CHAPTER THE THIRD
The Blow Falls
For some days after the event just related, life at Polkerran and theneighbourhood flowed on its customary sluggish tide. The fishermen wereidle, waiting for pilchards to appear off the coast. The harvest hadbeen gathered in from the fields. There was little for the village folkto do except to gossip. Men gathered in knots on the jetty and at theinn-doors, chatting about the return of John Trevanion, the strangevessels that had been seen, and the revenue cutter's failure to catchthem, the appearance of a ghost at St. Cuby's Well, the prospects of thefishing season, the chances of making good "runs," and besting Mr.Mildmay and the excisemen. At the Towers there was nothing to show thatanything had happened to disturb the placid surface of existence, exceptthat the Squire was more silent than usual, and went about with a paleface and a preoccupied and troubled look.
One afternoon, after the lapse of about a week, Dick, leaving theParsonage after his daily lessons, was surprised to see his fatherapproaching across the glebe. The Squire was on foot: his last horsehad been sold long ago.
"Ha, Dick!" he said, as he met his son, "you have finished with Greeksand Romans for the day, then. I have come for a word with the parson.Shall be home to supper."
Dick went on, and his father entered the house.
"Ah, Trevanion, I am glad to see you," said Mr. Carlyon, cordially, hiskeen eyes not failing to note a certain gravity in his old friend'sexpression.
"I want your advice, Carlyon," said Mr. Trevanion abruptly.
"And you shall have the best I can give, as you know well. Come intothe garden and smoke a pipe with me. Good, honest tobacco, even if 'tiscontraband--and I can't swear to that--will do no harm to you or me."
When they were seated side by side in wide wicker chairs beneath theshade of an elm-tree, the Squire drew from his pocket a folded paperwhich had been sealed at the edges.
"Read that," he said, handing it to the vicar.
Mr. Carlyon carefully rubbed his spectacles, set them on his nose withdeliberation, and slowly opened the paper.
"H'm! God bless my soul! Poor old Trevanion!" he murmured, as he read,unconscious that his words were audible. "This is bad news, Trevanion,"he said, aloud, looking over the rims of his spectacles with graveconcern.
"It is. It is the very worst," said the Squire, gloomily. "It is theend of things for me."
"No, no; don't say that. Every cloud has a silver lining."
"A musty proverb, Carlyon. You don't see the silver lining in athunderstorm, and it doesn't keep your skin dry. This spells ruin, ruinirretrievable."
The parson pressed his lips together, and read the document again. Itwas a brief intimation from a Truro attorney of his client's intentionto foreclose on the mortgages he held upon certain parcels of land, ifthe sums advanced on them were not repaid within a month from that date.
"This is not your own man?" said the parson.
"No. I never heard of him before."
"What is the extent of the obligation?"
"Two thousand pounds. I can't muster as many shillings. I am in arrearwith the interest. Within a month we shall be in the poor-house--anoble end for Trevanion of the Towers!"
"Tut, tut! You take too black a view of things. 'I have been young, andnow am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seedbegging bread.'"
"But I have, and so have you, Carlyon. I see things as they are. 'Tisno surprise to me; these many months I have felt the blow might fall atany moment; but the condemned man hopes to the last for a reprieve, andI have gone from day to day, like a weakling and simpleton, refusing toface the facts. Not that I could have done anything; I am bankrupt;there's no way out of it."
"Who holds the mortgages?"
"Sir Bevil Portharvan. I have nothing to say against him. He has beenvery patient. A man of business would have foreclosed long ago, thoughhe would have got little by it, for the mines are worked out, the Towersis a ruin, and the land will grow next to nothing but thistles andburdock. 'Twas to be."
"But he can't take the Towers from you. Do you not hold fast to that?"
"I did till a year ago, but there's a small bond on that now--a paltryhundred pounds; I could raise no more on it and the cliff. Sir Bevildoes not hold that, however; 'tis my own lawyer."
The parson sawed the air with his hand, a trick of his when perplexed.
"Well, old friend," he said, "I am sorry for you, from the bottom of myheart. If I had the money, I would gladly lend it you, but 'passingrich on forty pound a year,' you know----"
"I know well. 'Tis not for that I come to you. Give me your advice.What can I do? I must leave the Towers; what can I do for a livelihood?Like the man in the Book, 'I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed.' What amiserable fool I was to throw up the sea when I came into the property!And yet I don't know. Look at Mildmay; a year or two younger, 'tistrue, but still a lieutenant, and thought fit for nothing better than tochase luggers and circumvent the trade. I've no interest with theAdmiralty; they've enough to do to provide for the seamen invalided fromthe wars. What can an old fool past fifty do to earn his salt? Yearsago I had my dreams of paying off the burdens and reviving the Trevanionfortunes; but they have long since vanished into thin air; the taskneeded a better head than mine. And what little chance I might have hadwas doomed by the misdeeds of that scoundrel cousin of mine----"
"I heard that he reappeared the other day. I hoped it was not true."
"'Twas true. He had the boldness, the effrontery, to come to me withhis 'let bygones be bygones,' and sneering at my Christianity. You knowthe facts, Carlyon. You know how, but that I impoverished myself, hewould to this day be in the hulks or slaving in the plantations. I wastoo tender, I was indeed. I ought to have let the law take its course,and put my pride in my pocket. 'Twas a weakness, I own it; and now 'tistime to take my payment."
"No, my good friend, you did right to keep your name unstained. But Iwonder, indeed I do, that John Trevanion has dared to show his face hereagain."
"Oh, 'tis no wonder," said the Squire bitterly. "No one knew of hiscrime but three, you and I and John Hammond; only Hammond had proof ofit, and he is dead. My worthless cousin learnt of his death, I warrantyou; the Devil has quick couriers for such as he; and he comes back,relying on my weakness and your holiness. But I'll speak no more ofhim; he is gone, and I hope I shall never see him again. There's my boyDick: what is to become of him? He is seventeen; he ought to be makinghis way in the world. I can't put him to a profession; I keep him athome drudging for us; and but for your kindness, Carlyon, he would be asignorant and raw as the meanest farm-hind. 'Tis not right; 'tis crueltyto the lad; and he will live to curse the day he was born a Trevanion."
"Come, come, this is not like you, Squire," said Mr. Carlyon warmly."The lad is doing very well. He lives an open, honest life, and a usefulone. What if his hands are horny? He makes good progress with hisbooks, too, and will be fit in a year or two to win a sizarship atOxford, and he will do well there, take orders, or maybe becomesecretary to some great person. You need fear nothing for Dick. No;'tis for yourself and your good wife we must think. And now let us putour heads together. What say you to visiting Sir Bevil, and seekingfurther grace? I will myself undertake the office."
"Never!" cried the Squire firmly. "I will have no man supplicating andbeseeching on my behalf. No; let what must come, come; never will Iwhine and grovel for mercy."
"You are an obstinate old fool, Roger Trevanion," said the parson,laying a friendly hand on the other's arm. "But I own I sympathise withyour feeling. Well, then, my counsel is--and you may scorn it--donothing."
"Nothing!"
"Simply wait. The foreclosure must come, I see that; but the othermortgagee has not moved; you will still have a roof above you; you makeno profit of the mortgaged lands, and so will be not a whit worse offthan you are now, save in the one point of pride. That pride of yours
has been your snare, Trevanion."
"Well I know it!"
"I don't preach, except on Sundays, but I believe in my heart that thistrouble will turn out for your good. Hold fast your rock, old friend;'twas sound advice, even though it came from a witch. No man can giveyou better, and I am superstitious enough to believe that while youfollow it the Trevanions will not come to beggary."
The two friends sat talking for some time longer. When the Squire roseto go away, he said--
"I thank you, Carlyon. You have done me good. I see nothing butdarkness ahead, but I'll take your advice; I'll stick to the ship, andkeep my colours flying, and who knows?--perhaps I shall weather it outafter all."
They shook hands and parted, and the parson returned to his study toread over an ode of Horace in readiness for Dick's lesson next day.
After his conversation with Mr. Carlyon the Squire recovered his wontedserenity. So cheerful was he when he told his wife and son what wasgoing to happen, that they refrained from giving utterance in hispresence to their own feelings on the matter, for fear of bringing backhis gloom. He rode over one day in the carrier's cart to Truro to paythe interest on the Towers mortgage with the proceeds of a fine litterof pigs, and showed his lawyer the letter he had received from hisprofessional brother.
"An excellent practitioner, sharp as a needle," said the lawyer. "Hecame to me a while ago wanting to purchase the little bond I myselfhold; but I refused him point-blank, and went so far as to express mysurprise at Sir Bevil. He grinned at me, Mr. Trevanion--yes, grinned atme in the most unseemly way. 'Twas not Sir Bevil's doing: that is onecomfort."
"Who bought up the bonds, then?"
"That I cannot tell you: I do not know. No doubt a stranger, who hasmore money than judgment. I am sorry for this; I am indeed; and ifthere were any chance of getting metal out of the earth I could havetransferred your mortgages with the greatest ease. As it is--but there,I won't talk of it. As for my own little bond on the Towers, that mayremain till Doomsday so far as I am concerned. It would cut me to theheart to see the old place in the hands of any one but a Trevanion."
"You're a good fellow, Trevenick," said the Squire, "and I'm grateful toyou."
"Not at all, not at all, my dear sir. I am perfectly satisfied with myinvestment."
And the Squire returned home more cheerful than ever, convinced thatlawyers were not all as dry as their parchments.
The allotted month sped away. One afternoon, when Dick was at theparson's, Sam Pollex ran at headlong speed up the road from the village,dashed into the house, and forgetting his manners, burst into theSquire's room without knocking or wiping his boots, as he had beenstrictly enjoined always to do.
"If 'ee please, sir," he panted, "there be a wagon full of femalespulled up at the door o' the Dower House yonder."
"Indeed!" said the Squire. "Have you never seen females before, Sam?"
"Iss I have, sometimes, in the village; but these be furriners, sir."
"Well, maybe they'll buy your eggs, and that'll save you three-quartersof your walk to the village."
Sam went out, looking very much puzzled. What had brought foreignfemales to his master's house, he wondered? Within half an hour he wasback again, this time a little less eager, though equally excited. Herapped on the door, and being bidden to enter, said, less breathlesslythan before:
"If 'ee please, sir, I seed a man on a hoss ride up to Dower House, andhe went inside, sir, and 'twas Maister John."
"Who? John who?" The questions came like pistol-shots.
"His other name be Trevanion, it do seem," said the boy.
The Squire got up in great agitation.
"Are you sure, boy?" he asked.
"No, sir, I bean't sure, 'cos I never seed un afore; but I axed TomPenny, who was standing by, who 'twas, and he said, 'Why, ninny-watch,doan't 'ee know yer own maister's born cousin? 'Tis the same finegenel'um that give Ike Pendry a groat for carr'n his portmantel.'"
Then something happened that scared Sam out of his wits and sent himscampering to the kitchen for his father.
"Feyther, Feyther," he cried, "come quick! Squire's took bad. 'A wentall gashly white and wambled about, sighin' and groanin' that terrible!He's dyin', I b'lieve."
Old Reuben was lame, but he caught up a jug of water and hobbled with itas fast as he could to the Squire's room, sending Sam to fetch themistress. He found the Squire seated in his chair, with a stony lookupon his ashen face.
"What ails thee, maister?" cried the terrified servant.
"Nothing, nothing, Reuben," replied Mr. Trevanion. "Don't be afraid, anddon't alarm your mistress."
Here Mrs. Trevanion came hastily in, Sam hanging behind as if afraid toapproach too near.
"I am sorry they called you, my dear," said the Squire. "There isnothing wrong. Leave us, Reuben."
The old man hobbled away. Mrs. Trevanion stood by her husband's chair.
"I was overcome for a moment, but it has passed," said the Squire."John Trevanion is the master of my lands."
"It cannot be, Roger!"
"It is, it is. Sam saw a party of servants drive to the Dower House,and John himself ride up a while after."
"But, Roger, I do not understand."
"'Tis very simple. He has bought up the mortgages from Sir Bevil'sattorney--'twas hard to believe that the foreclosure was Sir Bevil'sdoing--and has come to mock me and flout me at my own doors; ay, and todrive me away, if he can!"
"A penniless man, Roger! You told me he left here a beggar."
"Yes, a beggar, and worse--a thousand times worse. But that was tenyears ago, and in ten years beggars may become rich, and scoundrels maytread down many an honest man. But he shall not tread me down. He mayown my land, and fence me in, and do what he will; but the Towers ismine, and by heaven I will hold it!"
Discretion was one of Mrs. Trevanion's qualities. Being relieved to findthat Sam's alarming report of the Squire's illness was exaggerated, ifnot wholly imaginary, she sought with her wonted tact to divert herhusband's thoughts into a calmer channel, and soon had him interested inpurely domestic matters.
The re-opening of the Dower House was already the all-engrossing topicof conversation among the old wives and young wives, fishers, farmers,tradesmen, loafers and small fry of Polkerran and the neighbourhood.The "wagon-full of females" of Sam's kindling eye turned out to be oneplump woman of forty and one slim maid of half that age, the cook andhousemaid whom John Trevanion had engaged, as afterwards appeared, in aDevonshire village. On the same day two heavy wagons, each drawn byfour enormous horses, arrived from Truro with furniture, kitchenutensils, and other things needed in setting up house, and on the nextappeared a couple of riding-horses in charge of a lively young groom.
These important events were retailed and freely commented on in thetap-room of the Five Pilchards.
"We shall see brave doings up at the old house, neighbours," saidDoubledick, the innkeeper, to the group of fishermen idling there."Maister John is a fine feller, that he be. He were allers the chap fora randy, and 'twill be a rare change for we to have some one as willhave feastings and merry-makings arter the miserable cold time we've hadwi' Squire."
"'A must have a heap o' gold and silver in his purse to pay for all theyfine-lookin' things we seed goin' in," said one of the men. "Wheer 'dhe get it all from, can 'ee tell us that, neighbour Doubledick?"
"I might if I put my mind to it," said Doubledick sententiously. "Butit don't matter a mossel wheer it do come from; there 'tis, and we shallhave the good o't. The lord-lieutenant 'll make un a magistrate, if Iknow the ways o' providence, and I do know summat about 'em, neighboursall; and if any of 'ee are brought up afore un for a innocent bit o'free-tradin', he'll not be the man to stretch the law against 'ee, nothe."
"'Tis a terrible affliction for Squire, to be sure," said another."There be no loving-kindness 'twixt 'em, if all's true as folks tell,and a dog can't abide seein' another run off with his bone, that bein'my simple way of speech."
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"Squire be goin' down, that's the truth o't," said Doubledick. "Well,some goes up and some goes down, and all gets level in churchyard."
Sam Pollex lost no time in making acquaintance with the new household.On the day after their arrival he carried a basket of eggs to theback-door of the Dower House, and blushed to the roots of his hair whenit was opened by a pretty Devonshire lass, who smiled sweetly on him,asked him the price, and said she would speak to Cook.
"She will take them," said the girl on her return, "and bids me say youmust come to-morrow and she'll let 'ee know if any is addled. What bethe name of 'ee, boy?"
"Sam Pollex, ma'am," said Sam sheepishly.
"And where do 'ee live?"
"Up at Towers, yonder."
"Well I never! Bean't that where Maister's cousin the Squire lives?"
"Iss, him and me lives there, and the mistress, and Feyther, and MaisterDick."
"Only think of it, now! Squire selling eggs like a common dairyman!"
"Squire don't sell 'em; 'tis me, and I take Mistress the money.Sometimes it come to two or three shilling a week, but the hens don'tlay in winter, and then I sell sides o' pork and chitterlings."
"Well, run away now, boy--Sam Pollex, did you say? What a funny name!And mind you don't lose the money."
Sam went away all aglow with admiration of the sweet looks of themaid-servant, and told Mrs. Trevanion how kindly she had spoken to him.He was seized with a terrible depression of spirits when he left hismistress's presence.
"Never go there again to sell eggs, or anything else, Sam," she saidfirmly. "Your master will be very angry with you if he hears of it.Here is the money. Take it to your father, and mind you never do such athing again."
Sam, with a rueful face, told Dick what had happened.
"I should think not, indeed," said Dick indignantly. "If I catch yougoing inside the gates of the Dower House grounds again I'll break yourhead, young Sam; you remember it."
For several days the Squire scarcely left the house. Then he happened tomeet John Trevanion riding along the road. The supplanter swept off hishat with a mocking salutation, but the Squire passed him without a signof recognition.
A day or two later Sir Bevil Portharvan, owner of an estate some milesdistant, rode over to the Towers.
"Ah, Trevanion," he said to the Squire, "how d'ye do? 'Tis onlyyesterday I heard that your cousin was the purchaser of the bonds Iheld. It must be a great comfort to you that the property has not goneout of the family."
"Let me tell you, once for all, Sir Bevil," cried the Squire, his cheeksred with anger, "that the owner of the Dower House is a stranger to me.I will not speak to him, nor look at him, and I don't care who knowsit."
"Dear me, I am sorry," said the astonished visitor. "I had no idea ofit, or, believe me, Trevanion, I would never----"
"Enough, Sir Bevil. I have no grudge against you. You have been verylong-suffering; I thank you for it; but I would have given you myproperty rather than it should fall into the hands of its present owner.I say no more."
And Sir Bevil told his friends that old Trevanion was growing verycrusty, and it was a pity to see such paltry envy in a man of his years.