Deep Moat Grange

  CHAPTER XIX

  I HOOK MY FISH

  I had not fallen far. As is the wont of boys and cats, I was on myfeet again in a moment. Something like a tall Lochaber axe--with thehook but without the axe part--had fallen on me, and the steel fetchedme a sound clip over the bridge of the nose. Did you ever get a properclout there when you were least expecting it? Well, if you have, youknow how angry it makes you. I wanted somebody's blood. Hardly that,perhaps, for I had been decently brought up.

  But the thought of my mother, of my father's disappearance, and thestupefying clink on my nose, all taken together, made me wild to be atsomebody. Oh, it is easy to say "How wicked--yet so young!" and so on;but just try it yourself.

  Anyway, this is how it happened to me. I was up again, and tearinglike mad down the passage, quicker than a wink. I did not care, atthat moment, whether it was Jeremy Orrin or Mr. Stennis himself. Oneof the two I knew it must be. But the iron hook on its six-foot polegave me confidence. I could feel the point of it sharp even in thedarkness. I found out afterwards it was used to pull down the hanginglamps which the mad women and Miss Aphra--who was only half mad--usedin their mystic ceremonies. I expect they were trying to raise thedevil. Which was quite a work of supererogation--I think that is theword, but Elsie knows--considering that their own brother, Mad Jeremy,was on foot--and healthy, thank'ee kindly!

  Well, I grabbed my hook and made after my shadowy man who had dartedfrom behind the big reading desk. I knew some mystic palaver or otherhad been going on, but what that mummery had to do with the death ordisappearance of my father I did not care--only just streaked it downthe passage. It was dark as pitch, of course, but firm underfoot, andof a uniform height. The walls had been painted recently, I shouldsay, for I felt the bits of plaster come away in my hand as I put itout, and all along the courses of the stones felt ridgy.

  Then all of a sudden it dipped down, and the going got wet and soppy.

  "Under the moat!" said I to myself, thinking myself no end clever tohave hit on it. "We will be going up presently," I added to myself.

  Just so it happened. And then Joseph Yarrow thought himself thecleverest fellow in the world; though, come to think of it now, it wasreally a chance word of Elsie's that set me on the track.

  Anyway, there was somebody before me, for I heard a door open, thenshut, and, as it seemed, a kind of fumbling as if with a key whichwouldn't act.

  I was at the door in a trice--indeed, I rather tumbled upon it. Forthere were two or three steps leading up, pretty sloppy and slipperywith green stuff, and the smell of dank earth all about. Also, it gotcold, while it had been quite warm below. So I knew we were gettingnear the surface where the black frost was.

  Plung! I darted my long staff with the hook at the end of it betweenthe door and the doorpost. Luckily it caught on the steel part, so theman behind could not get the key to turn. Way there! I used my staffas a lever. The door gave. And in the chill dawn I found myself in alittle sham ruin, covered with ivy, quite near the place where Mr.Stennis got off his pony and came upon us the very first day Elsie andI had ever gone to Deep Moat Grange.

  There was nobody there. My gentleman had failed to lock the door, buthad managed to shoot an outside bolt which my long hook lever had tornaway like so much brown paper. I climbed through a gap in theruin--either a bit of an old cottage, such as shepherds live in, or,more probably, a thing built on purpose to shield the head of thesecret passage. I had never thought of secret passages in connectionwith the Grange. But, of course--come to think of it--the people therewould not have respected themselves if they had not at least one. Theysaw to it first thing--after the little coffins. "Necessities first,luxuries after," as my poor mother used to say when she confiscated mySaturday's penny for the Sunday's church collection.

  But in the growing light of the morning--dawn is the proper word,though smelling of poetry--I saw the man who had led me such a chaserunning through the wood in the direction of Brom Common. Now, I knewthat piece. Had not Elsie and I come there, crawling on ourstomachs--yes, lifting our four feet one at a time, counting the frontones, and not daring to move hardly! I was sure the fellow would haveto cross the road, and I knew where. He would not do it right in frontof Mr. Bailiff Ball's house; he would have to turn away to the right,about the place where poor Harry Foster was done to death. Because,you see, he would have to cross Brom Water by the bridge, and hecouldn't expect to have secret passages everywhere handy. So I maderight for that place. It was risky, I own; but then I was in the moodfor risks.

  I could see him running--or rather gliding--a big portfolio thing underhis arm, from tree to tree. And it came to me with a sudden certaintythat this man knew the fate of my father, and that he was carrying offthe booty under his armpits. Then somehow I got very angry all atonce, and vowed I would put the steel hook into him or burst. Istretched across for the stile where he would have to cross the bigmarch-dyke that bordered the Deep Moat property. He had not arrived,though I could hear him coming--in a precious hurry, too, and crashinglike a steer through the underbrush. I crouched behind a bush oflaurel--for we were in the pheasant shrubbery behind BailiffBall's--and waited with my hook at the "Ready."

  He passed me, running--a tall, gliding shadow, with something familiarin the back of it. I did not see him clearly, for he was all crouchedup because of the low branches of the evergreens and the leather casehe carried under his arm. He was breathing heavily. So was I, but Iwould have died before I would have let myself make so much noise aboutit.

  He looked about him for the stile. Evidently he knew the way wellenough. I thought I recognized, as he bent, momentarily lower, theoily glitter of black ringlets which distinguished Mad Jeremy. Butthough I knew there would be a tussle, I determined that I would notlet him off. Besides, we were pretty near old Ball's at any rate, andI meant to call for help like a steam whistle--that is, if it shouldprove to be Mad Jeremy, or even Mr. Stennis.

  Whoever he might be, not finding the stile, he began to climb the highdyke mighty actively--nearly six foot, I should say, was the height ofthat march-dyke--and he had just his leg over when I hooked my steelinto his collar and pulled him back. He fell unhandily, several of thestones following him, and the leather portfolio going all abroad. Hecame down on his face with a whop like a bag of wet salt.

  As I turned the fellow over, I was full as I could hold of everythingstuck-up--as arrogant as a jack sparrow after his first fight. He hadhurt his head rather, hitting it hard as he fell. The dawn had come upclear by that time. I tell you I gasped. I give you a hundred guessesto tell me whose face it was I saw.

  It was that of Mr. Ablethorpe, the Hayfork Parson.

  * * * * *

  Well, I know now how it feels when the world comes suddenly to an end;when all that you had counted upon turns out just nothing; when whatyou believed true, and would have staked your life upon, is proven allin a minute the falsest of lies.

  It was enough to drive any one mad. And indeed I think I could havestuck the steel hook into Mr. Ralph Ablethorpe, as he lay there in hisHigh Church parson's coat with the tails nearly to his feet, his stiffwhite collar and the big gold cross--real for true gold--swinging aslow as his hair watch chain. Yes, I would--but for one thing. TheHayfork Minister lay with his mouth open, his temples bleeding a littlewhere he had hit a piece of stone, and he looked dead--painfully dead.If he had looked a bit alive, I wouldn't have minded sticking the hookinto him. Just think of all that chase, and his pretending to hunt themurderers of poor Harry, and sending me up that drain pipe--and all inthe interests, as was now proven, of the murderers themselves. It wasenough to make a Quaker kick his mother.

  There was also, though I had not noticed it at first, one thing more.The portfolio that I had supposed to contain my father's stolen papersand the proofs of the crime--well, there it lay, with the lock broken,and ready for me to find all about the foul treachery of the HayforkMinister.

>   I was sure I should trap him now. I tell you I was so mad that I beganto think of his being hung. And how glad I would be to see the blackflag go up over the jail at Longtown. I meant to go there to see andcry "Hooray!"--I was so mad at his taking us all in. But, at any rate,I had a right to look, if only to search for my father's papers. Itwas I who had caught him, as it were, in the act.

  I argued that it must be something very precious for the HayforkMinister to keep it all the time by him, even when he was striking outhis hardest, and knowing himself closely pursued. He had heard theroar as the people of Breckonside burst the barred door and cametumbling into the Grange barn. And that was a good deal worse than MadJeremy's howls--at least, to hear. Yet he had never let go, nor triedany other way of getting rid of his burden, not even in the sham ruin,where there were bound to be pints of hidie-holes among the ivy. Butno; Mr. Ablethorpe held on to his leather case and just shanked it thefaster. I believe if it had not been for that and my knowing thecountry better, I would not have nabbed him as I did. It must,therefore, as I made sure, be something worth having, when he was soset on getting safe off with it as all that.

  So I took the case and cautiously opened the leather top. It foldedover like a square cap. I found no papers! "Well, I'm blowed!"--yes,I said that! Mother said I might, so as to keep me from worseexpressions. Father didn't care so much, so that I was a straight boyand told no lies--except when "jollying" somebody--making fun of them,that is--or just getting them to believe something because they weregreen.

  Anyway, I opened the parson's case and saw no papers. It was linedwith a kind of purple velvet--no end swell--and had a gold cross workedinside, like girls do things so as to waste their time. And inside acrystal globe there were a lot of round, wafer-looking things thatlooked good to eat, and a little silver dish beneath them--all figuredover in raised work. Then, in a little compartment all by itself,there was a kind of vase or jug, closed with a stopper--all of silver.Everything smelled good. I was just going to try the little waferythings, when all of a sudden the Hayfork Parson sat up, looking alldazed and nohow. He put his hand to his brow.

  So I thought "Now for the revelation!" But he only said--

  "Joseph, put that down this instant--you have not been confirmed! Andat any rate the Communion in both kinds is the privilege of theordained clergy!"

  Of course, I thought he had simply gone moony with the whack he had gotwhen I pulled him down from the dyke, as the Hielant Donalds did themailed knights at the Red Harlaw, as I had read in the history book.

  But in this I was mistaken.

  Mr. Ablethorpe got a bit better when he had assured himself that I hadnot touched the contents of his leather case. He even tried to snib itagain, but the catch had been broken in the fall, and the best he coulddo was to fasten it up with a bit of twine I lent him out of my pocket.

  It is a strange thing about grown-ups who set up for knowing everythingthat they never carry things that are really useful in their pockets;only watches and money, which people try to steal. Now, every boy hastwine and knives, and fish-hooks and marbles, and a catapult, and yetnobody ever thinks of stopping him with a levelled pistol on the King'shighway, saying, "Your pockets or your life!" They would need to haveregular Pickford vans to carry off the plunder, anyway, if they cleanedout very many boys. Why, I should think it a shame if I had less thansixty things in my pockets, all different, and all of the kind that younever knew when you were going to need them. And me going on foreighteen, too, and not a real schoolboy any longer, but a man!

  Then, after a while, I began to explain to Mr. Ablethorpe all abouteverything. He just sat open-mouthed as I told him about father andabout the mare coming into our yard through a locked door. I waswatching him. He turned a bit paler, but his face was not the face ofa guilty man.

  "Of course, I see now, Joe," he said, "it looked bad. And I don'twonder the mob acted as they did, seeing me leave the barn sohurriedly."

  Now, though I did not say so, I thought that pretty good, just about asgood as a dozen glass marbles for a halfpenny. "Leave the barnhurriedly!" says he. My respectable Aunt Sally! Why, he simplyscooted like the wind! What is it? He "stood not on the order of hisgoing, but--went?" I bet he did! There wasn't anybody in Mr.Mustard's school--no, nor yet in Breckonside, who could have caught theHayfork Parson but me. He had legs like a whacking pair of compasses,and went along like the wild ass that sniffeth up the wind.

  "Yes," he repeated, tying a white handkerchief about the size of atablecloth round his brow--I kept mum about what had given him theheadache; pretended that I had brought out the hook to fish with--"yes,Joe, I did leave the barn in a hurry. But it was for the sake of thosepoor, foolish women, for whose souls none cares but myself. I knowwell that in going there at all I am taking my life in my hands. Butthe eldest, Miss Aphra Orrin, shows a little more stability than theothers. And it was borne in upon me as a duty that I should try andmake them put away their mad vanities, no better than stocks andstones, by substituting a real worship in a real chapel. I found outby chance that the barn of Deep Moat Grange had been an oratory in thedays of the ancient Cistercian Abbey, which had been built on that siteabout 1460. It was, therefore, in my opinion, duly and properlyconsecrated. True, I have not obtained the authorization of my bishop,and for that, Joseph, you may blame me."

  I told him that it was all right as far as I was concerned. I did notthink of doing so. His dread secret, if that were all, was quite safewith me.

  "I thank you, Joseph," he said, with the solemn air he always had whenengaged in making me a good Churchman. "I admit that the action is, onthe face of it, irregular. But then the saving of these poor souls,Joseph! Consider! None to give them a thought but me! And I havealready induced them to substitute a crucifix for their foolish gauds,which had only a meaning in their own deranged brains, Joseph. Andthis very night, after confession such as the poor things could make, Ihad determined to administer the sacrament of the Holy Communion tothem. I was in the act of doing so when the noise outside, and thecrowd breaking in the doors, caused me to retire, in the belief that mypresence and the act in which I was engaged might be misunderstood byan incensed rabble. You agree that I was right, Joseph? Yes? Then--Iown it--I am much relieved in my mind--still more to find that all theelements are safe. It would have been terrible--a disastrous loss--ifany part of them had been injured. Even now, Joseph, when I came alittle to myself, it seemed to me that when I awoke I found you--you,Joseph, the son of a Churchman, who ought to have known better, in theact----"

  "No, Mr. Ablethorpe," said I; "but something was necessary to arouseyou, and it seemed to me that nothing else would have the desiredeffect."

  "Quite right, Joseph! You judged well," he said, nodding his head."And the pursuers? Were you able to turn them off the track? I heardthem pursuing."

  I reassured him. So far as the pursuers went, he had nothing to fear.Mr. Ablethorpe said that in that case he would go home and place themonstrance--I think he called it, but it doesn't seem the right word,does it?--in a place of safety. But as I had no time to lose, I wouldnot let him go without telling me if he had heard anything of my fatherat the house of Deep Moat Grange.

  "Joseph," he answered solemnly, "it is well enough known to you thatall I heard there passed into my knowledge under the sacred seal of theconfessional, and that I am debarred from repeating a word, either yeaor nay."

  "But I want to know about my father!" I cried. "You shall not gowithout! He may have been murdered! And suspicion points to thathouse where you were found, in which, according to your telling, youreceived confessions from those who may have been guilty!"

  "Joseph," he answered me, with an accent extremely pitiful, "indeed Icannot tell you! I am debarred!"

  "Debarred or no," I cried, "you must tell me if you have heard anythingabout my father, or I will break your head with this iron hook!"

  He could have taken me up in one hand and shaken me, but it
was notwith the weapons of an earthly warfare that he was fighting thispresent battle.

  "If so, I must e'en bow to the blast," he said. "I am aware that myactions not being strictly in accordance with canon law, and kept asecret from my bishop, I am a legitimate object of your suspicion."

  "Never mind that, Mr. Ablethorpe," I said. "Only tell me as a friend.Remember how I helped you all I could before. If you know anything ofmy father. I must hear of it, and you must tell me."

  He shook his head.

  "Indeed, you cannot understand, Joseph," he repeated mournfully. "Itis not to be expected that you should. I have not the authority totell you. It is a sacred thing with me."

  With the grasp of one hand I caught hold of the leathern case, and outcame the thing he called the monstrance. It had a kind of glass top,which I had lifted up to get at the wafers.

  "If you don't tell me," I shouted, "I'll send the whole flying into theBrom Water."

  "That would be deadly sin--the sin of sacrilege, Joseph," he answered,trying to get the case from me; but I was too active and too near thewall. "Hold, Joseph--oh, my monstrance--my cibory!"

  He was evidently in a great strait with his conscience. Curious whattimes some people have with their consciences! What a blessing minenever bothered me! I wonder what it feels like? Perhaps like when youhave eaten a whole bushel of unripe gooseberries and wish you hadn't.Something like that, I wager!

  At any rate, he felt bad, and I was sorry for him.

  So I didn't throw the monstrous thingborium away, because he thought somuch about it. I kept a tight hold of it, though, and said--

  "Well, then, tell me if you know anything about my father!"

  Mr. Ablethorpe sat down with his head between his hands, and groaned.

  "Perfectly legitimate--perfectly legitimate--from your point of view,"he said. "What am I to do? Seal of the confessional! I can't do it,yet I must satisfy Joseph."

  Then he hit upon something.

  "You know where the Rev. Cecil de la Poer lives," says he. "He is myspiritual director."

  I knew him. The Reverend Cecil was another of the ultra-HighChurchers, who lived about three miles off, and was a gentleman'sprivate chaplain. He was, if possible, ten times more set onthingboriums _et cetera_ than our Mr. Ablethorpe.

  "Well," said the Hayfork, "I will write a private confession of all Iknow about the matter to my spiritual director. I will intrust youwith the letter to deliver it to Mr. De la Poer. And if you open it,the sin will be on your head."

  "That's all right," said I, cheerfully.

  And he wrote something, and sealed, or, rather licked it, in anenvelope which he had used for carrying his cards in. It was on one ofthese that he had written his confession. He went off home in a greathurry to put the thingborium into his safe, and I opened the letter toMr. De la Poer behind the trunk of the first big tree.

  All it said was just--

  DEAR DE LA POER,--I have to communicate to you, under the seal of theconfessional, that I have learned nothing whatever concerning Mr.Yarrow, of Breckonside village, at the house of Deep Moat Grange orelsewhere.

  Yours truly, R. ABLETHORPE.

  So once more I had drawn blank.