CHAPTER V.
BLACKLADIES.
I wasted no long time in London, you may be sure, but leaving Ashlockat the Hercules' Pillars in Piccadilly, went down with my letter toRichmond. On my return I supplied myself with a wardrobe better suitedto my present state and set out for the north.
The mansion of Blackladies lies off Borrowdale upon the flank of GreenComb. I got my first view of it from the top of Coldbarrow Fell; foron coming to Grasmere, Ashlock had informed me of a bridle-pathleading by Harrop Tarn and Watendlath, which would greatly shorten thejourney, and since my impatience had grown hotter with every mile wehad traversed, I despatched my baggage by the roundabout high-roadthrough Keswick, and myself took horse in company with Ashlock.
It was noonday when we came to the ridge of the fell, and the valleylay beneath us shimmering in a blue haze, very lonely and very quiet.Now and again the thin sharp cry of a pee-wit came to our ears. Nowand again our voices waked a sleepy echo. A little hamlet of whitecottages--Stonethwaite they called it--was clustered within view, andtowards the centre of Borrowdale, but so small was it and so stillthat it seemed not so much a living village as a group of huts uponsome remote island which a captain, putting in by chance for water,may discover, long since built by castaways long since perished.
"Look, sir!" cried Ashlock, pointing downwards with his whip. "That isyour house of Blackladies."
It lay in the hollow at my feet, fronting Langstrath and endwise tome; so that I only saw the face of it obliquely, and got no very clearidea of that beyond that it was pierced with an infinity of windows,for a score of mimic suns were ablaze in the panes. It was a longhouse with many irregular gables, built in three stories, of greystone, though this I could hardly make sure of at the time, for thepurple bloom of a wisteria draped the walls close and clambered aboutthe roof. What attracted my eyes, however, far more than the house,was the garden, of which I had the plainest view, since it was builtup from the slope at the east end of Blackladies, and not so much onaccount of its beauty as because of the laborious care which had beenbestowed upon it. It was laid out in the artificial fashion of half acentury ago, with terraces and stone staircases, and the lawns cutinto quincunces and etoiles, and I know not what geometrical figures.The box-trees, too, were fashioned into the likeness of animals; hereand there were statues. I could see the spray of a fountain sparklingin the sun, and on the level below the first terrace, a great whitegrotto and an embroidered parterre like a fine lady's petticoat.Nature sprawls naked hereabouts; only at this one point had it beentrimmed and dressed, and that with so quaint an extravagance as tomake me conjecture whether I had not been suddenly translated withinsight of some fairy pleasaunce of the Arabian Nights.
I sat in my saddle, gazing at the house silently, and bethinking me ofwhat service it might prove in the enterprise on which I was embarked.
"It is a handsome property, sir," said Ashlock, from just behind myelbow, and he spoke in a tone of anxious inquiry, as though he wouldfain discover what effect the glimpse of it had wrought in me.
"With a handsome rent-roll to match?" I asked no less eagerly, as Ilooked downwards.
A shadow fell sharply along the neck of my horse. I turned and sawAshlock's face stretched forward, and peering into mine with startledeyes.
"A very handsome rent-roll, sir," he replied; "so handsome that aplain man finds it difficult to understand how the heir couldsacrifice it for any cause." He dropped the words very slowly oneafter the other.
I understood the fellow's suspicion, and I swung my horse round with ajerk, so as to look him squarely between the eyes. He drew himselfstraight on the instant, and it seemed to me that his hand tightenedinsolently upon his whip.
"Ashlock!" I exclaimed, "before we go down to Blackladies, I will saya word to you. In Paris you showed me a way by which I could hold thisestate fairly and honourably."
"It was at your own wish, sir, that I spoke," he interruptedhurriedly, "and because I saw that you meant to refuse it."
"Yes, yes," I went on. "But I thanked you then for the readiness ofyour wits, and there was an end of your concern in the matter. I holdBlackladies in trust for this cousin of mine, Mr. Jervas Rookley. Ihave said so, and I need no mentor at my elbow to remind me of apledge I gave to myself. Least of all will I permit my servant"--andin my heat I threw an ungenerous scorn into the term--"to take thatoffice on himself. If he does, his first word sends him packing."
The man bent his head so that I could no longer see his face, andreplied with all the confidence gone from his voice and manner.
"I came to Paris with no thought but of serving you as faithfully as Iendeavoured to serve Sir John before you. But it was your reluctancethat put the thought of Mr. Jervas into my head; and once it wasthere, it stayed and grew; for I loved Mr. Jervas, sir. It was Mr.Jervas I served in my heart, and not Sir John."
The fellow spoke with such evident contrition, and a devotion soseemingly sincere, that I felt reproved for the severity I had used,and I began to admire what sort of man my cousin must be who couldleave so clear an image of himself in the hearts of his dependents. Iwas for saying something of the sort, when a movement which Ashlockmade arrested me. It was an insignificant movement--just the reachingout of his hand to the snaffle of his bridle--but it woke all mydistrust of him; for I noted the quick play of his long, sinuousfingers, and I recalled his stealthy advance from the tiller of thepinnace to the bows, and the hovering of his hands above my chest.
"Get down from your horse!" I cried suddenly.
He looked in surprise at me, as well he might. I repeated the order;he obeyed it.
"Are you Catholic or Protestant?" I asked.
Ashlock's surprise increased.
"Catholic, sir," he answered.
"Good! Now, understand this. Of the journey to Bar-le-Duc, of thepassage from Dunkirk, you must never speak, you must never think. Somuch hangs on your silence and mine as you can have no notion of. Youcame to Paris, and from Paris I returned with you. That is all youknow. Of the rest, whisper so much as a hint to the deafest yokel inthe valley, and it will go very ill with you."
"I promise," he answered.
"But I need more than a promise; I need an oath. You are Catholic, yousay, so there's better chance of your keeping it. Down on your kneeshere, and swear to me that not a word, whatever you know, whatever youbelieve, shall escape your lips."
Ashlock started back, looking about him, as though he would find somediversion or excuse. But the blue, sunlit sky was above us, the brownfells about us, and never a living soul beside us two.
"Come!" said I, insisting. "Swear it! Swear it by the Cross; swear itby the Holy Virgin."
"I swear," he began, holding up his hand.
"Nay," I broke in upon him. "On your knees! on your knees!"
Again he looked about him, and then to my face. But I kept my eyesstubbornly upon him. I would have him swear that oath, and I gatheredall my strength into the resolution, that I might compel him; for Ifelt, in some strange way, that we were pitted in a contest for themastery of Blackladies, and I was minded to settle that contest beforeI set foot across its door. I looked upon this oath that he wouldswear before me on his knees chiefly as an emblem of his submission. Imight be to him a vicarious master; still, his master I would be, nothaving that confidence in him that I could allow him to harbour doubtsupon the score.
Of a sudden his horse gave a startled plunge and broke away from him.It ran past me, and, leaning over as it passed, I caught it by thebridle and so held it.
"Come!" said I. "There will be many days on which I can see the sunsetfrom Coldbarrow Fell."
There was no escape for Ashlock except by a direct refusal, and thathe did not venture. So with a very ill grace he plumped down on hisknees upon the heather and grumbled out his oath.
"Now," said I, "we will ride down to Blackladies;" and I descended thetrack mightily pleased with myself at the high way in which I ha
dcarried it. But my elation was short-lived, for so engaged was I inpluming myself, that I took little care of how my horse set his feet,and in a short while he slips on a stone, shies of one side, and I--Iwas lying with all the breath knocked out of my body on the grass.
I picked myself up on to my knees; I saw Ashlock sitting on his horsein front of me, and he held my horse by the bridle. I remained on myknees for a moment, recovering my breath and my wits. Then of a suddenI realised that here was I kneeling before Ashlock as but a minutesince he had knelt before me; and here was Ashlock sitting his horseand holding mine by the bridle, precisely as I had sat and held his.In a word, we had just changed places, by the purest accident, nodoubt, but I had set such great store upon bringing about that earlierposition and relationship, that this complete reversal of it withinthe space of a few moments filled me with the keenest humiliation. Andmingled with that humiliation was a certain fear that ran through myveins, chilling my blood. I felt that the man mocked at me. I lookedinto his face, expecting to discover on it a supercilious smile. Butthere was no trace of such a thing.
"You are hurt, sir?" he asked gravely, and dismounted.
"No," said I, rising to my feet
Ashlock moved a few steps from me, and stooped down, parting the grasswith his hands.
"What is it?" I asked, setting a foot in the stirrup.
"Something, sir, that you dropped when you fell It is too big for acoin."
He was standing with his back to me, turning that something over inhis palms. I clapped my hand into my fob.
"It is mine, yes!" I cried, and I ran towards him. "Give it to me atonce;" and I made as though I would take it from him.
"You asked me what it was," said Ashlock, and he placed in my handsthe medal the King had given me. I looked it over carefully, noticingcertain scratches upon the King's face, and seeking to rub them out Isaw Ashlock looking at me shrewdly.
"I know," said I in a fluster; "but it has memories for me, and Iwould not lose it;" and with that we got again to our horses, and sodown to the Blackladies.
The rest of that day I spent in examining the many corridors andgalleries of the house, and in particular the garden, which hadgreatly whetted my curiosity. It had been laid out, Ashlock informedme, by Sir John Rookley's father, and with a taste so fantastic aswould have gladdened Sir William Temple himself. There were threeterraces linked to each other by three stone staircases--one at eachof the two ends, and the third in the centre, and at the top of eachof these last flights were heavy iron gates. From the bottom of thesesteps the parterre spread out, and beyond the parterre was a space ofmeadow-land, fringed by a grove of trees which they called thewilderness. The strangest device of all, however, was a sort oflabyrinth beyond the trees at the extreme end of the garden. Thelabyrinth, in fact, was a number of little gardens, each with a tinyplot of grass, and flowers planted about it, like so many rows ofbuttons. These gardens were shut in by hedges of quickset ten feet ormore in height, and led from one to the other by such a perplexingdiversity of paths, that once you had entered deep among them it wasas much as you could do to find your way out of them again. EvenAshlock, who guided me amongst them, ended by losing his way, sonearly alike was one to the other; and I, not stopping to considerthat where he failed, I, a stranger, was little likely to succeed,must needs separate from him and go a-searching on my own account,with this very natural result--that I got more and more enmeshed inthe labyrinth, and was parted from Ashlock into the bargain.
"Ashlock!" I shouted, and again and again, with never a reply, for thespace of half an hour or more. At last, by the merest chance, Ihappened upon the right path, and so came out upon that meadow-likespace they called the wilderness.
"Ashlock!" I called again, and again there was no answer. Had he gothimself free, I wondered, and gone quietly about his business, leavingme there? I walked up the steps in an ill enough humour at the slight,and passed through the parlour into the hall.
It was of a great size and height, with long, painted windows from theceiling to the ground; its roof, indeed, was the roof of the house,and somehow it struck upon me as very empty and desolate.
"Ashlock!" I cried, and I heard my voice reverberating and dying awaydown the corridors. Then came the sound of a man running from theinner part of the house.
"Ashlock!" I repeated, and a servant appeared. He was a tall, spareman, past the middle age, I should say, and was called Jonnage Aron. Isent him to look for the steward, but it was evening before he foundhim.
"I thought, sir, that you had hit upon the path before I did," Ashlockexplained.
"But you heard me shouting?"
"No, sir," said he. "I found the way out a few minutes after you hadparted from me, and thought that I was following you."
I bade him show me to his office and give me some account of theestate, which he did, laying considerable stress upon the wad-mines,from which some part of the revenue was derived.
"Sir John's attorney," said I, when he had finished, "lives atKeswick. It will be well that I should see him to-morrow."
"It is but nine miles from here to Keswick," he assented, "and theroad is good."
"Then send a servant early in the morning to fetch him here." Ashlockshot a quick glance at me. "We will go over these matters again," Icontinued, "with his help--the three of us together."
Ashlock bent his head down upon the papers.
"Very well," he said, and seemed diligently to peruse them. Indeed, heheld one in his hand so long that I believed he must be learning it byheart. "Very well," he repeated, in a tone of much thought.
But during the night I changed my mind, reasoning in this way. Irecognised clearly enough that the advice which King James had givenme--I mean that I should not disclose myself as a Jacobite--was due tothe promptings of Lord Bolingbroke, and those promptings in their turntook their origin from a regard for my safety, rather than for theKing's interest I was, therefore, inclined to look upon therecommendation as a piece of advice to be followed or not, as occasionpointed, rather than as a command. On the whole, I believed that itwould be best, considering the ends I had in view, to express myselfmoderately as favouring the Stuart claims. Moderately, I say, becauseI could not avow myself an emissary of King James without stating thespecial business on which I had come, and that I was forbidden to do.At the same time, I had to carry that business to an issue, and withas little delay as might be. Now, it was evident to me that I shouldget little knowledge of the Jacobite resources, and less of theirgenuine thoughts, if I were to sit down at Blackladies in this nook ofBorrowdale. I must go abroad to do that, and if I was to excite nosuspicion, I must have a simple and definite excuse. The attorney atKeswick would, for the outset, at all events, serve my turn very well.
So the next morning I countermanded the order I had given to Ashlock,and rode in past Castle Crag and Rosthwaite to Keswick. And this I didon many a succeeding day, to the great perturbation of the littleattorney, who had never been so honoured before by the courtesy of hisclients. Also, I made it my business to attend the otter-hunts,coursing matches, fairs, and wrestling-bouts, of which there were manyhere and there about the countryside; so that in a short while Ibecame acquainted with the principal gentry, and got some insight,moreover, into the dispositions of the ruder country folk.
Now amongst the gentry with whom I fell in, was my Lord Derwentwaterand his lady, who were then living in their great house upon Lord'sisland of that lake, and from them I received great courtesy when theycame to know of my religion and yet more after that I had made avowalof my politics; so that often I was rowed across and dined with them.
Upon one such occasion, some three weeks after I had come toBlackladies, that is to say, about midway through August, LordDerwentwater showed to me a portrait of his wife, newly painted andbut that day brought to the house. I was much struck by the delicacyof the craftsmanship, and stooped to examine the signature.
"You will not know the name," said Lord Derwentwater. "The man isyoung and, as yet
, of no repute--Anthony Herbert."
"Anthony Herbert," I repeated. "No, I have never heard the name,though, were he better known, I should doubtless be as ignorant. Forthis long while I have lived in France."
"It is very careful work," said I, looking closely at the picture.
"Indeed, it errs through excess of care," replied he, "for one'sattention is fixed thereby upon the details separately."
"One need have no fear of that," said I, with a bow to LadyDerwentwater, "when such details are so faithfully represented."
The pair smiled at one another, and she laid her hand upon herhusband's arm in the prettiest way imaginable.
"The man is staying at Keswick," Lord Derwentwater continued. "That ishow I chanced on him. He came hither in the spring for the sake of thelandscapes."
"Oh," said I, "at Keswick? Is he, indeed?" and I spoke with somethingof a start. For a new idea had been brought to me from his words. For,having come clean to the end of my business with the attorney, I hadbeen casting about during the last few days for some fresh cloak andpretext to cover my diurnal journeys from Blackladies, and here, itseemed to me, was as good a solution of the difficulty as a man couldwish. It may be that I set too much stress on the need for such apretext; it may be that I could have ridden hither and thither aboutthe country without any one turning aside to busy himself about myerrand. But, in the first place, I was the youngest scholar ofconspiracy certainly in experience, if not quite in years, and I wason that account inclined to exaggerate the value of a mysterioussecrecy. I took my responsibilities _au plus grand serieux_, shroudingthem from gaze with an elaborate care, when no one suspected so muchas their existence. Moreover, it was the habit of the people in thoseparts to stay much within their native boundaries; they rarely wentafield; indeed, I have heard a dalesman of Howray, by Keswick,confidently assert that at Seatoller, a little village not two milesfrom Blackladies, the sun never shone between the months of Septemberand March owing to the height of the circumjacent mountains. In aword, those fells which these countrymen saw close before their eyeseach morning that they rose, enclosed their country; what lay beyondwas foreign land, wherein they had no manner of concern. And this samehabit of mind was repeated in their betters, though in a less rudedegree. Therefore I thought it did behove me to practise somedissimulation lest either my friends or my enemies should get the windof my business. So again I said--
"The painter stays at Keswick. And where does he lodge?"
"In the High Street," said Lady Derwentwater; and she named the house.
"But, Mr. Clavering," added the husband, with a laugh, "the painterhas a wife, very young and not ill-looking; and he is very jealous. Iwould warn you to pay no such compliments to her as you have paid toLady Derwentwater." And he clapped me on the back, and so we went into dinner.
He was silent through the first courses, and his wife rallied him onhis reserve.
"I was thinking," said he, and he roused himself suddenly. "I wasthinking," and then he stopped with a whimsical glance at me. "Butperhaps I am forestalled."
Lady Derwentwater clapped her hands and gave a little laugh ofdelight.
"I know," she said, and turned to me. "My husband is the mostinveterate match-maker in the kingdom, Mr. Clavering. He is like anyold maid that sits by the window planning matrimony for every couplethat passes in the streets. I should like to dress him up in a gown oflinsey-woolsey and lappets of bone-lace."
"That's unfair," he returned "For there is this difference between theold maid and me--she is a match-maker by theory, I throughexperience."
He spoke lightly, as befitted him in the presence of an acquaintance,but his eyes were upon his wife's face, and her eyes met his. Shereddened ever so little, and looked at her plate. Then she sent ashyish glance towards me, another to her husband--and all her heartwas pulsing in that--and so again to her plate, with a ripple of happylaughter. I seemed to be trespassing upon the intimacy of a couple buthalf an hour married--and there were children asleep in their cotsupstairs. A pang of genuine envy shot through me, the which LadyDerwentwater remarked, though she misunderstood it For--
"James," she said, turning reproachfully to her husband, "there is Mr.Clavering absolutely disconcerted, and no wonder. Darby and Joan maybe well enough by themselves, but with a guest they are the mostimpertinent people in the world."
"True," said he, "and if Mr. Clavering patronises Herbert, he willhave enough of Darby and Joan to sicken him for his lifetime, thoughit is a Darby and Joan in the April rather than the autumn of theiryears," he added, with a smile.
"Nay," I interrupted, "to tell the truth, I was thinking of the big,empty galleries of Blackladies."
"There!" he exclaimed, triumphantly, "Mr. Clavering justifies mymatch-making. Out of his own mouth he justifies me. We must marry him.Now, to whom?" and once or twice he patted the table with the flat ofhis hand in a weighty deliberation.
His wife broke into a ringing laugh.
"James, you are incorrigible," says she,
"There is Miss Burthwaite," says he.
"Impossible," says I. "I have met her. She says nothing but 'O La!'and 'Well, there!' and shakes her curls, and giggles."
"Her vocabulary is limited," he allowed "But there's the widow atPortinscales."
"She swears," I objected.
"Only when she's coursing," he corrected. "But, no matter,there's----"
"Nay," said I, interrupting his list "This is no time, I take it, fora man to think of marrying. For who knows but what the country may beablaze from sea to sea before we are three months older."
With that a sudden silence fell upon as all, and I sat inwardlycursing myself for the heedlessness which had prompted so inopportunea saying. Looking back upon that evening now, it seems to me as thoughall the disaster with which that year of 1715 was heavy, and near itstime, for her, for him--ay, and for me, too, projected its shadow overour heads. I looked into their faces, grown at once grave andpredestinate; the shadow was there, a cloud upon their brows, a veilacross the brightness of their eyes. And then very solemnly my LordDerwentwater rose from his chair, and lifted up his glass. The lightfrom candle and lamp flashed upon the goblet, turning the wine to aruby fire.
"The King!" he said simply, without passion, without heat. But thesimplicity had in it something august We also rose to our feet.
"The King!" he said again, his eyes fixed and steady upon the darkpanels over against him, as though there he read the picture of hisdestiny. And so he drained his glass, pledging his life and his homein that wine he drank, making it sacramental.
We followed his example, and so sat ourselves down again. But, as youmay think, there was little talk of any kind between us after thatLord Derwentwater made no effort at all that way, but remainedengrossed in silence, with all his thoughts turned inwards. Once ortwice his wife sought to break through the spell with some trivialword about the country-side, but ever her eyes turned with concerntowards her husband's face, and ever the words flickered out upon herlips. And for my part, being sensible that my indiscretion had broughtabout this melancholy cloud, I seconded her but ill. At last, and justas I was intending to rise up and take my leave, Lord Derwentwaterstarts forward in his chair.
"I have it!" he cried triumphantly, bringing his fist smack upon thetable.
"Well?" asked his wife, leaning forward.
"I have it!" he repeated, turning to me.
"What?" I asked anxiously.
"There's Dorothy Curwen, of Applegarth," said he, laying a finger onmy arm; and at that we all fell to laughing like children, as thoughthe unexpected rejoinder had been the wittiest sally in the world. "Itwould be very appropriate, too," he continued, with a laugh, "for itwas rumoured that Mr. Jervas Rookley was paying his attentions in thatquarter at one time, and the girl deserves a better fate."
"Jervas Rookley?" said I, curiously. "You knew him, of course. Whatsort of a man was he?"
For a moment there was a pause.
"The honestest man in the wo
rld," replied Lord Derwentwater--"to lookat But there it ends. His honesty, Mr. Clavering, is all on theoutside of him, like the virtues of a cinnamon tree. He should havebeen a sailor. It was ever his wish, and maybe the hindrance to itsfulfilment warped him."
How that evening lives again in my memories! Indeed, enough happenednot so long after its event to keep it for ever green within mythoughts. I recalled Lord Derwentwater's solemn toasting of the King,when, no later than the next February, he went, with the King's nameupon his tongue, to the block on Tower Hill. I recalled his wife'sloving glance and happy laugh--with what pity!--when, dressed as afishwife, she crept to Temple Bar and bribed the guardians of thatgate to drop into her apron his head fixed there on the spikes. Andmore--that evening was a finger-post to me, pointing the road; but,alas! a finger-post that I passed unheeding, and only remembered afterthat I had gone astray into a slough.
For that device of a picture was fixed firmly in my mind, and I actedin the consequence of the thought. I rode home to Blackladies thatnight, and passed at once into the great hall. A fire of logs wasburning on the hearth--for even in August I felt at times the nightsfall chilly there--and the glow of the flames played upon theportraits of the Rookleys, dancing them into frowns and smiles andglances, as though the faces lived. Father and son, master and heir,they were ranged orderly about the walls in a double row, the fatherabove the heir, who in his turn figured painted anew as the master. Iturned to the lackey, a roughish fellow named Luke Blacket who hadadmitted me.
"Is Mr. Ashlock still up?"
"He is in the office, sir, I think," he answered in some doubt orhesitation. "I will go and see."
"I will go myself." And I crossed the hall.
A man was sitting at the table with his wig off, and his head wasbald. His back was towards me, and he did not hear me enter, soengrossed was he about his papers. His pen scratched and scratched asif all time was against him. It was doubtless a fancy, but it seemedto me to run ever quicker and quicker as I stood in the doorway.Behind me the house was very dark and silent; only this pen wasscratching across the paper nimble like a live thing. I steppedforward; I heard a startled cry, and Jonnage Aron stood facing me,with his mouth dropping and a look of terror in his eyes.
I waited for him to speak, comprehending neither his fear nor hisbusiness in my factor's office. At last in a jerky, trembling voice,resting one hand upon the table to steady him, he asked wherein hecould serve me.
"It was Mr. Ashlock I needed," I replied.
"He is not here, sir," faltered Aron, looking about him like a trappedbeast.
"I can see that for myself, Where is he?"
"I don't know, sir," and his confusion increased, "in bed, maybe.Shall I send him to you?"
He made a hasty movement as though he would escape from furtherquestioning.
"No," said I, "stay where you are," and I stepped forward to thetable. I took up the last paper he had been writing; the ink was stillwet upon it, and I saw that it was a letter to one of my tenants inJohnny Wood concerning some improvements of which I had spoken toAshlock.
"You do the work I pay my steward for," I said. "And how comes thatabout?"
"Very seldom, sir," he babbled out; "once or twice only, when Mr.Ashlock has been busy. It is not well done," and he made as though hewould take the paper from my hands, "for I am no clerk, but he told methe letter was not of the first importance."
I looked at the sharp, precise characters of the letter.
"I'll tell you what is not well done, Aron," I cried in some heat,"and that is your excuse. The handwriting here tells of practice, andI see that you thrust your pen behind your ear."
Aron's yellow face flushed a dull red. He gave a start and plucked thepen from behind his ear; and the impulsive movement ludicrouslybetrayed his sense of detection.
"Ah!" said I with a sneer. "You had best ask Mr. Ashlock in the futureto provide you with the excuse at the same time that he provides youwith the work."
I bent over the table to examine the other papers which were litteredupon it I had just time to remark that they were all in Aron'shandwriting when a sharp click sounded through the silent house, notloud, but very clear, like the cocking of a trigger. The door wasopen; I stepped into the passage and peered along it. Aron moveduneasily in the room at my side, and his movement brought him betwixtme and the lamp, so that a shadow fell across my face and on thepassage wall. I realized that I had been standing visible and distinctin a panel of light that was thrown from the open doorway. Aron movedagain out of the light. I took a couple of paces into the dark, andagain stretched forward, peering in front of me. I could see well nighthe length of the house. The corridor in which I stood ran straight tothe hall. On the far side of the hall, opposite to me, there opened awide gallery, which was closed at the end by a parlour, and thisparlour lay at the east end of the house, and gave on to the topmostterrace of the garden. The door of the parlour stood open, so that Isaw right through it to the moonlight shining white upon thewindow-panes. But I saw more than this. I saw the window opening--itwas the catch of the window which I had heard--and a man, with his hatpulled down upon his brows and a heavy cloak about him, stealing in. Iwas the more astonished at the sight because Ashlock had informed methat there was no outlet from the garden at all; and that I hadconsidered to be true, since on one side a cliff rose sheer above it,while on the other side and at the end it was enclosed with a sunkfence of stone. The intruder closed the window and came a-tiptoe downthe passage. I drew close against the wall and held my breath. Hepassed by me insensible of my presence and walked into the room, andas he came into the light I saw that he was holding the ends of hisperuke in his mouth. I did not, however, on that account fail torecognise that the new-comer was my steward. I followed very softlyclose upon his heels.
"Ashlock!" he began, and would have said more, but Aron held up afinger to his lips and grimaced at him.
I closed the door behind me with a bang and leaned against its panels.The steward swung round abruptly.
"And what stress of business keeps Mr. Ashlock so late from his bed?"I asked; and added pleasantly, "By the way, which of you is Mr.Ashlock?"
Seldom have I seen a man so completely taken aback, as my steward wasthen, and I was in the mind to profit by his confusion.
"And which of you is Mr.----" I continued, and came all at once to adead stop. For the strangest suspicion flashed into my mind.
"I rode over to the farmer of Johnny Wood," explained the steward, andAron's brows went up into his forehead, as well they might, "thinkingthat a word with him would expedite the business."
"It was a pity then," I returned, "that you kept Aron up so latewriting a letter on that very subject."
I picked up the paper from the table and placed it in his hands. Hisface puckered for a second and then smoothed again. He read it throughfrom beginning to end with the completest nonchalance.
"It will do very well," he said easily to Aron, and then turned to mewith a smile. "The letter, of course, is a usual formality."
"Surely an unnecessary one," I insisted.
"Men of business," he returned suavely, "will hold it the reverse. Ipresume, sir, that you have some urgent need of me."
I recovered myself with a laugh.
"Not urgent," I replied, "but since you are here----" I took up thelamp from the table and went into the passage. The steward followedme, and after him, though at some distance, Aron stumbled in the dark.So we came into the hall. I held up the lamp above my head. At onepoint, in the lower row of pictures, there was a gap; the oak panelsmade as it were a black hollow amongst the bright colours of thefigures, and the hollow was just beneath the portrait of Sir John.
I pointed an arm to it.
"It is the one vacant space left in the hall."
Ashlock glanced sharply at me.
"Mr. Jervas Rookley's picture should have hung there," he replied in arising tone, which claimed the prerogative of that space still for Mr.Jervas Rookley.
"B
ut it did not," I replied. "The space is vacant, and since it is thefashion of the house that the master's portrait should hang in thehall, why, I will take my predecessors for my example."
Ashlock took a quick step forward as though pushed by some instinct toget between me and the wall, and turned upon me such a look ofperplexity and distrust, that for a moment I was well-nigh dissuadedfrom the project.
I heard a step behind me. It was Jonnage Aron drawing nearer. I turnedand gave the lamp to him to hold, bidding him stand further off, and Isaid with a careless laugh, though I fixed my eyes significantly uponAshlock--
"My successor has full licence from me to displace it when his timecomes to inherit, but for the present my picture will hang there."
Ashlock looked me steadily In the eyes. The distrust faded out of hisface, but the perplexity remained and deepened.
"Your picture, sir?" he asked in a wondering tone, as though he wouldbe asking what in the devil's name I needed with a picture at all.
"Yes, Mr. Ashlock," said I with a swaggering air, which I doubt notwas vilely overdone, "my picture. And why not, if you please?"
"It must needs be painted first," he said.
"That is very true," I replied. "I had even thought of that myself,and so apt an occasion has presented itself, that it would be folly todisregard it For a painter has but lately come to Keswick. My LordDerwentwater spoke of him to me, and indeed showed me some signalevidence of his skill."
"Lord Derwentwater?" exclaimed Ashlock, In a curious change of tone.The perplexity in its turn began to die off his face, and it wassucceeded by an eager curiosity. It seemed as though the name gave tohim a glimmering of comprehension. Though what it was that hecomprehended I could not tell.
"Yes, Lord Derwentwater told me of the man," I repeated, anxious tocolour my pretext with all the plausibility of which it was capable."Mr. Anthony Herbert----"
"Mr. Anthony Herbert?" questioned Ashlock, slowly.
"It is the painter's name," said I, and he seemed to be, as it were,savouring it in his mind. "You will not have heard it before. Mr.Herbert has painted a portrait of Lady Derwentwater," and I turnedaway and got me to my room, with Aron to light the way. I left Ashlockstanding in the hall, and as I mounted the lower steps of thestaircase, I heard him murmur to himself in a tone of reflection--
"Mr. Anthony Herbert!"--and he shook his head and moved away.
Now, some half an hour afterwards, as I was lying in bed, a thoughtoccurred to me. I got me to the door and opened it. The house wasstill as a pool. I took my candle in my hand and crept to thestairhead. The moonlight pouring through the tall windows, lay ingreat silver stripes upon the floor. I stood for a little andlistened. Once or twice a board of the staircase cracked; once ortwice an ember spurted into flame and chattered on the hearth, butthat was all. I stole downstairs, not without a queer shame that Ishould be creeping about my own house. At the bottom I lighted mycandle, and shading it with my hand, crossed swiftly to the vacantspace among the portraits. I held the light close against the panels.Yes, there were the splintered holes where the nails had been drivenin.
I lowered the candle till it was level with the lowest rim of thepicture-frames on either side of the space. Yes, there was a dimmingof the oak, like breath upon a window-pane, where the edge of apicture had rubbed and rested against it. I rose upright, blew thecandle out, and stood in the dark, thinking. "Mr. Jervas Rookley'sportrait should have hung there," he had said. It _had_ hungthere--not a doubt of it. Was it destroyed, I wondered? Was it in somelumber-room, hidden away? And I remembered a room in the upper part ofthe house which I had found locked, and was told the key was lost. Whyhad the picture been removed? Was it so that I might not recognize it?Well, it did not matter so long as I never stumbled across it. Igroped my way up the staircase, repeating to myself one sentence fromthe will, "I must not knowingly support Mr. Jervas Rookley." I did not_know_, I said to myself. I might suspect, I might believe, but I hadno proof; I did not know. I clutched the phrase to my very heart. Icould keep my trust--the estate need not enrich the Hanoverian--JervasRookley should come to his own, if God willed it, in his own time. ForI did not know. My steward was my steward--no more. What if he wasever out of sight when a visitor reined in his horse at the door? Hemight be busy in his office. What if another wrote his letters? Therewas work enough for the steward, and who should blame him for that helightened his labours, so long as his work was done? I did not know.
Yet how the man must hate me, I thought, as I recalled that hour onthe ridge of Coldbarrow Fell.