Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“Come, sir, that does one good,” cried Humphrey. “I am glad I’ve come.”

“Well, I am glad to see you, Humphrey; but yet – ”

“I know, sir – I know,” said Humphrey. “I could tell you exactly what you feel – a bit of envy-like; but there, bless your heart, if it wasn’t for Polly and the thoughts of her, I should be a miserable man.”

“Well, you’ve got plenty to make you miserable,” said Richard.

“Ah, you may smile, sir – I know what you mean; but I have, all the same. I tell you, I was a deal happier man without the estate than I am with it. Old Lloyd and Mrs Lloyd – begging your pardon for speaking so of them – look sneering-like at me; so do the quality; hang them, they’re civil enough, but I can see them sneer. They look down on me, of course. I’m not one of their sort. I’m ignorant, and can’t talk to them. I get on well enough with the young fellows, shooting, and so on; but I always feel as if I ought to load their guns, and I can’t help saying ‘sir’ to every one of them.”

“But I thought Mr Mervyn – ”

“Mr Mervyn’s as good and kind a gentleman as ever lived, and he’s wanted to learn me all sort of things; but I can’t take to them – I can’t, indeed, sir. Then there’s Polly: she’s at a fine school, and, poor lass, she’s miserable, and writes to me how glad she’ll be to get away. It’s all wrong, sir. What’s the good of a horse to a man as can’t ride, or a yacht to a man as can’t sail it? I’ve got Penreife, and I go in and out of it feeling quite ashamed-like, just as if I was a fish out of water. I tell you, Master Dick, upon my sivvy, what with feeling uncomfortable about ousting you, and being sneered at on the sly, and bothered with the company and invitations, and hints to dress different, and learn this, and learn that, I haven’t had a happy day since you left. I don’t like it, and I don’t want it. Damn the estate! – there!”

“Why, my dear fellow, you’ll soon get used to it if you make up your mind. Why, you’re in your old keeper’s clothes.”

“Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be? There’s no one up here I know, so I thought I’d be comfortable-like, and I thought – I thought I should be better in them to come and see you. And now, sir, how’s it with you?”

“Oh, pretty well, Humphrey. I’ve got the command of a schooner, and I’m going on a voyage to India.”

“No, no – don’t go, Master Dick – don’t. Come down into Cornwall again.”

Richard shook his head.

“Nonsense, sir; why, lookye here. Here am I, Humphrey Lloyd – ”

“Trevor,” said Richard.

“Hang the name!” said Humphrey, “it’s always bothering me. I more often sign Lloyd than Trevor, which is about the awkwardest name there ever was to write. Ah, Master Dick, it was a bad day’s work for me when there was that change.”

“Nonsense, man.”

“Ah, but it was; and I tell you what: if it wasn’t for my darling little lassie, I should take to drinking to drown my cares – But, look here, Master Richard – they wanted me to take that name, too – Richard – but I wouldn’t stand that. Well, look here, sir, why don’t you come down, and put your foot in the old place again? What’s being born got to do with it? We couldn’t help being born; we didn’t want to be, I dessay; and we couldn’t help what they did with us in our cradles.”

“Of course not, Humphrey.”

“Well, look here, sir; you grew into a gentleman, I grew into a common man. Well, then, what’s stupider than trying to make me what I didn’t grow into, and you into a common man? It’s rubbish: we’re neither of us no good as we are.”

Richard laughed – rather bitterly, though.

“Polly and I have had it all over, sir. I went down to her school-place, poor little lass. She’s very unhappy, and we came to the conclusion that with the cottage nicely papered and painted, and a hundred a year, we should be as happy as the day’s long. So come, Master Richard – there’s the place nohow for want of you. Come down, and take possession.”

“Humphrey, if ever there was a fellow born with the soul of a gentleman, it’s you. But no; there is such a thing in a man as pride, and I have too much to accept your offer; and, besides, I have made an engagement.”

“Not to be married, sir?”

“No, no; my ship, man, my ship.”

“Oh!” said Humphrey; “because I was thinking, sir. There’s Miss Rea, you know.”

“What about her?” said Richard, sharply.

“Oh, only that she’s down at Tolcarne now, sir. They say she’s been better lately. There was some talk about her being engaged to an officer – that captain, sir, as come down and stayed with us – you, I mean – but they say that’s all broken off, because he was married already. His wife fetched him, and he’s gone off in a regiment to India.”

Richard remained silent.

“Well, come – look here, Master Dick, you say you won’t take the place back?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then let’s go halves.”

“Humphrey, it is yours by right; keep it,” said Richard, decisively.

“Well, come then, sir, we were boys together, you won’t refuse to do your old companion a good turn?”

“Anything consistent that you ask me to do, Humphrey, I’ll do with pleasure.”

“Then come down and be my best man at my wedding.”

Richard hesitated, for there was a battle going on within his breast. He longed – longed intensely to go down and see Cornwall again. Tiny Rea was there – he might see her. Yes, and make himself more wretched than ever, for he could not speak to her. It would be madness to go – and yet once – to see the old place before he left England – just for a few hours. And why should he not see Tiny, just to tell her of his unaltered faith? He felt that he would give the world to go, and yet pride kept him back, “All right – I’ll walk in, Mrs Fiddison,” said a voice, and Frank Pratt entered.

“Well, Dick, old man, how are you? Ah, Humphrey, I told you I should turn up some time.”

“I’m trying to get Master Dick here, sir, to come down and be my best man at the wedding.”

“Well, he’ll do that for you, surely,” said Pratt, quietly. “Go down, Dick. I’ve promised Humphrey to go. I said I would directly he asked.”

Pratt looked very solemn over it; but there was tremendous exultation in his heart as he thought of seeing Pin, for the family had left Russell Square directly after the unpleasant éclaircissement.

“He’ll come, Humphrey. There, I’ll promise for him, and so you may make your mind happy.”

“But just say you will, Master Dick,” said Humphrey, rising.

“Well, I will, Humphrey,” said Richard, holding out his hand, though he repented the next moment, as his successor took his leave.

“Seen Mrs Vanleigh lately?” said Pratt, as soon as they were alone.

“Poor woman! no, not for two days. I must call.”

“Van’s behaving very well now that it’s too late. There’s a regular allowance for her at his army agents. I didn’t believe a man could have changed so as he did. It was that fever did it, coming upon the shock. Poor wretch! I never saw a man so stricken down as he was at the poor girl’s funeral.”

He caught Richard’s eye.

“There, what a blundering ass I am, Dick, old man. It’s my trade to rout out all sorts of old sores. But, mum, I won’t say any more. How’s our friend the cabby?”

“Oh, quite well!”

“And Madame?”

“Excellently well. They say that perhaps Mrs Vanleigh is coming to stay with them again; but I don’t think it would be wise for the poor woman to do so.”

“Quite right,” said Pratt. “Well, I must be off and work. I’ve got an Indian case on – Jeefee Rustam versus Tomkins, and two or three more things to get out of the way before I go down to Cornwall. By the way, I met our languid friend, Flick, at the dub yesterday.”

“Well?”

“He cut me, sir. Looked bayonets, lance-points, and sabres at me. Heigho! Well, we can’t all win. Ta-ta.”

“Good-bye.”

“Cornwall, mind.”

Richard nodded, and he was left alone, to make up his mind a dozen times that he could not go down to the old place without a great sacrifice of dignity, and as often something seemed to whisper him that he must go; and to that faint whisper he lent an attentive ear, for the desire grew so strong at last that he found himself unable to resist.

A Fellow-Traveller

“Don’t mind telling you now,” said Frank Pratt, sitting back in the railway carriage, with his hands under his head, and great puffs of smoke issuing from between his lips as he stared at Richard, who was gazing quietly at the pleasant Devon prospect past which they flew.

“Don’t mind telling me what?” said Richard, dreamily.

“That I never expected to get you down here. Dick, old man, I’ve felt like a steam-tug fussing about a big ship these last few days. However, I’ve got you out of dock at last.”

“Yes,” said Richard, dreamily, “you’ve got me out of dock at last.”

They relapsed into silence for a time, Pratt sitting watching his friend, and noting more than ever the change that had come over him during the last few months. There were lines in his forehead that did not exist before, and a look of staid, settled melancholy, very different from the calm, insouciant air that used to pervade his countenance.

“Poor old Dick,” muttered Pratt, laying aside his pipe; “I mustn’t let him look down like this.” Then aloud, “Dick, old boy, I’m going to preach to you.”

Richard turned to him with a sad smile.

“Go on, then,” he said.

“I will,” said Pratt. “Never mind the text or the sequence of what I say. I only wanted to talk to you, old fellow, about life.”

“I was just then thinking about death,” said Richard, quietly.

“About death?”

“I was visiting in spirit the little corner at Highgate where that poor girl lies, and thinking of a wish she expressed.”

“What was that?”

Richard shook his head, and they were silent as the train rushed on.

“Life is a strange mystery, Dick,” said Pratt at last, laying his hand on his friend’s knee; “and I know it is giving you great pain to come down here and see others happy. It is to give them pleasure you are coming down?”

Richard nodded.

“Last time we were down here together, Dick, I was one of the most miserable little beggars under the sun. I don’t mind owning it now.”

His friend grew more attentive.

“You were happy then, old fellow, and very hard you tried to make others so too, but I was miserable.”

“Why?”

“Because I was poor – a perfect beggar, without a prospect of rising, and I had found out that in this queer little body of mine there was a very soft heart. Dick, old boy, the wheel of fortune has given a strange turn since then. I’ve gone up and you have gone down, and ’pon my soul, old fellow, I’m very, very sorry.”

“Nonsense, Franky,” said Richard, speaking cheerfully. “If ever a man was glad, I am, at your prosperity. But you don’t look so very cheerful, after all.”

“How can I?” said Frank, dolefully, “with you on my mind for one thing, and the lion’s mouth gaping for my unlucky head.”

“Lion’s mouth?”

“Yes, Dick; I’m going to Tolcarne to pop my head in; and, to make matters worse, there’s a horrible, sphinxy griffin sits and guards the lion’s den.”

“You mean that you are going to propose for little Fin?”

“I am, Dick, I am,” said Pratt, excitedly. “I wouldn’t have said a word if I had kept poor, but with my rising income – ”

“And some one’s permission?”

“Bless her, yes; she says she hates me, and always shall, till her sister’s happy, but I may ask papa, so as to get rid of poor Flick and his persecutions. I believe the poor chap cares for her; but I can’t afford to let him have her, and make her miserable – eh, Dick?”

“Frank, old fellow, I wish you joy, and I’m glad of it, for she’s a dear little girl.”

“Oh, that don’t express it within a hundred,” said Pratt. “Dear little girl! That’s the smallest of small beer, while she’s the finest vintage of champagne. But, I say, Dick, old fellow, you’ve got to help me over this.”

“I? How?”

“She says she shall hate me till her sister’s happy; and, Dick, old fellow, there’s only one way of making Valentina Rea happy, and that you know. There – there – I’ve done. Don’t look at me like that. Fortune’s wheel keeps turning on: I shall be down in the mud again soon, and you cock-a-hoop on the top. Do you stick to your purpose of not going on to-night?”

“Yes, I shall go on in the morning from Plymouth, be present at the wedding, and then come away.”

“But you’ll go and see the old people? Dick, recollect Mrs Lloyd did all out of love and pride in her boy.”

“Yes, I have made up my mind to go and see them,” said Richard, quietly. “I’ll try and be a dutiful son.”

“And if I can manage it, you shall be a dutiful friend and brother-in-law too, my boy,” muttered Pratt, as he sank back in his seat, relit his pipe, and smoked in peace.

Plymouth platform was in a state of bustle on the arrival of the train. The friends had alighted from their coupé, inquired about the early morning train for Penzance, pointed out their light luggage toon obsequious porter, whose words buzzed with z’s, and were about to make their way to the great hotel, when Pratt’s attention was taken by a little grey, voluble old woman, very neatly and primly dressed in blue print, with a scarlet shawl, and a wonderful sugar-loaf beaver hat upon her head. She was in trouble about her railway ticket, two bundles tied up in blue handkerchiefs, and a large, green umbrella.

“I can’t find it, young man; I teclare to cootness, look you, I can’t find it.”

“Very sorry, ma’am,” said the ticket collector, who had followed her from the regular platform; “then you’ll have to pay from Bristol.”

“Put look you,” cried the old lady, “I tid pay once and cot the ticket, look you, and I put it somewhere to pe safe.”

“Have you searched all your pockets?” said Richard.

“Yes, young man,” said the old lady; “I’ve only cot one, look you – there!” and she dragged up her dress to display a great olive green pocket as big as a saddle-bag, out of which, after placing a bundle in Pratt’s hands and the umbrella in Richard’s to hold, she turned out a heterogeneous assortment of nutmegs, thimbles, reels of cotton, pieces of wax-candle, ginger, a bodkin case, pincushions, housewives, and, as the auctioneers say, other articles too numerous to mention.

“It don’t seem to be there,” said Richard, kindly.

“No, young man, it isn’t. I hunted it all over, look you, and I must have peen robbed.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m very sorry,” said the collector, “but you must pay again.”

“I teclare to cootness, young man, I can’t, and I won’t. I shall have no money to come pack.”

“Can’t help that,” said the collector, civilly enough. “I must do my duty, ma’am.”

“How much is it?” said Richard.

“From Bristol, third-class, sir, eight and tenpence.”

“Look you, young man, I shall pe ruined,” cried the old woman, tearfully.

“I’ll pay it,” said Richard, thrusting his hand into his pocket.

“You’re a tear, coot poy, pless you,” cried the old lady; and to the amusement of all on the platform, she went on tiptoe, reached up to Richard, and gave him a sounding kiss. “Pless you for it. Coot teeds are never thrown away.”

“I hope you are a witch, Mother Hubbard,” said Pratt, laughing. “Here’s your bundle. Don’t forget to do him a good turn.”

Richard took out the money, and the collector was about to write a receipt, when it suddenly occurred to the young man to open the umbrella, which he did with some difficulty, and the missing ticket fell out.

“There,” cried the old lady, joyfully, “I knew I put it somewhere to pe safe. Thank you, young man, and pless you all the same; for, look you, it was as coot a teed as if you had tone it.”

“Don’t say any more, mother,” said Richard, laughing. “Good-bye.”

A Quiet Wedding

There was just time to snatch a hasty breakfast the next morning before starting for the station, and after a short journey they mounted into the dog-cart which Humphrey had sent to meet them. By comparing times, Pratt, who had taken all the management upon himself, found that he could execute a little plan he had been hatching; and when they neared Penreife, after a chat with the groom about the preparations, he proposed to Richard that they should alight, send the vehicle on, and take the short cut by the lanes.

“If you like,” said Richard, quietly; and the sadness that had seemed to hang over him more and more as they neared their journey’s end now half unmanned him.

“I thought you’d like better to walk up to the old place alone,” said Frank, “instead of having a third person with us.”

“Thank you, Frank, thank you,” said Richard, in a voice that was husky with emotion. “It was a mistake to come.”

“No, no, a kindness to Humphrey and me.”

“I – I – thought I could stand it better, and not behave like such a weak fool,” said Richard. “There, it’s over now. Let’s get through our task, so that I may go back.”

“You must wait for me, you know, Dick,” said Frank, cheerily. “There, cheer up, old man, it isn’t for ever and a day. Try and be hopeful, and put on a bright face before the wedding folks. It’s all going to be as quiet as possible – a couple of carriages to the church and back. Your old people will be there. Say a kind word to them – there, you know how to do it.”

“I’ll try and act like a man, Frank, hard as it will be. But you’ve set me a bitter task.”

“Then you shall have some sweet to take with it,” said Pratt to himself. Then aloud, “Ah, how nice this old lane looks. I never saw the ferns brighter or richer. How the sun shines through the trees. What a lovely morning, Dick! I say,” he gabbled on in a hasty way, “look at that tiny waterfall. What a change, Dick, from Fountain Court, Temple.”

“Why did you come this way?” groaned Richard, as he strove hard to fight down the emotion caused by the recollections that pervaded his memory.

That lane was hallowed to him: but a quarter of a mile farther was the old woman’s cottage where he had encountered the sisters; there was the place where he had walked one evening with Tiny; there – oh, there was a happy memory clinging to every tree and mossy block of granite; and but for the strong effort he made, he could have wandered out of the path, thrown himself down amongst the ferns, and cried like a child.

Meanwhile, Pratt chatted excitedly.

“Bless the dear old place. Why, Dick, that’s where I saw my little Fin looking so disdainfully at me, coming round the sharp turn there; and, look here, that’s my old perch, where I’ve had many a jolly pipe.”

He caught his friend suddenly by the arm, in a strangely-excited fashion, and turned him round, as he pointed to the grey, lichen-covered monolith of granite.

“Dick, old man, I could smoke a pipe there now, and sit and whistle like a bird. I say, Dick, how comical a fellow would look up there in his wig and gown, and – thank goodness!”

He said those last two words to himself with a sigh of relief, as, turning round, there, timed to a moment by his vile machinations and those of Fin, the sisters came, basket and fern trowel in hand, from amongst the trees, just as if time had been standing still, and no troubles had intervened.

To two of the party the surprise was complete. Richard stopped short, rigid and firm; while Tiny, as soon as her eyes rested upon him, turned pale, her basket fell to the ground, and uttering a faint cry of pain, she pressed her hand to her side and tottered back.

Conventional feelings, rigid determination, everything went down before nature then. With one bound Richard was at Tiny’s side, and the next moment, with a cry of joy, the poor girl’s arms were round his neck, and she was sobbing on his breast.

The probabilities are that had the insane behaviour of Frank Pratt been seen, he would have lost caste at the bar; for, dashing down his hat and an expensive meerschaum, which was shivered to atoms on the granite path, he executed a wild breakdown, brought his foot to the earth with a flop, and then rushed at Fin; but only to be disappointed, for she was clinging to and sobbing over Dick – that is, as far up as she could reach, crying —

“Oh, you dear, good darling, Dick – pray, pray don’t go on breaking her poor heart any more.”

“I say,” said Pratt, reproachfully, as Richard bent down and kissed the little maid, “what have I done? Ain’t I nobody?”

“Oh, go away now,” cried Fin, “There, you may have one, if nobody’s looking. Now, that will do;” and, after suffering a kiss, she returned it with a push.

“Time’s up, Dick, come. You shall see her again,” said Pratt, looking ruefully at his meerschaum scraps, as he dusted his hat. Then followed a little whispering with Pin, and he caught his friend’s arm, as his fellow-conspirator led her sister away.

“This is madness,” groaned Richard, as he yielded to his friend’s touch, and they walked rapidly away. “Oh, Franky, you contrived this.”

“To be sure I did,” said Pratt, grinning; “and you shall have another dose to cure you both, if you are good. But, quick; now, then, look a man. Here we are.”

Richard walked steadily up to the house, where he was pleased to find that all the servants’ faces were new. Humphrey met him at the door, and Mr and Mrs Lloyd were in the hall ready to approach timidly, as the young man gravely kissed the late housekeeper, and shook hands with Lloyd.

Polly was in the drawing-room, for it was to be a very homely, unconventional marriage; and she blushed warmly on encountering the former owner of the place.

“I wish you every happiness, my dear,” said Richard, to set her at ease; and he bent down and kissed her. “Humphrey has told me of your good little heart.”

“And you will listen to him, Mr Lloy – Trevor?” said the girl, mixing the two names together.

“Time to go,” said Humphrey; and he handed Polly, Mrs Lloyd, and her husband into the first carriage, which was kept back while he, Richard, and Pratt entered the other, and were driven off to the church.

In spite of the endeavours to keep the affair quiet, the little churchyard was crowded, and it was a harder trial for Richard even than he had expected, to hear the whisperings, and receive the friendly nods and bows from so many of those who knew him well.

But he bore it all in a calm, manly fashion; shook hands warmly with Mr Mervyn, who had come with a white favour in his button-hole; stood best man to Humphrey; and after little Polly, but a week before at school, had been given away by her uncle, and, the wedding over, the carriage had driven back with the bride and bridegroom, he took his place again quite calmly, shook hands with those who clustered round, and was driven away.

Everything went off well; and at the simple wedding breakfast, when called upon, Richard, in a very manly speech, wished health and happiness to the bride and bridegroom. Humphrey responded, broke down, tried again, broke down again, and then, leaving his place, crossed to where Richard sat, grasped his hand, and in a voice choking with emotion, exclaimed —

“Master Dick, I’m speaking for my wife as well as myself when I tell you that, if you wish us to be a happy couple, you must come back to your own.”

Richard rose, and returned the strong grasp; but before he could utter a word Pratt brought his hand down bang upon the table, exclaiming —

“Mother Hubbard, by Jove!”

Every face was directed at the door, where, standing, in her black hat and scarlet shawl, with her hands resting upon the horn handle of her umbrella, was the little grey old woman of Plymouth Station.

“It’s dear Aunt Price,” cried Polly, jumping up; and, regardless of her finery, she ran to the severe-looking old lady, hugged her affectionately, and then began to unpin her shawl, and take off her hat. “Oh, aunty, I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“And are you married, look you?” said the old lady.

“Married, yes,” cried Humphrey, heartily; “we couldn’t wait, you know, or it would have been too late. Give’s your umbrella, and come and sit down. Why didn’t you come last night?”

“It was too far, my poy,” said the old lady; “and I was tired. It’s a long way, look you, from Caerwmlych, and I’m a very old woman now. Well, Lloyd – well, Chane, you’re both looking older than when I was here last, close upon thirty years ago, and nursed you through two illnesses.”

“We are quite well,” said Mrs Lloyd; “but didn’t expect you here.”

“P’r’abs not, p’r’abs not,” said the old lady; “put Polly here wrote to me to come, and I thought it was time, for she’s peen telling me strange news, look you.”