CHAPTER IV
CHANGES IN THE ESTABLISHMENT
One doctor had promised Captain Drake eighteen more months of life;another, less generous, refused to allow him more than twelve; hepresented himself with ten years, and then he did not die from naturalcauses. The Dismal Gibcat had his revenge at last. He murdered CaptainDrake before the eyes of the village, in the full light of two oillamps; and, instead of being hanged for it, he stepped into the deadman's place, and ruled the parish with his scowl as he had done in thegood old days when a pair of old cottages had occupied the site whereonWindward House now stood; although he had the decency to attend hisvictim's funeral, and to declare he had always respected the Captain,who undoubtedly belonged to that class of mortals, none of whom are everlikely to be seen again.
War for a right of way led up to the murder. The Dismal Gibcat owned afield, across which people had walked since the world began, accordingto the testimony of the Yellow Leaf, who was the final court of appealin all such matters. When a stone coffin was disinterred, or a few Romancoins were turned up, the Yellow Leaf was invariably summoned to decidethe question of ownership. He might confess that the stone coffin hadbeen made before his time, although he would give the name of the mason,and narrate a few anecdotes concerning the eccentric parishioner who hadpreferred this method of burial. While he would possess a clearrecollection of the thriftless farmer who had dropped the money whileploughing through a hole in his pocket. The Yellow Leaf declared he hadcrossed that field thousands of times when he was a mere bud, and wenton to state that, if the people allowed the Dismal Gibcat to triumphover them, they would find themselves back in the dark ages, bereft ofall the privileges which Magna Charta, the post office, and CaptainDrake had obtained for them.
The Dismal Gibcat began by ploughing the field and planting it withpotatoes. Then he lay in wait for the first trespasser, who chanced tobe the vicar on his way to baptise a sick baby. Undismayed by theimportance of his capture, the Dismal Gibcat informed the vicar he wascommitting an unfriendly act by trespassing across his vested property.
The vicar, with some warmth, asserted there was a path. The DismalGibcat, with exceeding dullness, replied that a man who had received hiseducation at a public school and an ancient university ought to be ableto distinguish between tilled land and thoroughfare.
The vicar declared that, if there was at the moment no path, it couldonly be because the Dismal Gibcat had maliciously removed it, althoughhe did not use the word maliciously in an offensive manner. The DismalGibcat replied that, as there was no path, the vicar could not walkalong it; and, as he was obviously trying to make one--with a pair ofboots quite suitable for the purpose--he was committing an act oftrespass, and by the law of England a trespasser might be removed byforce.
The vicar explained that he could not stay to argue the matter lest,while they were quarrelling, the poor little baby should become anunbaptised spirit. The Dismal Gibcat declared that his vested rightswere more to him than baptised babies, and ordered the vicar to get offhis potatoes by the way he had come.
Finally the vicar abandoned a portion of his Christianity and threatenedto hit the Dismal Gibcat upon the head with his toy font.
Civil war having thus broken out, the entire population of military age,headed by Captain Drake and the Yellow Leaf, promenaded across the fieldand trampled out a new pathway. The Dismal Gibcat replied by putting upbarbed wire entanglements.
Then the Captain called a meeting of the Parish Council, to be held atseven-thirty in the schoolroom; little dreaming, when he set out a fewminutes after eight to take the chair, that he was about to perform hislast public duty.
The Dismal Gibcat attended the meeting without any idea of doing murder:he brought no weapon except his scowl, which was possibly a birthmark,and a tongue which disagreed with everybody out of principle. Hepresented his case to the meeting and asked for justice. The chairmanpromised he should have it, and went on to inquire whether the DismalGibcat would give an undertaking to remove the entanglements and allowthe public to make free use of the pathway.
The Dismal Gibcat replied that, by so doing, he would be committing aninjustice which must fall most heavily upon all those of his dismalblood who might come after him.
"Then, sir," the chairman cried in his most tremendous voice, "thematter must pass from our hands into those of a higher tribunal. Weshall appeal to the District Council, and that body will, if necessary,carry the case further, even to the Court of County Council itself."
Silence followed, during which every parishioner save one in thatcrowded schoolroom felt thankful Highfield had a leader capable ofcarrying their grievances to the foot of the Throne if necessary. Aboutthe District Council little was known, beyond the fact that it had neveryet interfered in any parochial affairs; while the Dumpy Philosopherseemed to be the only person primed with information concerning theCounty Council.
"It make roads and builds asylums," he explained. "The gentlemen whatbelong to it are called Esquire; and they'm mostly in Parliament."
The Dismal Gibcat had the wickedness to declare that he defied allCouncils. There never had been a right of way across his field, andthere never should be. Out of simple goodness of heart he had refrainedfrom interfering with the homeward progress of a few weary labourers,although they had not asked permission to trample down his pasture; andnow he was to be rewarded for this mistaken kindness by having a stripof territory snatched from him by a person--a fat, vulgar person--one hewas sorry to call an Englishman--whom they had been foolish enough toelect as their chairman--a man who had written a book about himself--acommon creature who claimed to be a descendant of Sir Francis Drake--aman who styled himself Captain because he had once stolen a fishingboat--a coarse bullying brute of a gasbag.
The chairman had been struggling to find breath for some moments. Atlast he found it, and released such thunders as had never been heardbefore. Even the Dismal Gibcat quailed before the volume of thattempest, while a few nervous parishioners left the schoolroom with adazed look upon their faces. George detached himself from the wall andimplored his uncle to be calm, but his words of warning were lost inthat great tumult. The shocking nature of the scene was considerablyenhanced by the fact that the Dismal Gibcat, for the first time withinliving memory, actually tried to smile.
"A right of way has existed time out of mind across that field. SirFrancis Drake and Queen Elizabeth walked there arm in arm," the Captainshouted, magnanimously ignoring the insults, and fighting for the peopleto his last gasp.
"Path warn't hardly wide enough, Captain," piped the Yellow Leaf, whowas for accuracy at any price.
"I tell the chairman to his face he's a liar. He has never spoken a wordof truth since he came to Highfield," cried the Dismal Gibcat.
Again the Captain opened his mouth, but no sounds came. He stretched outan arm, tried to leave the chair, then gasped, fell against George, andbore him to the floor. The leader of the people, the great reformer, thedefender of liberty, lay motionless beneath the map of the BritishEmpire like Caesar at the foot of Pompey's statue; murdered by the DismalGibcat's smile in the village schoolroom, upon the fifth of April, inthe seventy-fourth year of his age.
At the inquest it was shown by one of the discredited doctors that hisheart had really given way a long time ago, and nothing but indomitablecourage had preserved him in a state of nominal existence: he sought toimpress it upon the jury that the Captain, from a medical point of view,had been a dead man for the last ten years; but, as everybody knew, thisstatement was made by an arrangement with the coroner to prevent averdict of wilful murder against the Gibcat.
"'Tis like this right o' way business," commented Squinting Jack. "Heploughs up the path and ses us can't walk there because there arn't nopath. And doctor ses as how the Captain wur a corpse when he come to themeeting, and you can't kill a man what be dead and gone already."
The Dismal Gibcat did all that was possible to atone for his crime. Hesent a wreath; he did not smile again; and
in the handsomest possiblemanner he removed the barbed wire entanglements, and dedicated a rightof way across his field to the public for ever, as a memorial to thelate Captain, whose life would remain as an example to them of truth,and modesty, and childlike gentleness.
Highfield ceased to progress when the Captain had departed. Thehistorian would have found no deed to chronicle, although he couldhardly have omitted the brilliant epigram, attributed to the DumpyPhilosopher, "Captain put us on the map, and now we'm blotted out."Local improvements were no longer spoken of. Mrs. Drake continued tolive in Highfield, although she took no part in public affairs, andimmediately removed the notice boards which she had never much approvedof. George resumed his disgraceful habits of loafing in fine weather,and keeping the house clear of flies when it rained. His aunt disownedhim once a week, but he bore up bravely. She threatened to turn him outof the house every month, but the courageous fellow declared he shouldnot be ashamed to beg hospitality of the vicar who had loved andreverenced his dear uncle. George explained that he was leading asingularly industrious career, but it had always been his way to workunobtrusively: he fed the giant tortoise, controlled the monkeys, taughtthe parrots to open their beaks in proverbs; he attended all meetings ofthe Parish Council; sometimes he sneered at the Dismal Gibcat. Aboveall, he managed the cat breeding industry, although it was true he hadat the present time no more than six cats in stock.
"That's because you have been too lazy to look after them," Mrs. Drakeinterrupted. "You let them out to roam all over the place; dozens havebeen shot or trapped; while the others have made friends with commonvillage cats. You know how particular your uncle was about the companythey kept."
"I'm expecting kittens soon, and I'll take great care of them," Georgepromised.
"Your uncle used to make a lot out of his cats before we came here. Youdo nothing except ask for money to buy them food, which you don't givethem. If it wasn't for Kezia the poor creatures would be starved," saidMrs. Drake.
She realised that the only way of ridding herself of George would be toregard him as a lost soul haunting Windward House, and to destroy theplace utterly; as she could not afford to do that, an idea occurred ofinviting an elderly maiden sister to share her home. Miss Yard repliedthat the plan would suit her admirably. So Mrs. Drake broke the news toKezia, who had become a person of consequence, accustomed to a seat inthe parlour; and Kezia told Bessie she was going to allow Mrs. Drake'ssister to live in the house for a time; and Bessie went to her mistressand gave notice.
"You don't mean it," stammered the astonished lady. "Why, Bessie, youhave been with me fifteen years."
"Kezia ses Miss Yard's coming here, so I made up my mind all to once."
"I don't know what I shall do without you, Bessie."
"You can't do without me, mum. I'm not going exactly ever to leave you.I'll just change my name, and go across the road, and drop in when I'mwanted."
"You are going to be married!" cried Mrs. Drake.
"That's right, mum. May as well do it now as wait."
"I hope you have stopped growing," said the lady absently.
"I don't seem to be making any progress now, mum. Six foot two, andRobert's five foot three, and has taken the cottage opposite. RobertMudge, the baker's assistant, mum. He makes the doughnuts master wur sofond of vor his tea."
"I remember the doughnuts," said Mrs. Drake softly. "I used to put outtwo, but the dear Captain would not content himself with less than halfa dozen."
"He told Bob to exhibit his doughnuts. Master said he would get a goldmedal vor 'em. But he can't find out where the exhibition is."
"I hope Robert Mudge is worthy of you, Bessie."
"He ses he is, mum. He goes to chapel in the morning, and church in theevening, and he never touches a drop of anything. And he keeps bees,mum."
"It all sounds very nice. I hope you will be as happy as I have been,"said Mrs. Drake.
"Thankye, mum. I wouldn't get married if it meant leaving you; but nowthat Miss Yard's coming here I may as well go to Robert. Just across theroad, mum. If you ring a bell at the window I'll be over in no time--ifI b'ain't here already, mum."
"You have always been a handy girl, Bessie. The dear Captain had a veryhigh opinion of you, but he was so afraid you might not be able to stopgrowing."
"Thankye, mum. Bob ses 'tis his one ambition to get great like theCaptain; not quite so big, mum, but like him in heart; at least, mum, asgude in heart. I don't know, mum, whether you would be thinking ofgiving me a wedding present?"
"Of course I shall give you a present, Bessie."
"Well, mum, me and Robert think, if 'tis convenient to you, furniturewould be most useful to us."
"You shall have some of Captain Drake's furniture; and you shall havemore when I am gone," the old lady promised.
Bessie married Robert Mudge a month later. Mrs. Drake furnished thecottage; George presented the bride with a kitten; while Miss Yard, whohad not yet completed her preparations for departure, sent a postalorder for five shillings, together with a Bible, a cookery book, andpair of bedsocks. Kezia gave the wedding breakfast, and Mrs. Drake paidfor it. The honeymoon, which lasted from Saturday to Monday, was spentsomewhere by the sea. Then Bessie settled down to her new life, whichmeant sleeping upon the one side of the road and taking her meals uponthe other.
Miss Yard was a gentle old creature who knew nothing whatever about aworld she had never really lived in. For nearly half a century sheoccupied a little house just outside the little town of Drivelford;during weekdays she would scratch about in a little garden, and twiceeach Sunday attend a little church, and about four times in the courseof the year would give a little tea party to ladies much engrossed incharity. Sometimes she would go for a little walk, but the big worldworried her, and she was glad to get back into her garden. It must havebeen rather a mazy garden, as she was continually getting lost in it;having very little memory she could not easily hit upon the rightpathway to the house, and would circle round the gooseberry bushes untila servant discovered her. One awful day she lost her servant, luggage,memory, and herself at a railway junction; and was finally consigned tothe station-master, who was not an intelligent individual; for, whenMiss Yard assured him she was on her way to the seaside, he was quiteunable to direct her. Nobody knew how that adventure ended, because MissYard could not remember.
She accepted her sister's invitation gladly, because a letter camefrequently from the bank to inform her she had overdrawn her account.Miss Yard did not know much about wickedness, therefore when a servanttold her it was time for a cheque she always smiled and signed one. Shecould not understand why no servant would stay with her more than a fewyears; but, being a kind-hearted old soul, she was delighted to know onewas going to marry a gentleman, another to open a drapery, and a thirdto retire altogether. It was not until she engaged a rather shy littleorphan, whose name of Nellie Blisland was good enough to tempt anybody,as a lady-servant-companion-housekeeper, that the bank stopped writingto her; and then Miss Yard, who comprehended a passbook with someassistance, wondered who had been leaving her money; and at last arrivedat the conclusion that Nellie was a niece who was living with her andsharing expenses. But this discovery was not made until Mrs. Drake'sinvitation had been accepted.
Miss Yard's memory underwent all manner of shocks, when she foundherself installed in the parlour of Windward House. She perceived hersister clearly enough, but where was Nellie, and what was George? Shehad completely forgotten Captain Drake until she turned her spectaclestowards the Egyptian mummy; and then she asked questions which causedMrs. Drake to use her smelling salts.
"This is George, our nephew. He does nothing for a living," said thewidow severely.
"Our nephew," repeated Miss Yard, in her earnest fashion. "His name isPercy, and he came to see me last year, but he seems to have altered agreat deal. What is it he does for a living?"
"Nothing whatever," said Mrs. Drake.
"I've got a weak back," George mumbled.
"He's
got a weak back, Maria. He must try red flannel and peppermintplasters," said Miss Yard with barbaric simplicity.
"Stuff and nonsense! He's got the back of a whale, if he'd only use it.This is not Percy, our real nephew, who for some reason never comes nearme, but my nephew by marriage. He's not your nephew really."
"I'm sorry for that. I like nephews, because they visit me sometimes.What's the name of this place, Maria?"
"Highfield, and it's eight hundred feet above the sea," said George, ina great hurry to change the subject.
"I hope it's somewhere in the south of England. The doctor told me I wasnot to go near Yorkshire," said Miss Yard.
"You are in Devonshire, just upon the edge of Dartmoor," Georgeexplained.
"That sounds as if it ought to suit me. I can't explain it, but I was soafraid this might be Yorkshire. Where is Nellie? I do hope she wasn'tlost at that dreadful railway station."
"Nellie is upstairs," Mrs. Drake replied.
"I wish somebody would go and bring her. I don't know what she can bedoing upstairs. My memory is getting so troublesome, Maria. BeforeNellie came to live with me I had quite forgotten she was Percy'ssister."
"But she isn't," said Mrs. Drake. "Percy's only sister died as a child."
"Did she!" exclaimed Miss Yard. "I wonder how long I shall rememberthat. How many children did my brother Peter have?"
"He never married," replied Mrs. Drake.
"Then Nellie must be poor dear Louisa's daughter."
"That would make her Percy's sister. Nellie is your companion. She isnot even so much related to you as George."
"Now I have quite forgotten who George was," said Miss Yard.
At this moment Nellie herself appeared with a load of luxuries, such asfootstool, shawl, wool slippers, and various bottles to sniff at, whichshe had just unpacked. Miss Yard fondled the girl's hands, and told herthat somebody--she could not remember who--had bees trying to maketrouble between them by spreading a malicious story about Nellie's birthand parentage; but she was too muddled to know what it meant.
Mrs. Drake had been aware that her sister's intelligence was not high,but was dismayed at discovering her mental condition was so low; and shequickly repented of the new arrangement, which could not be altered nowthat Miss Yard had disposed of her house and most of her belongings;bringing just sufficient furniture to equip a sitting room and bedroom,and to replace those articles which Mrs. Drake had bestowed upon Bessie.
Her sister's furniture soon became a source of anxiety to Mrs. Drake, asshe did not like to have things in the house which did not belong toher, and she also foresaw difficulties should the partnership bedissolved at any time by the death of either her sister or herself. Soshe took a sheet of notepaper and wrote upon it, "If I depart beforeSophy, all my things are to belong to her for her lifetime;" and thisdocument she placed within a sandalwood box standing upon the chest ofdrawers in her bedroom.
Then she took another sheet of notepaper and commanded her sister towrite upon it, "If I die before Maria, all my things are to belong toher." Miss Yard obeyed, but when this piece of paper had been storedaway within the Japanese cabinet standing upon the chest of drawers inher bedroom, she took a sheet of notepaper upon her own account, andwrote, "When I am gone, all my things are to belong to Nellie;" and thiswas stored away in the bottom drawer of her davonport, as she hadalready forgotten the existence of the other hiding place.
And this was the beginning of the extraordinary will-making which wasdestined to stir up strife among the beneficiaries.