CHAPTER IV.
PALLIDA MORS.
It was the second of September. Reginald Haggard's usual invitations hadbeen accepted by a select party of his intimates. They had had a greatslaughter in the well-stocked Walls End preserves on the day before.General Pepper, Lord Spunyarn, Colonel Spurbox, the host and the twoyoung men sat down to breakfast, and Georgie Haggard presided at themeal, looking to Spunyarn's mind handsomer than ever in the deepmourning which she still wore for her cousin Lucy. But Mrs. Haggard wasnot the only lady who graced the breakfast-table at the Castle, for Mrs.Dodd had arrived to pay a long-promised visit the day before, of courseaccompanied by her husband. As some men never travel without a hat box,so Mrs. Dodd never left King's Warren without the Rev. John.
"I am so glad to have met you once more, Lord Spunyarn," said thevicar's wife; "isolated as I am at King's Warren, it is so seldom myprivilege to meet any man having a purpose in life, and the men with apurpose, you know, are after all the only men worth knowing." Here shegave a benignant and comprehensive glance round the table, and every onefelt that he at least was not worth Mrs. Dodd's notice, which wasexactly the sensation the vicar's wife intended to produce.
"Awfully good of you, dear Mrs. Dodd, I'm sure, but I'm afraid I canhardly claim the credit of being a man with a purpose. I went to theEast End first, you know, merely from curiosity and because the peoplewere excessively amusing, but nowadays 'slumming' is the fashion and agreat many smart people I know do as I do, merely for a new sensation."
"Ah, you do good by stealth and blush to find it fame," said the lady.
"I don't know if you can call it doing good. I give very little of mymoney away, though I certainly do spend a good deal of my time among theabjectly poor. I became a sort of confidential adviser to a good many ofthem, a kind of honorary amateur solicitor. I drifted into it somehow orother. I acted as a sort of buffer between the East End Lazarus and hislandlord. I was instrumental in obtaining for Lazarus certain rightswhich had been long in abeyance in the East End; either my client didn'tknow his rights, or he found them difficult to enforce; the landlordswould screw the uttermost farthing out of the poor wretches in the shapeof rent, and if they didn't pay they were sold up. The _quid pro quo_they got for their rent was simply a place to rot and die in--no water,no drains, no ventilation, no anything. Then there was the sweatingsystem; women working fifteen or sixteen hours a day for a pittance ofninepence: women doing men's work and getting next to nothing for it;and the attempted redress of a thousand and one nameless grievances andhorrors."
"Oh, Lord Spunyarn," cried Mrs. Dodd, "would that I could walk hand inhand with you through those dreadful places, sharing in such work."
"I have no doubt Dodd could exchange and become one of the wise men ofthe East, if he tried," said Haggard maliciously.
"Ah, dear Mr. Haggard, my husband was never formed for missionary work.Ever since my girlhood I have tried to rouse his enthusiasm, but invain. I don't believe he has any enthusiasm," and here the voice of theReverend John Dodd was heard in an unctuous whisper addressing ColonelSpurbox in commendation of the dish in front of him, to which he helpedhimself copiously for the second time.
"I'm quite certain, my dear sir, that there is no more successful way ofaccommodating the freshly-killed partridge than in a _salmi_. I saythis advisedly, and after many years' experience. I speak feelingly,colonel. Till the fourth you can't do better than stick to _salmi_; Ialways do."
"There's no want of enthusiasm in that, anyhow, Dodd," said Spunyarnwith a smile, while the two young men laughed aloud.
"Ah," sighed the vicaress in a stage whisper, "forgive his littleweakness; he _will_ hanker after the flesh-pots--the flesh-pots ofEgypt."
"Be exact, my dear, be exact," cried the vicar; "it was quail, probablyroast quail, though that is a succulent dish, that is referred to;certainly not _salmi_ of partridges."
"Don't trifle, John," cried Mrs. Dodd.
"I don't, my dear; I assure you that I am seriously, profitably andpleasantly employed. Good gracious me, is there anything one need beashamed of in the admiration of art? And what art can be higher thanthe culinary art, which must have been necessarily one of the earliest,if not the very earliest of all? Some people are born without an ear formusic; I am one of those unfortunates myself, but to make up for it Ihave been blessed by heaven with an appreciative palate. Would you haveme neglect my advantage, would you wish me to bury my one talent in anapkin? Certainly not, Mrs. Dodd. Art I appreciate, especially high art,and I'll trouble you for a little more of the _salmi_, Dr. Wolff."
"And how are things going on in the parish, Mr. Dodd?" said Georgie."Are the Dissenters as active as ever?"
"No, my dear madam; just now the Church is far more popular."
"Thanks to organization, thanks to organization," burst in the vicar'swife impetuously. "Our curates' wives are admirable organizers. Youremember the Misses Sleek, Mr. Haggard?"
"That I do; uncommonly good-looking girls they were too."
"Well, Mr. Haggard, it was the last thing that I should have expected,but they both went into the Church."
"You mean that they married my curates, my dear," interrupted the vicar.
"No, Mr. Dodd, I said it advisedly, they went into the Church. I supposethat in the old days when high-born ladies became nuns that they wentinto the Church, and in doing so vowed themselves to a life ofself-denial. And in this present time any lady who marries a clergyman,Mr. Dodd, vows herself to a life of self-denial and penance, andcertainly enters the Church. I did," she added with a sigh, "and I gloryin it. The humble curate may rise to rank and title, but in the highlyunlikely event of your becoming a bishop, John, I should remain plainMrs. Dodd still."
"Not plain, my dear--not plain."
But Mrs. Dodd did not condescend to reprove him; she forgave theflippancy of the remark for the sake of the compliment.
"The fact is," said the vicar, "that since that fellow Smiter leftKing's Warren a great many of the better-disposed of his people havecome over to us. The services are more ornate than they were, andconsequently more attractive. So are the sermons, I suppose. At allevents, they are shorter. Then we've got a Sisterhood and a Young Men'sChristian Association, who play cricket in summer and football inwinter. Then again we use collecting bags, while at Gilgal they stillstick to the plates. Of course the collections have dropped off to amere nothing, but the congregations have increased wonderfully.Certainly the plates produced a healthy rivalry, but the bags, I takeit, are less of a tax, and the congregation assuredly prefers them. It'sa mystery to me where they get all the threepenny-pieces, and I am sorryto say that farthings, and even buttons, are not uncommon. Still, yourfather and Justice Sleek--everybody calls him Justice Sleek now--let ushave all we want in the shape of money, so I suppose there's nothing tocomplain of."
"Whatever my husband may say, dear Mrs. Haggard, there has been a greatawakening, and though he may not see it, for none are so proverbiallyblind as those who won't see, I look upon it as principally due, at allevents in my own parish, to the exertions of my own sex. My curates areboth highly popular."
"My dear, curates always are highly popular when they are married towealthy good-looking young women, and their pockets consequentlybursting, literally bursting, with half-crowns; I may add that, in myexperience, these are the only circumstances under which married curates_are_ popular."
"You have much to be grateful for, John."
"I know it, my dear--I know it," said the vicar as he finished hiscoffee. And then the party broke up to commence the real business of theday.
No one would have recognized in the well-appointed and terriblyrespectable head keeper who touched his hat to the party of gentlemen asthey emerged upon the lawn, the former village reprobate--Blogg, thewhilom King's Warren poacher. But so it was. By some strange fatality orother your poacher either becomes a confirmed reprobate or blossoms intothe very best kind of gamekeeper. Perhaps it's on the principle of set athief to catch a thief t
hat those estates are best preserved where thehead keeper has been poacher in his youth. Just as the man who has risenfrom the ranks makes the sternest martinet and the strictestdisciplinarian, so the reformed poacher is invariably the prince ofgamekeepers, when honest.
The vicar of King's Warren was a High Churchman. I believe he would haveridden to hounds with pleasure but for the fact that he found itimpossible to find anything up to his weight. But he sternly drew theline at carrying a gun. Though the vicar denied himself this pleasure,he joined the shooting party, for his intense appreciation of theculinary art made violent exercise a necessity of his existence.
As Mrs. Haggard and the vicar's wife sat and chatted over the littledetails of life at the village of King's Warren, the happy home of theformer's girlhood, Mrs. Haggard remarked to her companion that it wasstrange that they had not heard a shot for at least half an hour. As sheuttered the words Lord Spunyarn entered the room, pale and out ofbreath, and evidently hardly able to control his emotion.
"What! back so soon, Lord Spunyarn? Is anything the matter?" said Mrs.Dodd.
"Something dreadful has happened."
"Has there been an accident? Has anything happened to George?" cried themother, and the colour left her lips as she rose excitedly.
At that moment the old lord entered the room.
"George is safe, dear madam," said her husband's old friend, "but I havehurried here as the bearer of bad news, and I must bid you prepare forthe worst."
"Gad, sir, don't keep us in suspense," cried old Lord Pit Town, with theirritability of age. "Is Lucius the victim?"
"No, the boys are safe, dear Mrs. Haggard," he continued. "My old friendis badly hurt. In passing through a hedge----"
But Mrs. Haggard had fainted in the arms of the vicar's wife.
And then Lord Spunyarn told his tale to the old man, while Mrs. Dodd andthe women-servants who, unsummoned, had appeared upon the scene, busiedthemselves around the fainting woman.
It appeared that in getting through a hedge to pick up a bird that,wounded, had managed to struggle through it, Reginald Haggard's gun hadsuddenly exploded and lodged a charge of shot in his chest. It was notfrom carelessness; but Haggard's foot had caught in a rabbit burrow, andas he fell the accident happened. Before their eyes the thing had takenplace. There was nothing mysterious about it. It was terribly sudden,that was all.
Hardly had Spunyarn told his tale when Mrs. Haggard came to herself.Tearless and wan she rose to her feet, and taking the old earl's arm,she said simply but in a broken voice, "Let us go to him--let us go tohim at once, Lord Pit Town; there may be hope--there may be hope yet."
The old man looked towards Spunyarn interrogatively, but a shake of thehead was the only response.
Mrs. Haggard hadn't to go far to meet her wounded husband, for as theypassed into the great entrance hall of the Castle a melancholy littleprocession came in by the main doorway. Four keepers bore a hurdle, uponwhich lay Lord Pit Town's wounded heir. His face was pale, the lipsbloodless, while cold drops stood upon his brow. The four men halted,uncertain where to deposit their burden. Georgie Haggard, quitting theold lord's arm, sprang at once to her husband's side, seized his hand,and attempted to wipe the death drops from his brow.
"Don't touch me, Georgie," he muttered, and the voice sounded unequaland cavernous. "I've suffered untold tortures in being brought here,"and his pale fingers, whose nails had become livid, vainly fumbled athis collar. The faithful wife tenderly loosened the band, which appearedto almost strangle him. "Georgie," he continued to his wife, "where isSpunyarn? I must speak with him at once."
He who had been his faithful friend from youth to middle age steppedforward and bent his head over the mouth of the dying man, for he wasdying. For several seconds Haggard whispered a hurried communication tohis friend, while the bystanders, including the old lord and Haggard'swife, stood aside, so as not to interrupt the privacy of thecommunication. Ever and anon Haggard paused for breath.
"Shirtings," he said at last, "you will remember?"
"I will see to it, be assured of that," replied his friend, LordSpunyarn. And then Haggard motioned the old earl to his side, andaddressed him with considerable effort.
They had dragged forward a couple of oaken benches, and had placed themone under either end of the hurdle upon which Haggard lay. There was adead silence in the great entrance hall, only broken by a loudsuccession of regular ticks, caused by Haggard's life blood, which ingreat drops fell upon the tesselated pavement below with a monotonouslydreadful sound.
"Good-bye, my lord," he said simply, as with an effort he stretched outhis hand, which was affectionately grasped by the trembling fingers ofthe old nobleman. "I am going," he continued, "but you have the boys, myboys."
"Perhaps it's not so bad as you think, Reginald. Assistance will be hereshortly. We will move you out of this at once."
"There won't be time, Lord Pit Town. Take care of Lucius."
The dying man's eyes fell upon his wife, and a smile passed over hispale face. "Georgie," he gasped out with an effort, "say you forgive meand I shall die easier."
"Reginald," she whispered, "I have nothing to forgive, but," she addedthrough her sobs, "there is something I must tell you."
"I know it, Georgie. I have known it all along. Kiss me, dear," he addedwith an effort, and with the kiss his spirit passed away.
Reginald Haggard was dead, stricken down ere he could succeed to thetitle and estates which would have been his in the ordinary course ofnature; but as the aged earl turned away from the body of the man whohad been his heir, his eye fell upon the two young men, and motioning toLucius he said in a broken voice, "Give me your arm, boy; you're all Ihave left in the world now."
All sign of grief left Lucius Haggard's face at this public notificationof his change of position. He drew himself up proudly, and deferentiallyled the old man away. But young George Haggard didn't hear the words; hestood staring at his dead father, like a man in a dream.
"Is there no hope?" he said to those who crowded round the hurdle uponwhich the body lay. The ominous tick of the falling blood had ceasednow, and as if in answer to the young fellow's question, the dead man'sjaw fell, disclosing the white teeth. Then George Haggard turned to hismother, and at a sign from Spunyarn he led her from the spot.
As soon as Mrs. Haggard found herself alone, she gave way to her naturalgrief. The hero of her girlish dreams had been snatched from hersuddenly, so suddenly that she could hardly realize that he was actuallygone from her for ever. She had continued to idolize the man and toremain unaware of his many deficiencies and failings, from the verymoment he had first courted her in the rose garden at King's Warrenuntil his death. He had been a fairly good husband to her, as husbandsgo, and she had never ceased to love him with a trusting affection. Butbewildered as she was by the suddenness of her affliction, she could nothelp pondering over the strange communication he had made to her uponhis death-bed.
"_I have known it all along!_" What had he known all along? Had he knownthat Lucius, instead of being his own son was but the bastard child ofLucy Warrender? Surely not. What could he mean, if he had known it allalong, by his solemn adjuration to old Lord Pit Town to take care ofLucius. There could be but one interpretation to that, surely that helooked upon the boy as his eldest son, his heir, his first-born child.Why had her husband asked her to forgive him on his death-bed? Forgivehim what? He had not bade good-bye to either of the young fellows, butthen death had probably come upon him unawares. Could it possibly bethat her dead husband, man of the world as he was, could havedeliberately, for the mere sake of her cousin's honour, sacrificed thefuture of his only son designedly, and without that son's consent? Thatsupposition was beyond even Georgina Haggard's credulity.
There was a mystery in the matter, a mystery she could not fathom. Themore she thought over it, the more difficult she found it to attempt toarrive at any possible solution. Was it merely that he feared thatGeorge, being really his only child, that at the boy's death witho
utheirs the Pit Town title and the Pit Town wealth should descend to someremote branch of the family, and so perhaps he may of a purpose haveplaced the second good young life between the old lord and his distantrelatives? But that was hardly likely, for such a contingency couldnever happen till George was in his grave; and Haggard himself, be itremembered, was a wealthy man.
What then was Lucy Warrender's son to him?
Could it be that he had a stronger, a dearer interest in the child? Butshe thrust it from her as an unworthy thought; and she strove to banishthe phantom she had unwittingly conjured up, by letting her mind returnonce more to its natural grief, in the thought of her awful bereavement,her sudden widowhood.
Reginald Haggard's death and Reginald Haggard's funeral were a ninedays' wonder in the neighbourhood of Walls End Castle. Hundreds ofpeople clad in black attended the ceremony. The old lord, the two youngmen and Lord Spunyarn were the mourners. The shooting party had beenbroken up on the day of the accident. A short obituary notice hadappeared in the _Times_, and the penny papers had made capital of whatthey termed "The Shocking Accident in the Shooting Field," while theleader writers had earned their daily three guineas by more or lessingenious strings of the usual platitudes.
Lord Spunyarn was Haggard's sole executor. The will was opened, andcommenced with a confirmation of the terms of his marriage settlement;it then proceeded to give a further legacy to his wife of half hisproperty for her lifetime, and he made his "dear son, George Haggard,"his residuary legatee; "my son, Lucius Haggard," the documentcontinued, "being otherwise provided for as the heir to the entailedestates of Lord Pit Town."
It was all plain sailing, and the will was a very natural one for a manin Haggard's position to make.
Lord Spunyarn, who was still staying on at the Castle, waited fortwenty-four hours after the funeral, and then he demanded a privateinterview with his friend's widow.
"I am sorry to trouble you, dear Mrs. Haggard, about business matters,"he said as he entered the little boudoir which years ago had beendevoted by the old lord to young Mrs. Haggard's use, "but I am compelledto worry you with a long and painful conversation on family matters. Mydear lady," he continued, "I should have been the very last person totrouble you with the communication which I am about to make, had it notbeen my friend's dying wish and command."
"Sit down, Lord Spunyarn, sit down," she said, "nothing you can have totell me can be more painful than the suspense, suspicion, and anxiety ofmind which I have endured for the last few days. Tell me the worst atonce. I have nothing to forgive my husband. When on his death-bed heasked for my forgiveness, I feared that there was something dreadful tocome; but I fully and freely forgave him, Lord Spunyarn, and whateveryou may have to tell, it will not alter my affection for his memory."
"Dear Mrs. Haggard," said the philanthropist, with a little sigh, "thematter concerns the future, as well as the past; the secret has beenwell kept, and my poor friend has done his duty in providing for his sonGeorge, and for you. I must tell you that at one time I had mysuspicions, but the thing seemed in itself so monstrous, so improbable,that I put it from me as an unworthy thought. When your late husbandwhispered those last words to me as he was dying, he informed me that Iwas his executor, and told me to examine a little red box that I shouldfind at his banker's, and then to tell you everything. I obtained thebox; I have examined it, and it is here." As he said the words, heplaced a little red morocco box upon the table.