The Splendid Spur/Chapter 14

early next morning I awoke, and hearing no sound in the loft above (whither, since my coming, Joan had carried her bed), concluded her to be still asleep. But in this I was mistaken: for going to the well at the back to wash, I found her there, studying her face in the mirror.

“Luckily met, Jack,” she said, when I was cleansed and freshly glowing: “Now fill another bucket and sarve me the same.”

“Cannot you wash yourself?” I ask'd, as I did so.

“Lost the knack, I reckon. Stand thee so, an' slush the water over me.”

“But your clothes!” I cried out, “they'll be soaking wet!”

“Clothes won't be worse for a wash, neither. So slush away.”

Therefore, standing at three paces' distance, I sent a bucketful over her, and then another and another. Six times I filled and emptied the bucket in all: and at the end she was satisfied, and went, dripping, back to the kitchen to get me my breakfast.

“Art early abroad,” she said, as we sat together over the meal.

“Yes, for I must ride to Gleys this morning.”

“Shan't be sorry to miss thee for a while. Makes me feel so shy—this cleanliness.” So, promising to be back by nightfall, I went presently to saddle Molly: and following Joan's directions and her warnings against quags and pitfalls, was soon riding south across the moor and well on my road to the House of Gleys.

My way leading me by Braddock Down, I turned aside for a while to examine the ground of the late fight (tho' by now little was to be seen but a piece of earthwork left unfinisht by the rebels, and the fresh mounds where the dead were laid); and so 'twas high noon—and a dull, cheerless day—before the hills broke and let me have sight of the sea. Nor, till the noise of the surf was in my ears, did I mark the chimneys and naked grey walls of the house I was bound for.

'Twas a gloomy, savage pile of granite, perch'd at the extremity of a narrow neck of land, where every wind might sweep it, and the waves beat on three sides the cliff below. The tide was now at the full, almost, and the spray flying in my face, as we crossed the head of a small beach, forded a stream, and scrambled up the rough road to the entrance gate.

A thin line of smoke blown level from one chimney was all the sign of life in the building: for the narrow lights of the upper story were mostly shuttered, and the lower floor was hid from me by a high wall enclosing a courtlage in front. One stunted ash, with boughs tortured and bent toward the mainland, stood by the gate, which was lock'd. A smaller door, also lock'd, was let into the gate, and in this again a shuttered iron grating. Hard by, dangled a rusty bell-pull, at which I tugg'd sturdily.

On this, a crack'd bell sounded, far in the house, and scared a flock of starlings out of a disus'd chimney. Their cries died away presently, and left no sound but that of the gulls wailing about the cliff at my feet. This was all the answer I won.

I rang again, and a third time: and now at last came the sound of footsteps shuffling across the court within. The shutter of the grating was slipt back, and a voice, crack'd as the bell, asked my business.

“To see Master Hannibal Tingcomb,” answered I.

“Thy name?”

“He shall hear it in time. Say that I come on business concerning the estate.”

The voice mutter'd something, and the footsteps went back. I had been kicking my heels there for twenty minutes or more when they returned, and the voice repeated the question—

“Thy name?”

Being by this time angered, I did a foolish thing; which was, to clap the muzzle of my pistol against the grating, close to the fellow's nose. Singular to say, the trick serv'd me. A bolt was slipt hastily back and the wicket door opened stealthily.

“I want,” said I, “room for my horse to pass.”

Thereupon more grumbling follow'd, and a prodigious creaking of bolts and chains; after which the big gate swung stiffly back.

“Sure, you must be worth a deal,” I said, “that shut yourselves in so careful.”

Before me stood a strange fellow—extraordinary old and bent, with a wizen'd face, one eye only, and a chin that almost touched his nose. He wore a dirty suit of livery, that once had been canary-yellow; and shook with the palsy.

“Master Tingcomb will see the young man,” he squeak'd, nodding his head; “but is a-reading just now in his Bible.”

“A pretty habit,” answered I, leading in Molly—“if unseasonable. But why not have said so?”

He seem'd to consider this for a while, and then said abruptly—

“Have some pasty and some good cider?”

“Why yes,” I said, “with all my heart, when I have stabled the sorrel here.”

He led the way across the court, well paved but chok'd with weeds, toward the stable. I found it a spacious building, and counted sixteen stalls there; but all were empty save two, where stood the horses I had seen in Bodmin the day before. Having stabled Molly, I left the place (which was thick with cobwebs) and follow'd the old servant into the house.

He took me into a great stone kitchen, and brought out the pasty and cider, but poured out half a glass only.

“Have a care, young man: 'tis a luscious, thick, seductive drink,” and he chuckled.

“'Twould turn the edge of a knife,” said I, tasting it and looking at him: but his one blear'd eye was inscrutable. The pasty also was mouldy, and I soon laid it down.

“Hast a proud stomach that cometh of faring sumptuously: the beef therein is our own killing,” said he. “Young sir, art a man of blood, I greatly fear, by thy long sword and handiness with the fire-arms.”

“Shall be presently,” answered I, “if you lead me not to Master Tingcomb.”

He scrambled up briskly and totter'd out of the kitchen into a stone corridor, I after him. Along this he hurried, muttering all the way, and halted before a door at the end. Without knocking he pushed it open, and motioning me to enter, hasten'd back as he had come.

“Come in,” said a voice that seem'd familiar to me.

Though, as you know, 'twas still high day, in the room where now I found myself was every appearance of night: the shutters being closed, and six lighted candles standing on the table. Behind them sat the venerable gentleman whom I had seen in the coach, now wearing a plain suit of black, and reading in a great book that lay open on the table. I guess'd it to be the Bible; but noted that the candles had shades about them, so disposed as to throw the light, not on the page, but on the doorway where I stood.

Yet the old gentleman, having bid me enter, went on reading for a while as though wholly unaware of me: which I found somewhat nettling, so began—

“I speak, I believe, to Master Hannibal Tingcomb, steward to Sir Deakin Killigrew.”

He went on, as if ending his sentence aloud:

“... And my darling from the power of the dog.” Here he paused with finger on the place and looked up. “Yes, young sir, that is my name—steward to the late Sir Deakin Killigrew.”

“The late?” cried I: “Then you know”

“Surely I know that Sir Deakin is dead: else should I be but an unworthy steward.” He open'd his grave eyes as if in wonder.

“And his son, also?”

“Also his son Anthony, a headstrong boy, I fear me, a consorter with vile characters. Alas! that I should say it.”

“And his daughter, Mistress Delia?”

“Alas!” and he fetched a deep sigh.

“Do you mean, sir, that she too is dead!”

“Why, to be sure-but let us talk on less painful matters.”

“In one moment, sir: but first tell me—where did she die, and when?”

For my heart stood still, and I was fain to clutch the table between us to keep me from falling. I think this did not escape him, for he gave me a sharp look, and then spoke very quiet and hush'd,

“She was cruelly kill'd by highwaymen, at the 'Three Cups' inn, some miles out of Hungerford. The date given me is the 3d of December last.”

With this a great rush of joy came over me, and I blurted out, delighted—

“There, sir, you are wrong! Her father was kill'd on the night of which you speak—cruelly enough, as you say: but Mistress Delia Killigrew escaped, and after the most incredible adventures”

I was expecting him to start up with joy at my announcement; but instead of this, he gaz'd at me very sorrowfully and shook his head; which brought me to a stand.

“Sir,” I said, changing my tone, “I speak but what I know: for 'twas I had the happy fortune to help her to escape, and, under God's hand, to bring her safe to Cornwall.”

“Then, where is she now?”

Now this was just what I could not tell. So, standing before him, I gave him my name and a history of all my adventures in my dear comrade's company, from the hour when I saw her first in the inn at Hungerford. Still keeping his finger on the page, he heard me to the end attentively, but with a curling of the lips toward the close, such as I did not like. And when I had done, to my amaze he spoke out sharply, and as if to a whipt schoolboy.

“'Tis a cock-and-bull story, sir, of which I could hope to make you ashamed. Six weeks in your company? and in boy's habit? Surely 'twas enough the pure unhappy maid should be dead—without such vile slander on her fame, and from you, that were known, sir, to have been at that inn, and on that night, with her murderers. Boy, I have evidence that, taken with your confession, would weave you a halter; and am a Justice of the Peace. Be thankful, then, that I am a merciful man; yet be abasht.”

Abasht, indeed, I was; or at least taken aback, to see his holy indignation and the flush on his waxen cheek. Like a fool I stood staggered, and wondered dimly where I had heard that thin voice before. In the confusion of my senses I heard it say solemnly—

“The sins of her fathers have overtaken her, as the Book of Exodus proclaim'd: therefore is her inheritance wasted, and given to the satyr and the wild ass.”

“And which of the twain be you, sir?”

I cannot tell what forced this violent rudeness from me, for he seem'd an honest, good man; but my heart was boiling that any should put so ill a construction on my Delia. As for him, he had risen, and was moving with dignity to the door—to show me out, as I guess. When suddenly I, that had been staring stupidly, leapt upon him and hurled him back into his chair.

For I had marked his left foot trailing, and, by the token, knew him for the white hair'd man of the bowling-green.

“Master Hannibal Tingcomb,” I spoke in his ear, “—dog and murderer! What did you in Oxford last November? And how of Captain Lucius Higgs, otherwise Captain Luke Settle, otherwise Mr. X.? Speak, before I serve you as the dog was served that night!”

I dream yet, in my sick nights, of the change that came over the vile, hypocritical knave at these words of mine. To see his pale venerable face turn green and livid, his eye-ball start, his hands clutch at air—it frighten'd me.

“Brandy!” he gasped. “Brandy! there—quick—for God's sake!”

And the next moment he had slipp'd from my grasp, and was wallowing in a fit on the floor. I ran to the cupboard at which he had pointed, and finding there a bottle of strong waters, forced some drops between his teeth; and hard work it was, he gnashing at me all the time and foaming at the mouth.

Presently he ceased to writhe and bite: and lifting, I set him in his chair, where he lay, a mere limp bundle, staring and blinking. So I sat down facing him, and waited his recovery.

“Dear young sir,” he began at length feebly, his fingers searching the Bible before him, from force of habit. “Kind young sir—I am an old, dying man, and my sins have found me out. Only yesterday, the physician at Bodmin told me that my days are numbered. This is the second attack, and the third will kill me.”

“Well?” said I.

“If—if Mistress Delia be alive (as indeed I did not think), I will make restitution—I will confess—only tell me what to do, that I may die in peace.”

Indeed, he look'd pitiable, sitting there and stammering: but I harden'd my heart to say—

“I must have a confession, then, written before I leave the room.”

“But, dear young friend, you will not use it if I give up all? You will not seek my life? that already is worthless, as you see.”

“Why, 'tis what you deserve. But Delia shall say when I find her—as I shall go straight to seek her. If she be lost, I shall use it—never fear: if she be found, it shall be hers to say what mercy she can discover in her heart; but I promise you I shall advise none.”

The tears by this were coursing down his shrunken cheeks, but I observ'd him watch me narrowly, as though to find out how much I knew. So I pull'd out my pistol, and setting pen and paper before him, obtain'd at the end of an hour a very pretty confession of his sins, which lies among my papers to this day. When 'twas written and sign'd, in a weak, rambling hand, I read it through, folded it, placed it inside my coat, and prepared to take my leave.

But he called out an order to the old servant to saddle my mare, and stood softly praying and beseeching me in the courtyard till the last moment. Nor when I was mounted would anything serve but he must follow at my stirrup to the gate. But when I had briefly taken leave, and the heavy doors had creaked behind me, I heard a voice calling after me down the road—

“Dear young sir! Dear friend!—I had forgotten somewhat.”

Returning, I found the gate fastened, and the iron shutter slipt back.

“Well?” I asked, leaning toward it.

“Dear young friend, I pity thee, for thy paper is worthless. To-day, by my advices, the army of our most Christian Parliament, more than twenty thousand strong, under the Earl of Stamford, have overtaken thy friends, the malignant gentry, near Stratton Heath, in the north-east. They are more than two to one. By this hour to-morrow, the Papists all will be running like conies to their burrows, and little chance wilt thou have to seek Delia Killigrew, much less to find her. And remember, I know enough of thy late services to hang thee: mercy then will lie in my friends' hands; but be sure I shall advise none.”

And with a mocking laugh he clapp'd-to the grating in my face.