The Light of Scarthey: A Romance

  CHAPTER II

  THE LIGHT-KEEPER

  He who sits by the fire doth dream, Doth dream that his heart is warm. But when he awakes his heart is afraid for the bitter cold.

  _Luteplayer's Song._

  The year 1814 was eventful in the annals of the political world.Little, however, of the world's din reached the little northernisland; and what there came of it was not willingly hearkened to.There was too much of wars past and present, too many rumours of warsfuture about it, for the ear of the recluse.

  Late in the autumn of that red-letter year which brought a shortrespite of peace to war-ridden Europe--a fine, but rather tumultuousday round Scarthey--the light-keeper, having completed the morning'smenial task in the light-turret (during a temporary absence of hisfactotum) sat, according to custom, at his long table, reading.

  With head resting on his right hand whilst the left held a page readyto turn, he solaced himself, pending the appearance of the mid-daymeal, with a few hundred lines of a favourite work--the didacticpoems, I believe, of a certain Doctor Erasmus Darwin, on the analogiesof the outer world.

  There was quite as little of the ascetic in Adrian Landale's physicalman as of the hermitage in his chosen abode.

  With the exception of the hair, which he wore long and free, and ofwhich the fair brown had begun to fade to silver-grey, the master ofScarthey was still the living presentment of the portrait which, evenat that moment, presided among the assembly of canvas Landales in thegallery of Pulwick Priory. Eight years had passed over the model sincethe likeness had been fixed. But in their present repose, the featuresclear cut and pronounced, the kindly thoughtful eyes looked, ifanything, younger than their counterfeit; indeed, almostincongruously young under the flow of fading hair.

  Clean shaven, with hands of refinement, still fastidious, his longyears of solitude notwithstanding, as to general neatness of attire,he might at any moment of the day have walked up the great stair ofhonour at Pulwick without by his appearance eliciting other remarksthan that his clothes, in cut and colour, belonged to fashions nowsome years lapsed.

  The high clock on the mantelshelf hummed and gurgled, and with muchdeliberation struck one. Only an instant later, lagging footstepsascended the wooden, echoing stairs without, and the door was pushedopen by the attendant, an old dame. She was very dingy as to garb,very wrinkled and feeble as to face, yet with a conscious achievementof respectability, both in appearance and manner, befitting her postas housekeeper to the "young master." The young master, be it statedat once, was at that time fast approaching the end of his second scoreyears.

  "Margery," said Adrian, rising to take the heavy tray from theknotted, trembling hands; "you know that I will not allow you to carrythose heavy things upstairs yourself." He raised his voice tosing-song pitch near the withered old ear. "I have already told youthat when Renny is not at home, I can take my food in your kitchen."

  Margery paused, after her wont, to wait till the sounds had filteredas far as her intellect, then proceeded to give a few angryheadshakes.

  "Eh! Eh! It would become Sir Adrian Landale o' Pulwick--Barrownite--tohave 's meat i' the kitchen--it would that. Nay, nay, Mester Adrian,I'm none so old but I can do my day's work yet. Ah! an' it 'ud be wellif that gomerl, Renny Potter, 'ud do his'n. See here, now, MesterAdrian, nowt but a pint of wine left; and it the last," pointing herwithered finger, erratically as the palsy shook it, at a cut-glassdecanter where a modicum of port wine sparkled richly under thefacets. "And he not back yet, whatever mischief's agate wi' him,though he kens yo like your meat at one." And then circumstancesobliged her to add: "He is landing now, but it's ower late i' theday."

  "So--there, Margery," sang the "Squire," giving his old nurseaffectionate little taps on the back. "Never fash yourself; tidescannot always fit in with dinner-hours, you know. And as for poorRenny, I believe after all you are as fond of him, at the bottom ofyour heart, as I am. Now what good fare have you got for me to-day?"bending from his great height to inspect the refection, "Ah--hum,excellent."

  The old woman, after another pause for comprehension, retired battlingwith dignity against the obvious pleasure caused by her master'saffectionate familiarity, and the latter sat down at a small table infront of the south window.

  Through this deep, port-hole-like aperture he could, whilst disposingof his simple meal, watch the arrival of the yawl which did ferryingduty between Scarthey and the mainland. The sturdy little craft,heavily laden with packages, was being hauled up to its usual place ofsafety high on the shingle bank, under cover of a remnant of wallingwhich in the days of the castle's strength had been a securelanding-place for the garrison's boats, but which now was almostfilled by the cast-up sands and stone of the beach.

  This was done under the superintendence of Rene, man of all work, andwith the mechanical intermediary of rollers and capstan, by a smallwhite horse shackled to a lever, and patiently grinding his steadyrounds on the sand.

  His preliminary task achieved, the man, after a few friendly smacks,set the beast free to trot back to his loose pasture: proceedinghimself to unship his cargo.

  Through the narrow frame of his window, the master, with eyes ofapproval, could see the servant dexterously load himself with awell-balanced pile of parcels, disappearing to return after intervalsempty-handed, within the field of view, and select another burden, nowheavier now more bulky.

  In due course Rene came up and reported himself in person, and as hestopped on the threshold the dark doorway framed a not unstrikingpresentment; a young-looking man for his years (he was a trifle juniorto his master), short and sturdy in build, on whose very broadshoulders sat a phenomenally fair head--the hair short, crisp, andcurly, in colour like faded tow--and who, in smilingly respectfulsilence, gazed into the room out of small, light-blue eyes, brimful ofalertness and intelligence, waiting to be addressed.

  "Renny," said Adrian Landale, returning the glance with one ofcomfortable friendliness, "you will have to make your peace withMargery; she considers that you neglect me shamefully. Why, you areactually twenty minutes late after three days' journeying, and perilsby land and sea!"

  The Frenchman answered the pleasantry by a broader smile and a scrape.

  "And, your honour," he said, "if what is now arriving on us had comehalf an hour sooner, I should have rested planted there" (with a jerkof the flaxen head towards the mainland), "turning my thumbs, tillto-morrow, at the least. We shall have a grain, number one, soon."

  He spoke English fluently, though with the guttural accent ofBrittany, and an unconquerable tendency to translate his own jargonalmost word for word.

  In their daily intercourse master and man had come for many years pastto eschew French almost entirely; Rene had let it be understood thathe considered his proficiency in the vernacular quite undeniable, andwith characteristic readiness Sir Adrian had fallen in with the littlevanity. In former days the dependant's form of address had been_Monseigneur_ (considering, and shrewdly so, an English landowner tostand in that relation to a simple individual like himself); in laterdays "Monseigneur" having demurred at the appellation, "My lord," inhis own tongue, the devoted servant had discovered "Your honour" as ahappy substitute, and adhered to this discovery with satisfaction.

  "Oh, we are going to have a squall, say you," interpreted the master,rising to inspect the weather-glass, which in truth had fallen deepwith much suddenness. "More than a squall, I think; this looks like ahurricane coming. But since you are safe home, all's well; we aresecure and sound here, and the fishing fleet are drawing in, I see,"peering through the seaward window. "And now," continued Adrian,laying down his napkin, and brushing away a few crumbs from the foldsof a faultless silk stock, "what have you for me there--and whatnews?"

  "News, your honour! Oh, for that I have news this time," said Mr.Renny Potter, with an emphatic nod, "but if your honour will permit, Ishall say them last. I have brought the clothes and the linen, thewine, the brandy, and the books. Brandy and wine, your honour, Iheard, out of
the last prize brought into Liverpool, and a Nantes shipit was, too"--this in a pathetically philosophical tone. Then after apause: "Also provisions and bulbs for the devil's pot, as Margery willcall it. But there is no saying, your honour eats more when I havebrought him back onions, eschalot, and _ail_; now do I lie, yourhonour? May I?" added the speaker, and forthwith took his answer fromhis master's smile; "may I respectfully see what the old one haskitchened for you when I was not there?"

  And Adrian Landale with some amusement watched the Frenchman rise fromthe package he was then uncording to examine the platters on the tableand loudly sniff his disdain.

  "Ah, ah, boiled escallops again. Perfectly--boiled cabbage seasonedwith salt. Not a taste in the whole affair. Prison food--oh, yes, oldwoman! Why, we nourished ourselves better in the Tower, when we couldhave meat at all. Ah, your honour," sighed the man returning to histalk; "you others, English, are big and strong, but you waste greatthings in small enjoyment!"

  "Oho, Renny," said the light-keeper squire, as he leant against thefireplace leisurely filling a long clay pipe, "this is one of yourepigrams; I must make a note of it anon; but let me see now what youreally have in those parcels of books--for books they are, are theynot? so carefully and neatly packed."

  "Books," assented the man, undoing the final fold of paper. "Mr. Youngin the High Street of Liverpool had the packets ready. He says youmust have them all; and all printed this year. What so many people canwant to say, I for my count cannot comprehend. Three more parcels onthe stairs, your honour. Mr. Young says you must have them. But ittook two porters to carry them to the Preston diligence."

  Not without eagerness did the recluse of Scarthey bend over and fingerthe unequal rows of volumes arrayed on the table, and with a smile ofexpectation examine the labels.

  "The Corsair" and "Lara" he read aloud, lifting a small tome moredaintily printed than the rest. "Lord Byron. What's this? Jane Austen,a novel. 'Roderick, last of the Goths.' Dear, dear," his smile fadinginto blankness; "tiresome man, I never gave him orders for any suchthings."

  Rene, battling with his second parcel, shrugged his shoulders.

  "The librarian," he explained, "said that all the world read thesebooks, and your honour must have them."

  "Well, well," continued the hermit, "what else? 'Jeremy Bentham,' anew work; Ricardo, another book on economy; Southey the Laureate,'Life of Nelson.' Really, Mr. Young might have known that naval deedshave no joy for me, hardly more than for you, Renny," smiling grimlyon his servant. "'Edinburgh Review,' a London magazine for the lastsix months; 'Rees's Cyclopaedia,' vols. 24-27; Wordsworth, 'TheRecluse.' Ah, old Willie Wordsworth! Now I am anxious to see what hehas to say on such a topic."

  "Dear Willie Wordsworth," mused Sir Adrian, sitting down to turn overthe pages of the 'Excursion,' "how widely have our lives drifted apartsince those college days of ours, when we both believed in the comingmillennium and the noble future of mankind--noble mankind!"

  He read a few lines and became absorbed, whilst Rene noiselesslybusied himself in and out of the chamber. Presently he got up, book inhand, slowly walked to the north window, and passively gazed at themisty distance where rose the blue outline of the lake hills.

  "So my old friend, almost forgotten," he murmured, "that is where youindite such worthy lines. It were enough to tempt me out into men'sworld again to think that there would be many readers and loversabroad of these words of yours. So, that is what five and twenty yearshave done for you--what would you say to what they have done forme...?"

  It was a long retrospect.

  Sir Adrian was deeply immersed in thought when he became aware thathis servant had come to a standstill, as if waiting for a return ofattention. And in answer to the mute appeal he turned his head oncemore in Rene's direction.

  "Your honour, everything is in its place," began the latter, with afitting sense of his own method. "I have now to report that I saw yourman of business in Lancaster, and he has attended to the matter of thebrothers Shearman's boat that was lost. I saw the young men themselvesthis morning. They are as grateful to Sir Adrian as people in thiscountry can express." This last with a certain superiority.

  Sir Adrian received the announcement of the working of one of hisusual bounties with a quiet smile of gratification.

  "They also told me to say that they would bring the firewood and theturf to-morrow. But they won't be able to do that because we shallhave dirty weather. Then they told me that when your honour wants fishthey begged your honour to run up a white flag over the lantern--theythought that a beautiful idea--and they would bring some as soon aspossible. I took on myself to assure them that I could catch what fishyour honour requires; and the prawns, too ... but that is what theyasked me to say."

  "Well, well, and so you can," said the master, amused by the show ofsub-acute jealousy. "What else?"

  "The books of the man of business and the banker are on the table. Ihave also brought gazettes from Liverpool." Here the fellow'scountenance brimmed with the sense of his news' importance. "I knowyour honour cares little for them. But this time I think you will readthem. Peace, your honour, it is the peace! It is all explained inthese journals--the 'Liverpool Mercury.'"

  Renny lifted the folded sheets from the table and handed them withcontained glee. "There has been peace these six months, and we neverknew it. I read about it the whole way back from the town. The Emperoris shut up on an island--but not so willingly as your Honour, ah,no!--and there is an end of citizen Bonaparte. Peace, France andEngland no longer fighting, it is hard to believe--and our old kingsare coming back, and everything to be again as in the old days."

  Sir Adrian took the papers, not without eagerness, and glanced overthe narrative of events, already months old, with all the surprise ofone who, having wilfully shut himself out from the affairs of theworld, ignored the series of disasters that had brought about thetyrant's downfall.

  "As you say, my friend, it is almost incredible," he said, at length.Then thoughtfully: "And now you will be wanting to return home?" saidhe.

  Rene, who had been scanning his master's face with high expectation,felt his heart leap as he thought he perceived a hidden tone of regretin the question.

  He drew himself up to his short height, and with a very decided voicemade answer straightway:

  "I shall go away from your honour the day when your honour dismissesme. If your honour decides to live on this rock till my hour, or his,strikes--on this rock with him I remain. I am not conceited, I hope,but what, pray, will become of your honour here without me?"

  There was force in this last remark, simply as it was pronounced.Through the mist of interlacing thoughts suggested by the word Peace!(the end of the Revolution, that distant event which, nevertheless,had had such sweeping influence over the course of his whole life), itbrought a faint smile to Sir Adrian's lips.

  He took two steps forward and laid his hand familiarly on the man'sbroad shoulder, and, in a musing way, he said at intervals:

  "Yes, yes, indeed, good Renny, what would become of me?--what wouldhave become of me?--how long ago it seems!--without you? And yet itmight have been as well if two skeletons, closely locked in embrace,blanched by the grinding of the waters and the greed of the crabs, nowreposed somewhere deep in the sands of that Vilaine estuary.... Thisscore of years, she has had rest from the nightmare that men have madeof life on God's beautiful earth. I have been through more of it, mygood Renny."

  Rene's brain was never equal to coping with his master's periodic fitsof pessimism, though he well knew their first and ever-present cause.In a troubled way he looked about the room, so peaceful, so retiredand studious; and Sir Adrian understood.

  "Yes, yes, you are right; I have cut off the old life," he made answerto the unspoken expostulation, "and that I can live in my own smallworld without foregoing all my duties, I owe to you, my good friend;but startling news like this brings back the past very livingly, deadthough it be--dead."

  Rene hesitated; he was pondering over the advisability of
disburdeninghimself of yet another strange item of information he had in reserve;but, as his master, rousing himself with an effort as if to dismisssome haunting thought, turned round again to the table, he decidedthat the moment was not propitious.

  "So you have seen to all these things," said Sir Adrian wearily."Good; I will look over them."

  He touched the neat pile of books and papers, listlessly, as he spoke,yet, instead of sitting down, remained as he was, with eyes that hadgrown wondering, staring out across the sea.

  "Look," he said presently, in a low voice, and Rene noticed a rareflush of colour rise to the thin cheeks. "Look--is not this day justlike--one we both remember well...? Listen, the wind is coming up asit did then. And look at yonder sky!"

  And taking the man by the arm, he advanced slowly with him towards thewindow.

  In the west the heavens on the horizon had grown threateningly dark;but under the awe-inspiring slate-coloured canopy of clouds thereopened a broad archway filled with primrose light--the luminous arch,well known to seafarers, through which charge the furious southwesternsqualls. The rushing of the storm was already visible in the distanceover the grey waters, which having been swayed for days by a steadyAquilon were now lashed in flank by the sudden change of wind.

  The two men looked out for a while in silence at the spectacle of thecoming storm. In the servant's mind ran various trivial thoughtsbearing on the present--what a lucky matter it was that he should havereturned in time; only just in time it was; from the angry look of theouter world the island would now, for many a day be besieged by seasimpassable to such small craft as alone could reach the reef. Had hetarried but to the next tide (and how sorely he had been tempted toremain an hour more in the gatekeeper's lodge within sight and hearingof buxom Moggie, Margery's grand-daughter), had he missed the tide,for days, maybe for weeks, would the master have had to watch andtend, alone, the beacon fire. But here he was, and all was well; andhe had still the marvellous news to tell. Should he tell them now? No,the master was in one of his trances--lost far away in the past nodoubt, that past that terminated on such a day as this. And SirAdrian, with eyes fixed on the widening arch of yellow light, waslooking inwards on the far-away distance of time.

  Men, who have been snatched back to life from death in the deep,recall how, before seeming to yield the ghost, the picture of theirwhole existence passed in vivid light before the eye of their mind.Swift beyond the power of understanding are such revelations; in oneflash the events of a good or an evil life leap before the seeingsoul--moment of anguish intolerable or of sublime peace!

  On such a boisterous day as this, some nineteen years before, by thesandy mouth of the river Vilaine, on the confines of Brittany andVendee had Adrian Landale been drowned; under such a sky, and underthe buffets of such an angry wind had he been recalled to life, and inthe interval, he had seen the same pictures which now, coursing backmany years in a few seconds, passed before his inward vision.