.
And was she at peace, thought Beatrice, as she had told her daughterjust now? Was it possible to believe that that stormy, vicious spirithad been quieted so suddenly? And yet that would be no greater miraclethan that which death had wrought to the body. If the one was so still,why not the other? At least she had asked pardon of her husband forthose years of alienation; she had demanded the sacraments of theChurch!
Beatrice bowed her head, and prayed for the departed soul.
* * * * *
She was disturbed by the soft opening of a door, and lifted her eyes tosee Ralph stand a moment by the head of the bed, before he sank on hisknees. She could watch every detail of his face in the candlelight; histhin tight lips, his heavy eyebrows so like his mother's, his curvednostrils, the clean sharp line of his jaw.
She found herself analysing his processes of thought. His mother hadbeen the one member of his family with whom he had had sympathy; theyunderstood one another, these two bitter souls, as no one else did,except perhaps Beatrice herself. How aloof they had stood from allordinary affections; how keen must have been their dual loneliness! Andwhat did this snapped thread mean to him now? To what, in his opinion,did the broken end lead that had passed out from the visible world tothe invisible? Did he think that all was over, and that the one soulthat had understood his own had passed like a candle flame into thedark? And she too--was she crying for her son, a thin soundless sobbingin the world beyond sight? Above all, did he understand how alone he wasnow--how utterly, eternally alone, unless he turned his course?
A great well of pity broke up and surged in her heart, flooding her eyeswith tears, as she looked at the living son and the dead mother; and shedropped her head on her hands again, and prayed for his soul as well asfor hers.
* * * * *
It was a very strange atmosphere in the house during the day or two thatpassed before the funeral. The household met at meals and in the parlourand chapel, but seldom at other times. Ralph was almost invisible; andsilent when he appeared. There were no explanations on either side; hebehaved with a kind of distant courtesy to the others, answered theirquestions, volunteered a word or two sometimes; made himself useful insmall ways as regarded giving orders to the servants, inspecting thefuneral standard and scutcheons, and making one or two arrangementswhich fell to him naturally; and went out by himself on horseback or onfoot during the afternoon. His contempt seemed to have fallen from him;he was as courteous to Chris as to the others; but no word was spoken oneither side as regarded either the past and the great gulf thatseparated him from the others, or the future relations between him andhis home.
The funeral took place three days after death, on the Saturday morning;a requiem was sung in the presence of the body in the parish church; andBeatrice sat with the mourners in the Torridon chapel behind the blackhearse set with lights, before the open vault in the centre of thepavement. Ralph sat two places beyond her, with Sir James between; andshe was again vividly conscious of his presence, of his movements as heknelt and sat; and again she wondered what all the solemn ceremoniesmeant to him, the yellow candles, the black vestments, the mysterioushallowing of the body with incense and water--counteracting, as it were,with fragrance and brightness, the corruption and darkness of the grave.
She walked back with Margaret, who clung to her now, almost desperately,finding in her sane serenity an antidote to her own remorse; and as shewalked through the garden and across the moat, with Nicholas and Marycoming behind, she watched the three men going in front, Sir James inthe middle, the monk on his left, and the slow-stepping Ralph on hisright, and marvelled at the grim acting.
There they went, the father and his two sons, side by side in courteoussilence--she noticed Ralph step forward to lift the latch of thegarden-gate for the others to pass through--and between them lay animpassable gulf; she found herself wondering whether the other gulf thatthey had looked into half an hour before were so deep or wide.
She was out again with Sir James alone in the evening before supper, andlearnt from him then that Ralph was to stay till Monday.
"He has not spoken to me of returning again," said the old man, "Ofcourse it is impossible. Do you not think so, Mistress Atherton."
"It is impossible," she said. "What good would be served?"
"What good?" repeated the other.
The evening was falling swiftly, layer on layer of twilight, as theyturned to come back to the house. The steeple of the church rose up ontheir left, slender and ghostly against the yellow sky, out of the blackyews and cypresses that lay banked below i
t. They stopped and looked atit a moment, as it aspired to heaven from the bones that lay about itsbase, like an eternal resurrection wrought in stone. There all about itwere the mortal and the dead; the stones and iron slabs leaned, as theyknew, in hundreds about the grass; and round them again stood the roofs,beginning now to kindle under the eaves, where the living slept and ate.There was a rumbling of heavy carts somewhere beyond the village, acrack or two of a whip, the barking of a dog.
Then they turned again and went up to the house.
* * * * *
It was the chaplain who was late this evening for supper. The otherswaited a few minutes by the fire, but there was no sign of him. Aservant was sent up to his room and came back to report that he hadchanged his cassock and gone out; a boy had come from the parish-priest,said the man, ten minutes before, and Mr. Carleton had probably beensent for.
They waited yet five minutes, but the priest did not appear, and theysat down. Supper was nearly over before before he came. He came in bythe side-door from the court, splashed with mud, and looking pale andconcerned. He went straight up to Sir James.
"May I speak with you, sir?" he said.
The old man got up at once, and went down the hall with him.
The rest waited, expecting them to return, but there was no sign ofthem; and Ralph at last rose and led the way to the oak-parlour. As theypassed the door of Sir James's room they heard the sound of voiceswithin.
Conversation was a very difficult matter that evening. Ralph had behavedwith considerable grace and tact, but Nicholas had not responded. Eversince his arrival on the day before the funeral he had eyed Ralph like astrange dog intruded into a house; Mary had hovered round her husband,watchful and anxious, stepping hastily into gaps in the conversation,sliding in a sentence or two as Nicholas licked his lips in preparationfor a snarl; once even putting her hand swiftly on his and drowning agrowl with a word of her own. Ralph had been wonderfullyself-controlled; only once had Beatrice seen him show his teeth for amoment as his brother-in-law had scowled more plainly than usual.
The atmosphere was charged to-night, now that the master of the housewas away; and as Ralph took his seat in his father's chair, Beatrice hadcaught her breath for a moment as she saw the look on Nicholas's face.It seemed as if the funeral had lifted a stone that had hitherto heldthe two angry spirits down; Nicholas, after all, was but a son-in-law,and Ralph, to his view at least, a bad son. She feared that both mightthink that a quarrel did not outrage decency; but she feared forNicholas more than for Ralph.
Ralph appeared not to notice the other's scowl, and leaned easily back,his head against the carved heraldry, and rapped his fingers softly andrhythmically on the bosses of the arms.
Then she heard Nicholas draw a slow venomous breath; and the talk diedon Mary's lips. Beatrice stood up abruptly, in desperation; she did notknow what to say; but the movement checked Nicholas, and he glanced ather a moment. Then Mary recovered herself, put her hand sharply on herhusband's, and slid out an indifferent sentence. Beatrice saw Ralph'seyes move swiftly and sideways and down again, and a tiny wrinkle of asmile show itself at the corners of his mouth. But that danger waspassed; and a minute later they heard the door of Sir James's roomopposite open, and the footsteps of the two men come out.
Ralph stood up at once as his father came in, followed by the priest,and stepped back to the window-seat; there was the faintest hint in theslight motion of his hands to the effect that he had held his post asthe eldest son until the rightful owner came. But the consciousness ofit in Beatrice's mind was swept away as she looked at the old man,standing with a white stern face and his hands clenched at his sides.She could see that something impended, and stood up quickly.
"Mr. Carleton has brought shocking news," he said abruptly; and his eyeswandered to his eldest son standing in the shadow of the curtain. "Acompany of mummers has arrived in the village--they--they are to givetheir piece to-morrow."
There was a dead silence for a moment, for all knew what this meant.
Nicholas sprang to his feet.
"By God, they shall not!" he said.
Sir James lifted his hand sharply.
"We cannot hinder it," he said. "The priests have done what they can.The fellow tells them--" he paused, and again his eyes wandered toRalph--"the fellow tells them he is under the protection of my LordCromwell."
There was a swift rustle in the room. Nicholas faced sharply round tothe window-seat, his hands clenched and his face quivering. Ralph didnot move.
"Tell them, father," said Sir James.
The chaplain gave his account. He had been sent for by the parish priestjust before supper, and had gone with him to the barn that had beenhired for the performance. The carts had arrived that evening fromMaidstone; and were being unpacked. He had seen the properties; theywere of the usual kind--all the paraphernalia for the parody of the Massthat was usually given by such actors. He had seen the vestments, thefriar's habit, the red-nosed mask, the woman's costume and wig--all theregular articles. The manager had tried to protest against the priests'entrance; had denied at first that any insult was intended to theCatholic Religion; and had finally taken refuge in defiance; he hadflung out the properties before their eyes; had declared that no onecould hinder him from doing as he pleased, since the Archbishop had notprotested; and Lord Cromwell had given him his express sanction.
"We did all we were able," said the priest. "Master Rector said he wouldput all the parishioners who came, under the ban of the Church; thefellow snapped his fingers in his face. I told them of Sir James'swishes; the death of my Lady--it was of no avail. We can do nothing."
The priest's sallow face was flushed with fury as he spoke; and his lipstrembled piteously with horror and pain. It was the first time that themummers had been near Overfield; they had heard tales of them from otherparts of the country, but had hoped that their own village would escapethe corruption. And now it had come.
He stood shaking, as he ended his account.
"Mr. Carleton says it would be of no avail for me to go down myself. Iwished to. We can do nothing."
Again he glanced at Ralph, who had sat down silently in the shadow whilethe priest talked.
Nicholas could be restrained no longer. He shook off his wife's hand andtook a step across the room.
"And you--you sit there, you devil!" he shouted.
Sir James was with him in a moment, so swiftly that Beatrice did not seehim move. Margaret was clinging to her now, whispering and sobbing.
"Nick," snapped out the old man, "hold your tongue, sir. Sit down."
"God's Blood!" bellowed the squire. "You bid me sit down."
Sir James gripped him so fiercely that he stepped back.
"I bid you sit down," he said. "Ralph, will you help us?"
Ralph stood up instantly. He had not stirred a muscle as Nick shouted athim.
"I waited for that, sir," he said. "What is it you would have me do?"
Beatrice saw that his face was quite quiet as he spoke; his eyelidsdrooped a little; and his mouth was tight and firm. He seemed not to beaware of Nicholas's presence.
"To hinder the play-acting," said his father.
There fell a dead silence again.
"I will do it, sir," said his son. "It--it is but decent."
And in the moment of profound astonishment that fell, he came straightacross the room, passed by them all without turning his head, and wentout.
Beatrice felt a fierce emotion grip her throat as she looked after him,and saw the door close. Then Margaret seized her again, and she turnedto quiet her.
She was aware that Sir James had gone out after his son, after a momentof silence, and she heard his footsteps pass along the flags outside.
"Oh! God bless him!" sobbed Margaret.
Sir James came back immediately, shook his head, went across the room,and sat down in the seat that Ralph had left. A dreadful stillness fell.Margaret was quiet now. Mary was sitting with her husband on the oth
erside of the hearth. Chris rose presently and sat down by his father, butno one spoke a word.
Then Nicholas got up uneasily, came across the room, and stood with hisback to the hearth warming himself. Beatrice saw him glance now andagain to the shadowed window-seat where the two men sat; he hummed anote or two to himself softly; then turned round and stared at the firewith outstretched hands.
The bell rang for prayers, and still without a word being spoken theyall got up and went out.
In the same silence they came back. Ralph's servant was standing by thedoor as they entered.
"If you please, sir, Mr. Ralph is come in. He bade me tell you that allis arranged."
The old man looked at him, swallowed once in his throat; and at lastspoke.
"It is arranged, you say? It will not take place?"
"It will not take place, sir."
"Where is Mr. Ralph?"
"He is gone to his room, sir. He bade me tell you he would be leavingearly for London."