‘I daresay these of your father’s may fit you tolerably well, my lord,’ and then put me at my ease, while he helped me dress, by telling stories of my father’s wild ways, how, as a boy, he spent all the time he could in the stables, and rode in horse-races at Newmarket, learned boxing of two great experts called Jackson and Mendoza, acted as whipper-in for his father’s huntsman, and was rusticated from the university of Oxford for introducing a giraffe into the chapel of Christ Church College.
‘Ah, he were a wild one, Master Felix were,’ said Watchett fondly, helping me into grey breeches and a striped grey fustian coat with cut steel buttons – not in the first stare of fashion, I could see, but certainly far superior to my own damp and salty garments. ‘But not an ounce of vice in him – heart of gold, Master Felix had.’
Buckled, square-toed shoes completed my attire.
‘There,’ said Watchett, arranging a white stock round my neck. ‘Now you’re as fine as fivepence, my lord! I daresay Mr ffanshawe will be taking you off to His Grace’s tailor in Bath presently, but for a nuncheon at home, you will do very well. May I say how glad we are to have you among us! It’s like a ray of sunshine to have a young face in the house again.’ He gave me a warm smile and I felt that I had found another friend.
Mr Burden was waiting for me downstairs. I was relieved to learn that my grandfather would not be present at the meal; he, it seemed, ate by himself in his own apartments. Mr Burden led me to a dining-room where cold meat, fruit, cakes, and wine were laid out in golden dishes and crystal vessels. Mr ffanshawe was there, and a group of other men who were introduced by Mr Burden.
‘This is Mr Willowes, your grandfather’s secretary; and Mr Tyler, who looks after the estate; and Mr Bendigo, your grandfather’s librarian; and Dr Larpent, your grandfather’s medical adviser; and Mr Dinsdale who oversees the affairs of the house and garden; and Mr Tweedy the archivist.’
These men all acknowledged my introduction to them with perfect politeness; and glanced at me briefly, as if estimating me to be too young to be of any interest or importance. Mr ffanshawe, indeed, remarked that presently he and I must have a short conversation about business affairs; he was furnished he said, with a copy of my parents’ marriage-lines, which had come to hand with my father’s long-delayed letter; but he would be obliged if I could give him details of my age, place of birth, etc., for his records. That seemed to be his sole interest in me.
We sat down around a large table, were served by a stately butler, and all the men proceeded to eat a hearty meal, talking among themselves about the affairs of the estate, and quite ignoring me. When they referred to my grandfather, as they did from time to time, they alluded to him as ‘His G’, in slightly contemptuous, indulgent tones. – ‘No use asking His G about that – better do as you think fit, Tyler. Sell off the bullocks and buy black-faced ewes.’
It soon became plain to me, listening, that my grandfather had nothing to do with the running of his affairs, that these men constituted the real power in the house.
Towards the end of the meal they began talking about me, however.
‘Now that Lord St Winnow has returned, he had best be sent to school,’ said Mr Willowes, a thin, dry, grey-haired man with gold spectacles halfway down his nose, glancing at me over the top of the spectacles in a severe manner, as if I were a bit of grit that had lodged in the works of a smooth-running machine. He went on, ‘It is to be presumed that, as he has spent all his life in Spain, he is far behind in his studies. Mr ffanshawe, I leave it to you to select a suitable establishment where his lordship may be prepared for Eton and Oxford.’
Mr ffanshawe said, ‘I had already been considering that point myself; I think Pulteney’s Academy in Bath will do very well. Mr Burden, I am sure, will be good enough to examine his lordship and discover his capabilities and attainments; and, Mr Tyler, if you will charge yourself with outfitting him, I fancy he may be despatched to school within a week or so. I will communicate with the headmaster of the Pulteney immediately. Let us see – he will need clothes – books – a box for his things – a horse – furnishings for his room – ’
I felt rather astonished at being thus briskly disposed of; they seemed to be dealing with me as if I were a parcel. I could not complain that they bore me any ill-will or behaved unkindly; indeed, as I presently discovered, they were all men of honour and discharged their duties with the utmost diligence and regard for the good of the estate. It just had not occurred to them that my wishes need be considered.
But then, I acknowledged to myself, I was not at all sure what my wishes were. How could I decide whether it was better to be sent away to school, and meet some English boys, or to remain here and be snapped at by my mad grandfather?
Then a thought came to me which made the blood run quick in my veins.
I said,
‘Mr ffanshawe, have I any money?’
He stared at me rather blankly, as if the great gold ornament in the centre of the table had suddenly piped up and asked him a question.
‘Eh? I beg your pardon, Lord St Winnow? Money?’
His expression was so comical that I almost laughed.
‘Er – I believe Lord St Winnow wishes to ascertain whether he is possessed of funds,’ remarked Mr Tyler, a red-haired man who looked like a foxy horse, or a horsey fox.
‘Eh – well – well – I could advance your lordship half a guinea,’ Mr ffanshawe conceded.
‘No, thank you; I don’t mean that,’ I said civilly. ‘I meant, is there any money here that belongs to me?’
‘Why – why yes,’ said Mr ffanshawe, looking as if all this were most improper. ‘A sum was laid aside for your lordship, by the terms of your late father’s Will, to be administered by Trust, er – invested in the Funds – bringing in an income of some three thousand pounds a year – ’
‘So, as I haven’t spent any of it since I was born, there must be a great deal of it by now?’
‘I would not say a great deal,’ said Mr ffanshawe fastidiously, ‘not a great deal, but a reasonable sum, yes, my lord, to be administered on your behalf at the discretion of the Trust, until you are of age.’
‘And what is the Trust?’
‘The Trust? Why, that is the persons designated to administer the funds.’
I felt as if we were going round and round in circles.
‘Yes, but who are these persons?’
‘Why, Mr Willowes, Mr Tyler, Mr Bendigo, Mr Burden, Mr Dinsdale and myself.’
‘Very good,’ said I. ‘Then, if you please, Senor ffanshawe, I wish you will have five hundred pounds from my monies despatched to Truro jail, for Mr Sam Pollard, who is imprisoned there unjustly for debt, part of the sum to pay off his debt, and the rest to be used by him as he chooses.’
‘Five hundred pounds? – I trust your lordship is speaking in jest?’ said Mr ffanshawe after a pause. ‘Five hundred pounds, I would have you know, is a very considerable sum of money.’
‘I am quite aware of that, Mr ffanshawe,’ said I. ‘Sam Pollard is a friend of mine who risked his life to help me, travelling in a ship full of dangerous criminals, and he accompanied me to England, where he knew that he might expect to be flung into jail. I wish you will send the five hundred pounds to Truro at once, if you please.’
The eight men all stared at one another.
This is very untoward,’ said Mr ffanshawe.
‘Unprecedented,’ said Mr Willowes.
‘Exceptional,’ said Mr Dinsdale.
‘If the boy really owes his life to this person – ‘ said Mr Tyler.
‘But how can we be sure of that?’ said Mr Willowes. ‘A young person cannot possibly judge of such a case. The boy may well have imagined the danger.’
‘Young persons are easily imposed upon,’ agreed Mr Bendigo, a dusty little man with red-rimmed watery eyes. ‘The man in Truro jail may well be a character of the lowest order.’
‘I think it would certainly be our duty to look most closely into the credentials of the
fellow in the jail before we disburse any money,’ said Mr Dinsdale.
‘Five hundred pounds, your lordship, cannot be laid out as if it were half a guinea,’ said Mr ffanshawe.
I began to feel my temper going, as I thought of Sammy Pollard lying in Truro jail – which I imagined like the calabozo in Oviedo – while these old roosters ate their dinner off gold plate and pecked my patience to pieces.
Then I noticed that Mr Burden was smiling at me sympathetically, so I made a great effort at control, and said,
‘Mr ffanshawe, you spoke just now of purchasing a horse for me; how much would such an animal cost?’
‘Why,’ he said, ‘I suppose one might be procured for a couple of hundred guineas.’
‘And my clothes and furnishings – how much will they cost?’
‘About the same, I daresay – a little more.’
‘Very well. Pray give me that money in cash, Mr ffanshawe, and I will undertake to buy my own clothes, very much more cheaply, and my own mount. I am accustomed to ride a mule, which I can obtain for a twentieth of that sum, and I will send the rest to my friend.’
Their faces lengthened, their mouths opened, and they looked at one another in utter dismay.
‘Ride a mule? Lord St Winnow ride a mule?’ said the foxy Mr Tyler in tones of strong disgust. ‘That is quite out of the question!’
‘But it is not out of the question that I should neglect the friend who saved my life at the risk of his own?’ I said with some heat.
They all looked at one another again, and Dr Larpent, a well-set-up, good-natured, clever-looking man, said,
‘Perhaps if Lord St Winnow were to step aside into the library a moment, the Trustees might convene a formal meeting and discuss the matter quietly. I am sure they can find some means of settling this affair to everybody’s satisfaction.’
Glancing at him, I was surprised when he gave me a friendly wink. Thawing a little, I replied in a dignified manner,
‘Certainly; I will be glad to retire to the library.’
‘Lynton will show you the way,’ said Mr Burden, smiling at me, and the stately butler did so.
The library seemed much more promising than that of my grandfather at Villaverde. Many of the volumes in the well-stocked shelves were plays, novels, or poetry. I wondered if they had belonged to my father or my uncle Charles, and if I might get permission to take some of these books away with me to school.
Then, in a glass-fronted case, I discovered a number of musical instruments – flutes, pipes, a fiddle, a viol, a rebeck. Full of delight at this welcome sight, I opened the case, pulled out a set of pipes, and began to softly play one of the tunes that Sam and I had composed, which we had called ‘An Air for the Bad-Tempered Mule, with Various Variations’.
The ripple of the notes soothed my anger and filled me with a calm, steadfast resolve to see that Sam received the money somehow. My first indignant notions – of taking one of the gold dinner-plates, riding off with it to Bath, and pawning it – died away; I thought to myself, ‘Come, Felix! You have made your way here, you escaped from Oviedo jail and from the shipwreck and the Comprachicos – by God’s help; do not lose trust in Him now.’
Sure enough, after ten minutes or so, Dr Larpent came into the library. I was playing away and did not hear him at first until he said, ‘Ahem!’
I looked up to see him smiling at me. He said, ‘I have always been told that your father was a very gifted musician, and now I believe it.’
This statement gave me a complicated pain, which I did not wish to examine, so I said,
‘Did they decide about the money?’
He began laughing. ‘Yes, they have it all arranged! Poor fellows, you must make allowances for them. They are only just beginning to realise what has happened, to them. They have run everything in their own way for so long – since your grandfather fell into his dotage – five or six years now – but do not worry, they will come around in time! They are really a set of good fellows, only a little stiff in their notions.’
‘So what is to be done?’ said I, a little stiffly myself.
‘There is an agent for your grandfather’s estate in Exeter, since the Duke owns considerable properties in the West Country. This agent will be instructed to travel to Truro and assign the necessary funds to your friend.’
‘I suppose they want to make certain that my friend is not “a character of the lowest order”,’ I said hotly. ‘Well, they will find that my story was true in every particular and my friend is a very good, honest man, who has been villainously ill-used.’
‘Then you have no cause for anxiety,’ said Dr Larpent cheerfully.
Mr ffanshawe soon came in to confirm this, and to ask if I wished to despatch a note to my friend in Truro. I noticed that he now treated me more seriously than he had done before, and looked at me directly, when addressing me, with a certain respect in his manner.
I said I should indeed like to write a letter to my friend, and, as there were pens, ink, and paper in the library, I sat down to do so at once. With my heart in my pen, I wrote Sam that I had succeeded in finding my kin, that they were rich and powerful, and that I was therefore able to send him means to free himself from debt, which I was happy to do, as it was only a tiny and partial payment for all he had done to help me. I begged him to apply to me here, or to my grandfather’s agent, should more help be needed. And I wrote, ‘I know that you will be anxious to return to Spain with all possible speed, for Juana will be so anxious about you. Any money left over is for your passage. I do not ask you to delay your departure. But still – if you should require to stay in England for any reason – I hope you will come to see your Friend.’
I folded the paper and sealed it with my grandfather’s seal (a fountain springing from the turrets of a castle) then gave it to the messenger who was waiting to ride with it to Exeter.
Having achieved this filled me with relief. Mounted on a good horse the man could easily reach Exeter within the day; by next day the money would be in Truro, and Sam released from prison. I would not be quite free of anxiety until I heard from Sam himself that this was so, but meantime I felt much eased, and in a mood to learn more of this great domain where I found myself.
Looking through the library window and seeing Mr Burden strolling on the terrace, I went out to walk with him.
‘Is it all arranged?’ he said kindly. ‘Is the money on its way to your friend?’
‘I hope so!’ said I. ‘Senor Burden, are you at leisure? Can I ask a kindness of you?’
‘Of course, my dear boy! I am entirely at your disposal.’
Accordingly I pulled out my father’s papers, which I had transferred to the pockets of the striped coat that had once been his, and said,
‘Senor Burden, can you read these to me? For I cannot – I cannot understand why my f-f-fa – ‘ I stopped, took a breath, and began again, as Mr Burden quietly waited, ‘I don’t understand why he pretended to me all those years! It gives me a pain to think about it. And I am hoping that this paper explains why he did it.’
‘I think I can understand why he did it,’ said Mr Burden quietly. ‘But let us see.’ He looked about us and said, ‘At the end of this terrace there is a little loggia which receives the afternoon sun. I think we shall be warm enough there for half an hour.’
So we settled ourselves in the small stone shelter, which looked out on to the grassy rolling park, with its grazing sheep and deer.
Mr Burden took the papers and studied them in silence for some considerable time. I did not ask him questions or try to hurry him; I waited.
At last, very slowly, he read out the contents of the letter:
‘My dearest boy: I shall be gone when you read these words. Forgive me for not speaking them to you aloud – I will try to explain how it all fell out. You see, when I was young, I was a wild, impatient boy. Charles is fourteen years older – he was always well-behaved and I was always in trouble. Many, many times, Felix, you remind me of myself! When I wa
s sent home from Oxford university my father was so angry that we had a terrible quarrel – he said he never wished to see me again. So I left home and enlisted in the -th under the name of Ensign Brooke. I was happy in the army and soon won promotion. Then, when I was with General Moore’s army in Astorga, I met your mother – she was being educated at a convent there – I loved her at first sight, she loved me, and we made a runaway match of it. This was in 1808. Oh, she was beautiful! It cheers me to think of her. Strange that I write this letter in the house where she lived. I wrote to my father that I had married her, but had no answer from him. I supposed he was still too angry to reply. I planned to take Luisa to England – I was sure when he saw her he would forgive us. But then she became ill – she was expecting you – and had to return to Villaverde, for General Moore’s army was retreating; she could not accompany me. Little did we think that we would not meet again in this life. Then I was wounded, so badly that for months I lay like a dead man in a mountain shepherd’s hut, cared for by kind people who said I reminded them of their lost son.
‘At last I was well enough to crawl, and I crawled over the mountains to Villaverde. That took many more months.
‘Arrived there, I found that you had been born, and that Luisa had died. Receiving that news was like my death knell; I did not think I had very much longer to live myself. I discovered that no letter had ever come from my father. Nevertheless I swallowed my pride and wrote again, sending our wedding lines and telling of your birth. That letter, too, remained unanswered. Meanwhile I could not bear to reveal myself as Captain Brooke, as Luisa’s husband, and ask for the charity of the Cabezadas. They did not even believe that we had been married – or that I came of a good family – how would they receive me, penniless, crippled, cast off by my father? But as Bob the groom they were prepared to receive me and give me house-room. And thus I could be near you, Felix, and see that you were healthy and thriving, even if treated somewhat harshly. My poor boy! Many a time I have longed to reveal myself, but that would be to involve you, a child of four or five, in a daily deceit – or to shame you before all – I could not do it. All I could do was to pour my love on you in small ways, see you grow strong and active, rejoice in your good spirit.