CHAPTER FIVE.
A SABBATH-DAY'S JOURNEY.
The Rectory children, washed and combed for Sunday dinner, sat at easein the old nursery--promoted to schoolroom since Tony went intoknickerbockers--and discussed the munificent stranger of the morning.
Their interest in his movements and identity had been heightened bythe fact that after service was over he had proceeded to the rightinstead of the left on leaving the Kirkley Abbey pew, and, turning hisbroad back upon an undisguisedly interested congregation, had stalkedup the chancel and disappeared through the door leading to the vestry.
"I _wonder_ what he went for," said Cilly for the third time.
"Perhaps he was going to give Dad more banknotes," suggested theoptimistic Stiffy.
"More likely going to ask for change out of the first one," rejoinedAlly, the cynic.
"I expect he was going to complain about you making faces at himthrough the curtain, Nicky," coldly observed Cilly, who had not yetforgiven her small sister's innuendoes on the subject of Mr RobertGill.
"Rats!" demurred Nicky uneasily. "I didn't make faces. I expect he'sonly some tourist who wants to rub brasses, or sniff a vault, orsomething."
"He must be a friend of Lord Kirkley's," said Ally, "because----"
"_I'll_ show you who he is," shrilled a voice from the depth of acupboard under the window.
Tony, who had been grubbing among a heap of tattered and dustyliterature in the bottom shelf, now rose to his feet and staggeredacross the room carrying an ancient but valuable copy of 'ThePilgrim's Progress,' embellished with steel engravings.
Having deposited the volume upon the hearthrug he proceeded to huntthrough its pages. Presently, with a squeal of delight, he placed astumpy fore-finger upon a full-page illustration, and announcedtriumphantly--
"That's him!"
The picture represented Christian's battle with Apollyon. Christian,hard pressed, had been beaten to his knees, and over him towered thefigure of the Prince of Darkness, brandishing a sword and (in the mostunsportsmanlike manner) emitting metallic-looking flames from hisstomach. The children gathered round.
"You are right, Tony," said Cilly at length, "it _is_ like him."
Certainly Apollyon bore a sort of far-away resemblance to the lateoccupant of the Kirkley Abbey pew.
"Look at his eyebrows," said Nicky, "they go straight up----"
The churchyard gate clicked, and voices were heard in conversationoutside. Daphne sped to the window.
"Heavens!" she exclaimed in an agonised whisper, "Dad is bringing himin to lunch! Ally, take your boots off the mantelpiece! Nicky, pull upyour stockings! Cilly, knock Dawks off the sofa! I must fly. I wonderif there's enough cream to make a trifle. Anyhow, the beef----"
And she sped away kitchenwards like an agitated butterfly.
A few minutes later the Rector appeared in the schoolroom, smilingjoyously, with his hand resting lightly on the shoulder of therecently identified Apollyon. Tony was restoring 'The Pilgrim'sProgress' to its shelf with the complacency of a second Bertillon.
"These are my flock, Jack," said Brian Vereker. "I wonder if any ofyou children can guess who this gentleman is? Would you think that heand I were at school together? Tony, I have often told you of littleJack Carr, who used to light my fire and cook my breakfast. And ashocking mess he used to make of it, eh? Didn't you, Jack? Do youremember the day you fried sausages in marmalade, because the label onthe pot said marmalade would be found an excellent substitute forbutter? Well, here he is, Tony. We have run together again aftertwenty-five years. Come and shake hands. These are my two youngergirls, Jack, and these are my three boys. Where is Daphne, children?"
The Vereker family, drawn up in a self-conscious row, were understoodto intimate that Daphne was downstairs. A move was therefore made inthe direction of the dining-room, where Keziah, the little maid, washeatedly laying an extra place. Daphne joined the party a momentlater, and welcomed Sir John Carr--such was his full title, itappeared--with prettiness and composure. But Cilly and Nicky notedthat she had found time to rearrange her hair in honour of theoccasion, and adorn herself with most of her slender stock ofjewellery--two bangles and a thin gold chain.
Sunday dinner was something of a function at the Rectory. For onething there was hot roast beef, which counts for much when you see thelike only once in the week. The Rector carved and Stiffy handed roundthe plates, Keziah, whose Sunday-afternoon-out commenced technicallythe moment the sirloin was dished, being excused from furtherattendance. Daphne presided over the vegetable dishes and Ally cutbread at the sideboard. The office of butler was in abeyance, for theVereker family drank only water from their highly polishedchristening-mugs. Nicky was responsible for the table-napkins, andCilly mixed salads in season.
All these domestic details Daphne explained, with captivatingfriendliness and a freedom from self-consciousness that many a morematured hostess might have envied, to the silent man beside her.
"Sorry to have _all_ the family pouring things over you," she said, asStiffy with a plate of beef, Ally with a lump of bread impaled upon afork, and Cilly with a bowl of lettuce, egg, and beetroot cunninglyintermingled, converged simultaneously upon the guest; "but we haveonly one servant, and----"
Stephen Blasius Vereker, poised upon his toes and holding his breath,was leaning heavily over the guest's right shoulder, proffering aplatter upon the edge of which a billow of gravy, piling itself upinto a tidal wave, strove to overcome the restraining influence ofsurface tension. Apollyon, his features unrelaxed, gravely took theplate, and restoring it to a horizontal position, turned deferentiallyto resume his conversation with his young hostess.
----"And I like poor Keziah to have as long a Sunday out aspossible," continued Daphne, entirely unruffled.
"Her young man waits for her at the stile down by Preston's farm,"supplemented Nicky. "They go for a walk down Tinkler's Den, and neverspeak a _word_ to each other."
----"So we wait on ourselves at this meal," concluded Daphne. "Whatwill you drink, Sir John? Father is a teetotaller, and so are all ofus; but if you are not, I've got some brandy upstairs in the nurserymedicine cupboard."
"Thank you, I will drink water," said Sir John solemnly.
By this time the Vereker family had settled down to their ownportions, and were babbling as cheerfully and unrestrainedly as usual.Shyness in the presence of strangers was not one of their weaknesses,and presently, taking advantage of Daphne's departure to the kitchenin quest of the second course, they engaged their guest inconversation, inviting his opinions on such widely different subjectsas the quality of the salad (Cilly), the merits of the automaticvacuum railway brake as compared with those of the Westinghouse(Stiffy), and the prospects of Cambridge in the coming Boat Race(Ally). All of which queries were answered in a fashion which, whilelacking in geniality and erring a little on the side of terseness,showed that the respondent knew what he was talking about.
The Rector, at the head of the table, smiled benignantly. To him thisreticent man of over forty, with the deep-set eyes and square jaw, wasthe sturdy chubby boy who had cooked his breakfast and worshipped himfrom afar in the dim but joyous days when Brian Vereker was a giant ofnineteen, with side whiskers, and Jacky Carr a humble fag of twelve.It was almost a shock to hear him offered spirits to drink.
Presently Daphne returned, and another general post ensued, at the endof which the beef and vegetables had disappeared, and a suet pudding(the standing Sabbath sweet at the Rectory), flanked by a dish oftrifle of diminutive proportions, lay before the hostess. The Rectorwas confronted by a melon.
Taking advantage of a covering conversation between the guest and hereldest brother, Miss Vereker made a mysterious pass over the surfaceof the trifle with a spoon, while she murmured to such of the familyas were within earshot the mystic formula, "F. H. B.!" Then sheinquired aloud--
"Cilly, dear, which pudding will you have?"
"Baby Maud, please," replied Miss Cecilia promptly, indicating thestiff, pallid, and corp
se-like cylinder of suet.
She was helped, and Nicky's choice was ascertained.
"I don't _think_," that damsel replied sedately, "that I'll haveanything, thank you, Daphne. I'm not very hungry to-day."
Daphne, with a slight twitch at the corners of her mouth--sheappreciated Nicky's crooked little ways, despite herself--turned tothe guest.
"Will you have pudding or trifle, Sir John? Let me recommend thetrifle."
"Thank you, I never eat sweets," was the reply.
An audible sigh of relief rose from the Messrs Vereker.
"Daph, dear," said Nicky before any one else could speak, "I thinkI'll change my mind and have some trifle."
And thus, by prompt generalship, Miss Veronica Vereker, while obeyingto the letter the laws of hospitality and precedence, stole a marchupon her slow-moving brethren and sisters and received the lion'sshare of the trifle, the balance going to Tony by virtue of juniority.
As Daphne handed her triumphant little sister her portion, shedistinctly heard a muffled sound on her right.
"I like this man!" she said to herself.
"If you don't take sweets, Jack," observed the Rector from the otherend of the table, "allow me to introduce you to this melon--a presentfrom the Squire. Take the melon round to Sir John, Stiffy, and heshall cut in where he pleases; though, strictly speaking," he added,with simple enjoyment of his own joke, "it is hardly etiquette to cutanything you have been introduced to!"
There was a momentary stoppage in the general mastication of "BabyMaud," and the right hand of each Vereker present performed the sameevolution. Next moment the repast was resumed, but the guest observed,not without surprise, that every christening-mug--even Daphne's--had aknife lying across its top.
"That is one of our customs," explained Cilly politely. "We do itwhenever any one makes a stale joke."
"_Alice through the Looking-Glass_," corroborated Nicky, scooping uptrifle with an air of severe reproof--"page two hundred and seven."
"You see my servile and dependent position in this house, Jack!" saidthe Rector, not altogether dejectedly.
"I perceive that I have dropped into a Republic," said Sir John Carr.
"Republic? A more absolute despotism never existed. Wait until youhave transgressed one of the Laws of the Medes and Persians and beenbrought up for judgment before my eldest daughter? _We_ know, don'twe--eh, Nicky?"
Brian Vereker projected the furtive smile of a fellow-conspiratorupon his youngest daughter, and then turned to gaze with unconcealedfondness and pride upon his eldest.
"I trust that when I transgress," said Sir John, "I shall get offunder the First Offender's Act."
"You have broken that already," said Daphne readily; "but it's Dad'sfault. It is twenty minutes to three, and you two ought to have beensmoking in the study ten minutes ago instead of talking here. I wantto get this room cleared for the children to learn their Catechismin."
* * * * *
At half-past three Brian Vereker summoned his eldest daughter to thestudy, and announced with frank delight that Sir John Carr had agreedto vacate the Kirkley Arms and accept the hospitality of the Rectory.
"I am going to walk down to the inn now," said Apollyon to Daphne, "tosee about my luggage. Perhaps you will keep me company?"
"All right," said Daphne. "I'll bring Mr Dawks too. He wants a walk, Iknow."
Sir John made no comment, but gave no active support to the inclusionof Mr Dawks in the party. It may be noted, however, that when Daphnehad at length achieved that feat which encroaches so heavily upon awoman's share of eternity--the putting on of her hat--and joined herguest in the garden accompanied by Mr Dawks in person, Apollyongreeted the owner of the name with far more cordiality than he hadgreeted the name itself. It is sometimes misleading to bestowChristian titles upon dumb animals.
Once away from the rest of the family, Daphne's maternal solemnityfell from her like a schoolmaster's cap and gown in holiday time. Shechattered like a magpie, pointing out such objects of local interestas--
(1) Farmer Preston's prize bull;
(2) The residence of a reputed witch;
(3) A spinney, where a dog-fox had once gone to ground at one end ofan earth and a laughing hyena (subsequently ascertained to be the lostproperty of that peripatetic nobleman Lord George Sanger) had emergedfrom the other, to the entire and instantaneous disintegration of anon-abstaining local Hunt.
"I say, where do you live?" she inquired suddenly, breaking off in themiddle of a detailed history of Kirkley Abbey, whose _facade_ could bediscerned through the trees on their right--"London?"
"Yes."
"All the year round?"
"No. I spend a good deal of my time in the North."
"Oh. What do you do there? What _are_ you, by the way?" Daphne lookedup at her companion with bird-like inquisitiveness. She moved in asociety familiar with the age, ancestry, profession, wardrobe,ailments, love affairs, and income of every one within a radius offive miles. Consequently she considered a new acquaintanceshipincomplete in the last degree until she had acquired sufficientinformation on the subject in hand to supply, say, a tolerablyintimate obituary notice.
"I suppose you are _something_," she continued. "I hope so, anyhow. Anidle man is always so mopy."
"What would you put me down as?" asked Apollyon.
Daphne scrutinised him without fear or embarrassment.
"I'm not much of a judge," she said. "You see, we don't come acrossmany men here, and we are so poor that we don't get away much."
"Don't you go up to London occasionally, to buy a new frock?" said SirJohn, covertly regarding the trim figure by his side.
"Me--London? Not much. Dad has a lot of grand relations there, but Idon't think he bothered much about them, or they about him, after hemarried. He was too much wrapped up in mother. So we never hearanything of them now. No, I have hardly ever been away from Snayling,and I'm a great deal too busy here to worry about London or any othersuch place. So I don't know much about men," she concludedsimply--"except my own, of course."
"Your own?"
"Yes--Dad and the boys. And then I know all about the sort of man onemeets round here. I can tell a ditcher from a ploughman; and if I meeta man in a dog-cart with cases at the back I know he's a commercialtraveller, and if he has a red face I know he's a farmer, and if hehasn't I know he's a doctor; but I haven't had much other experience."
"Still, what am _I_?" reiterated Apollyon.
"Well--I suppose you are not a soldier, or you would have amoustache."
"No."
"You might be a lawyer, being clean-shaven. Are you?"
"No."
"Oh! That's rather disappointing. You would make a ripping judge, witha big wig on. Well, perhaps you write things. I know--you are anauthor or an editor?"
"No."
"Foiled again!" said Daphne cheerfully. "Let me see, what otherprofessions are there? Are you a Don, by any chance? A fellow, orlecturer, or anything? We had a Fellow of All Souls down here once. Hewas a dear."
"No."
"You are a 'Varsity man, I suppose."
"Yes."
"Oxford or Cambridge?"
"Cambridge."
"I am glad. Dark blue is _so_ dull, isn't it? Besides, Dad is aCambridge man. He is an old Running Blue. He won--but of course youknow all about that. It seems queer to think you knew him before Idid! Well, I give you up. What _do_ you do?"
Apollyon reflected.
"I sell coals," he replied at last, rather unexpectedly.
This announcement, and the manner in which it was made, momentarilydeprived Miss Vereker of speech--a somewhat rare occurrence.
"I see," she said presently. "We get ours from the station-master,"she added politely.
"I was not proposing to apply for your custom," said Apollyon meekly.
At this point they reached the Kirkley Arms, and in the effortinvolved in rousing that somnolent hostelry from its Sabbath coma andmaking arrangements for
the sending up of Sir John Carr's luggage tothe Rectory, the question of why he sold coals, and whether he hawkedthe same round in a barrow or delivered his wares through the mediumof the Parcels Post, was lost sight of.
On the homeward walk conversation was maintained on much the sameterms. Daphne held forth unwearyingly, and Apollyon contented himselffor the most part with answering her point-blank questions and puttinga few--a very few--of his own. Certainly the man was a born listener,and amazingly magnetic. Tacitus himself could not have said less, andthe greatest cross-examiner in the legal profession could not haveextracted more. As they strolled side by side through the Kirkleywoods, where the last of the daffodils were reluctantly making way forthe first of the primroses, Daphne found herself reciting, as to adiscreet and dependable father-confessor, a confidential butwhole-hearted summary of the present state of domestic politics.
Ally's failure to secure a scholarship at the University wasmentioned.
It was disgusting of him to miss the Greek Prose paper, Daphneconsidered. "He didn't oversleep at all, of course. I soon found_that_ out. The real reason was that he had gone to some man's roomsthe night before, and the silly brat must go and drink awhisky-and-soda and smoke a cigar. That did it! It was no use tellingDad, because he simply wouldn't believe such a story; and if he did,it would make him unhappy for weeks. Besides, who can blame the poordear? You can't be surprised if a schoolboy kicks over the traces abit the first time he finds himself out on his own--can you?"
"I thought," replied Sir John, finding that some answer was expectedof him, "that you said you knew nothing of men?"
"I said I didn't know _many_ men," corrected Daphne. "But those I doknow I know pretty thoroughly. They're very easy to understand, dearthings! You always know where you are with them. Now, girls aredifferent. Did you notice that boy whom we passed just now, who wentpink and took off his hat. That's Bobby Gill--a flame of Cilly's. I'mgoing to have a lot of trouble with Cilly's love-affairs, I can see.She falls down and worships every second man she meets. I believe shewould start mooning round the place after _you_ if you weren't soold," she added. "Cilly's a darling, but what she wants----"
She plunged, with puckered brow and tireless tongue, into a furthertale of hopes and fears. Stiffy's schooling, Nicky's boots, the curatewho _had_ to come--all were laid upon the table. Even the EmergencyBag and Wednesday's joint crept in somehow.
They were almost home when she concluded.
Suddenly Apollyon inquired:
"Do you know the name of that little hollow on our right? Is itTinkler's Den?"
"Yes; we often have picnics there. How did you know?"
"It is part of Lord Kirkley's estate, as you are probably aware; andhis lordship, finding like most of us that he has not sufficient moneyfor his needs, has asked me to come and have a look at the groundround Tinkler's Den on the off-chance of our finding coal there."
Daphne turned upon him, wide-eyed and horror-struck.
"You mean to say," she gasped, "that you are going to dig for coals inTinkler's Den?"
"I can't tell you, until----"
Apollyon paused. A small hand was resting on his sleeve, and a verysmall voice said beseechingly--
"Don't--_please_!"
"Very well, then: I won't," he said, in a matter-of-fact fashion; andthey resumed their walk.
* * * * *
"I hope you haven't been bored," said Daphne, the hostess in herrising to the surface as the shadow of the Rectory fell upon her oncemore. "Your ears must be simply aching, but it's such a treat to talkto any one who knows about things. I never get the chance to askadvice. I usually have to give it. Dad and the boys are so helpless,bless them!"
They were passing through the wicket-gate. Daphne suddenly paused, andlooked up at her guest with more mischief in her eyes than herbrothers and sisters would have given her credit for.
"It's queer," she mused, "that you should sell coals. _We_ thought you_shovelled_ them!"
"Explain, please!" said Sir John.
Daphne did so. "We _had_ to call you something," she concludedapologetically. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all. I have been called a good many names in my time," saidSir John grimly.
"What do your friends call you?" asked Daphne--"your intimatefriends."
"I am not sure that I have any."
Daphne surveyed him shrewdly, with her head a little on one side.
"No--I should think you _were_ that sort," she said gravely. "Well,what do your--do other people call you?"
"Most of them, I believe," said Sir John, "call me 'JuggernautCarr.'"