CHAPTER XX.
REBECCA MERVYN READS HER LETTER.
THE evenings being short, the shops alight, and the good people ofCardyllian in their houses, Tom Sedley found the hour before dinner hangheavily on his hands. So he walked slowly up Castle Street, and saw Mr.Robson, the worthy post-master, standing, with his hands in his pockets,at the open door.
"No letter for me, I dare say?" asked Sedley.
"No, sir--nothing."
"I don't know how to kill the time. I wish my dinner was ready. Youdined, like a wise man, at one o'clock, I dare say?"
"We do--we dine early here, sir."
"I know it; a capital plan. I do it myself, whenever I make any stayhere."
"And you can eat a bit o' something hearty at tea then."
"To be sure; that's the good of it. I don't know what to do with myself.I'll take a walk round by Malory. Can I leave the Malory letters foryou?"
"You're only joking, sir."
"I was not, upon my honour. I'd be glad to bolt your shutters, or totwig your steps--anything to do. I literally don't know what to do withmyself."
"There's no family at Malory, you know, now, sir."
"Oh! I did not know. I knew the other family had gone. No letters to bedelivered then?"
"Well, sir, there _is_--but you're only joking."
"What is it?"
"A letter to Mrs. Rebecca Mervyn--but I would not think of troubling agentleman with it."
"Old Rebecca? why I made her acquaintance among the shingles and cockleson the sea-shore last year--a charming old sea-nymph, or whatever youcall it."
"We all have a great respect for Mrs. Mervyn, down here, in Cardyllian.The family has a great opinion of her, and they think a great deal ofher, like us," said Mr. Robson, who did not care to hear any mysteriousnames applied to her without a protest.
"Well--so I say--so have I. I'll give her the letter, and take areceipt," said Sedley, extending his hand.
"There really _is_ a receipt, sir, wanting," said the official, amused."It came this morning--and if you'll come in--if it isn't too muchtrouble--I'll show it to you, please, sir."
In he stepped to the post-office, where Mr. Robson showed him a letterwhich he had that afternoon received. It said,--
"SIR,--I enclose five shillings, represented by postage-stamps, which will enable you to pay a messenger on whom you can depend, to deliver a letter which I place along with this in the post-office, into the hand of Mrs. Mervyn, Steward's House, Malory, Cardyllian, to whom it is addressed, and which is marked with the letter D at the left-hand corner.
"I am, sir,"Your obt. servant,"J. DINGWELL."
"The letter is come," said Mr. Robson, taking it out of a pigeon-hole ina drawer, and thumbing it, and smiling on it with a gentle curiosity.
"Yes--that's it," said Tom Sedley, also reading the address. "'Mrs.Mervyn'--what a queer old ghost of a lady she is--'Malory,' that's theground--and the letter D in the corner. Well, I'm quite serious. I'lltake the letter with pleasure, and see the old woman, and put it intoher hand. I'm not joking, and I shall be back again in an hour, I daresay, and I'll tell you what she says, and how she looks--that is,assuming it is a love-letter."
"Well, sir, as you wish it; and it's very kind of you, and the old ladymust sign a receipt, for the letter's registered--but it's too muchtrouble for you, sir, isn't it really?"
"Nonsense; give me the letter. If you won't, I can't help it."
"And this receipt should be signed."
"And the receipt also."
So away went our friend, duly furnished, and marched over the hill weknow so well, that over-hangs the sea, and down by the narrow old roadto Malory, thinking of many things.
The phantom of the beautiful lady of Malory was very much faded now.Even as he looked down on the old house and woodlands, the romance camenot again. It was just a remembered folly, like others, and excited orpained him little more. But a new trouble vexed him. How many of ourblessings do we take for granted, enjoy thanklessly, like our sight, ourhearing, our health, and only appreciate when they are either withdrawnor in danger!
Captain Shrapnell had written among his gossip some jocular tattle aboutCleve's devotion to Miss Agnes Etherage, which had moved him oddly anduncomfortably; but the next letter disclosed the mystery of Cleve'sclandestine visits to Malory, and turned his thoughts into a newchannel.
But here was all revived, and worse. Charity, watching with a woman'seyes, and her opportunities, had made to him a confidence about whichthere could be no mistake; and then Agnes was so changed--not a bit gladto see him! And did not she look pretty? Was there not a slight look ofpride--a reserve--that was new--a little sadness--along with theheightened beauty of her face and figure? How on earth had he been sostupid as not to perceive how beautiful she was all this time? Cleve hadmore sense. By Jove! she was the prettiest girl in England, and thatselfish fellow had laid himself out to make her fond of him, and, havingsucceeded, jilted her! And now she would not care for any one but him.
There was a time, he thought, when he, Tom Sedley, might have madeher like him. What a fool he was! And that was past--unimproved--irrevocable--and now she never could. Girls may affect those secondlikings, he thought, but they never really care after the first. It ispride, or pique, or friendship, or convenience--anything but love.
Love! And what had he to do with love? Who would marry him on fourhundred a year, and no expectations? And now he was going to teazehimself because he had not stepped in before Cleve Verney and securedthe affections of little Agnes. What a fool he was! What business had hedreaming such dreams? He had got on very well without falling in lovewith Agnes. Why should he begin now? If he found _that_ folly gainingupon him, he would leave Cardyllian without staying his accustomed week,and never return till the feeling had died as completely as last year'sroses.
Down the hill he marched in his new romance, as he had done more than ayear ago, over the same ground, in his old one, when in the moonlight,on the shingle, he had met the same old lady of whom he was now inquest.
The old trees of Malory rose up before him, dark and silent, higher andhigher as he approached. It was a black night--no moon; even the starsobscured by black lines of cloud as he pushed open the gate, and enteredthe deeper darkness of the curving carriage-road that leads up throughthe trees.
It was six o'clock now, and awfully dark. When he reached the open spacebefore the hall-door, he looked up at the dim front of the house, but nolight glimmered there. The deep-mouthed dog in the stable-yard wasyelling his challenge, and he further startled the solitary woods byrepeated double-knocks that boomed through the empty hall and chambersof the deserted house.
Despairing of an entrance at last, and not knowing which way to turn, hetook the way by chance which led him to the front of the steward'shouse, from the diamond casement of which a light was shining. The doorlay open; only the latch was closed, such being the primitive securitythat prevails in that region of poverty and quietude.
With his stick he knocked a little tattoo, and a candle was held overthe clumsy banister, and the little servant girl inquired in her clearWelsh accent what he wanted.
So, preliminaries over, he mounted to that chamber in which Mr. Levi hadbeen admitted to a conference among the delft and porcelain, stags,birds, officers, and huntsmen, who, in gay tints and old-fashionedstyle, occupied every coigne of vantage, and especially that centraldresser, which mounted nearly to the beams of the ceiling.
The room is not large, the recesses are deep, the timber-work is ofclumsy oak, and the decorations of old-world teapots, jugs, and beastsof the field, and cocked-hatted gentlemen in gorgeous colouring andgilding, so very gay and splendid, reflecting the candle-light and thewavering glare of the fire from a thousand curves and angles; the oldshining furniture, and carved oak clock; the room itself, and all itsproperties so perfectly neat and tidy, not one grain of dust or singlecob-web to be seen in any nook or crevice, that Tom Sedley was delightedwith
the scene.
What a delightful retreat, he thought, from the comfortless affectationsof the world. Here was the ideal of snugness, and of brightness, andwarmth. It amounted to a kind of beauty that absolutely fascinated him.He looked kindly on the old lady, who had laid down her knitting, andlooked at him through a pair of round spectacles, and thought that hewould like to adopt her for his housekeeper, and live a solitary life oflonely rabbit-shooting in Penruthyn Park, trout-fishing in the stream,and cruising in an imaginary yacht on the estuary and the contiguousseaboard.
This little plan, or rather vision, pictured itself to Tom Sedley'smorbid and morose imagination as the most endurable form of life towhich he could now aspire.
The old lady, meanwhile, was looking at him with an expression of wonderand anxiety, and he said--
"I hope, Mrs. Mervyn, I have not disturbed you much. It is not quite solate as it looks, and as the post-master, Mr. Robson, could not find amessenger, and I was going this way, I undertook to call and give youthe letter, having once had the pleasure of making your acquaintance,although you do not, I'm afraid, recollect me."
"I knew it, the moment his face entered the room. It was the same face,"she repeated, as if she had seen a picture, not a face.
"Just under the walls of Malory; you were anxious to learn whether asail was in sight, in the direction of Pendillion," said he, suggesting.
"No, there was none; it was not there. People--other people--would havetired of watching long ago; my old eyes never dazzled, sir. And _he_came, so like. He came--I thought it--was a spirit from the sea; andhere he is. There's something in your voice, sir, and your face. It iswonderful; but not a Verney--no, you told me so. They are cruel men--oneway or other they were all cruel, but some more than others--my God!much more. There's something in the eyes--the setting, the light--itcan't be mistaken; something in the curve of the chin, very pretty--butyou're no Verney, you told me--and see how he comes here a second time,smiling--and yet when he goes, it is like waking from a dream where theywere, as they all used to look, long ago; and there's a pain at myheart, for weeks after. It never can be again, sir; I'm growing old. Ifit ever comes, it will find me so changed--or dead, I sometimes begin tothink, and try to make up my mind. There's a good world, you know, wherewe'll all meet and be happy, no more parting or dying, sir. Yet I'd liketo see him even once, here, just as he was, a beautiful mortal. God isso good; and while there's life there is hope."
"Certainly, hope, there's always hope; everyone has something to vexthem. _I_ have, I know, Mrs. Mervyn; and I was just thinking what acharming drawing-room this is, and how delightful it must be, the quietand comfort, and glow of such a room. There is no drawing-room on earthI should like so well," said good-natured Tom Sedley, whose sympathieswere easy, and who liked saying a pleasant thing when he could; "Andthis is the letter, and here is a printed receipt, which, when you havebeen so kind as to sign it, I've promised to give my friend, Mr. Robsonof the post-office."
"Thank you, sir; this is registered, they call it. I had one a long timeago, with the same kind of green ribbon round it. Won't you sit downwhile I sign this?"
"Many thanks," said Sedley, sitting down gravely at the table, andlooking so thoughtful, and somehow so much at home, that you might havefancied his dream of living in the Steward's House had long beenaccomplished.
"I'd rather not get a letter, sir; I don't know the handwriting of thisaddress, and a letter can but bring me sorrow. There is but one welcomechance which could befall me, and that _may_ come yet, just a _hope_,sir. Sometimes it brightens up, but it has been low all to-day."
"Sorry you have been out of spirits, Mrs. Mervyn, I know what it is;I've been so myself, and I _am_ so, rather, just now," said Tom, whowas, in this homely seclusion, tending towards confidence.
"There are now but two handwritings that I should know; one is his, theother Lady Verney's; all the rest are dead; and this is neither."
"Well, Mrs. Mervyn, if it does not come from either of the persons youcare for, it yet may tell you news of them," remarked Tom Sedley,sagely.
"Hardly, sir. I hear every three months from Lady Verney. I heard onTuesday last. Thank God, she's well. No, it's nothing concerning her,and I think it may be something bad. I am afraid of this letter,sir--_tell_ me I need not be afraid of it."
"I know the feeling, Mrs. Mervyn; I've had it myself, when duns weretroublesome. But you have nothing of the kind in this happy retreat;which I really do envy you from my heart."
"Envy! Ah, sir--happy retreat! Little you know, sir. I have been forweeks and months at a time half wild with anguish, dreaming of the sea.How can he know?"
"Very true, I can't know; I only speak of it as it strikes me at themoment. I fancy I should so like to live here, like a hermit, quite outof the persecutions of luck and the nonsense of the world."
"You are wonderfully like at times, sir--it is beautiful, it isfrightful--when I moved the candle then----"
"I'll sit any way you like best, Mrs. Mervyn, with pleasure, and you canmove the candle, and try; if it amuses--no, I mean interests you."
If some of his town friends could have peeped in through a keyhole, andseen Tom Sedley and old Rebecca Mervyn seated at opposite sides of thetable, in this very queer old room, so like Darby and Joan, it wouldhave made matter for a comical story.
"Like a flash it comes!"
Tom Sedley looked at the wild, large eyes that were watching him--theround spectacles now removed--across the table, and could not helpsmiling.
"Yes, the _smile_--it _is_ the smile! You told me, sir, your name wasSedley, not Verney."
"My name is Thomas Sedley. My father was Captain Sedley, and servedthrough a part of the Peninsular campaign. He was not twenty at thebattle of Vittoria, and he was at Waterloo. My mother died a few monthsafter I was born."
"Was _she_ a Verney?"
"No; she was distantly connected, but her name was Melville," said he.
"Connected. That accounts for it, perhaps."
"Very likely."
"And your father--dead?" she said, sadly.
"Yes; twenty years ago."
"I know, sir; I remember. They are all locked up _there_, sir, andshan't come out till old Lady Verney dies. But he was not related tothe Verneys?"
"No, they were friends. He managed two of the estates after he left thearmy, and very well, I'm told."
"Sedley--Thomas Sedley--I remember the name. I did not know the name ofSedley--except on one occasion--I was sent for, but it came to nothing.I lived so much in the dark about things," and she sighed.
"I forgot, Mrs. Mervyn, how late it is growing, and how much too long Ihave stayed here admiring your pretty room, and I fear interruptingyou," said Tom, suddenly remembering his dinner, and standing up--"Ifyou kindly give me the receipt, I'll leave it on my way back."
Mrs. Mervyn had clipped the silken cord, and was now reading the letter,and he might as well have addressed his little speech to the chinashepherdess, with the straw disc and ribbons on her head, in the bodiceand short petticoat of flowered brocade, leaning against a tree, with alamb with its hind leg and tail broken off, looking affectionately inher face.
"I can't make it out, sir; your eyes are young--perhaps you would readit to me--it is not very long."
"Certainly, with pleasure"--and Tom Sedley sat down, and, spreading theletter on the table, under the candles, read as follows to the old ladyopposite:--
"PRIVATE.
"MADAM,--As an old and intimate friend of your reputed husband, I take leave to inform you that he placed a sum of money in my hands for the use of your son and his, if he be still living. Should he be so, will you be so good as to let me know where it will reach him. A line to Jos. Larkin, Esq., at the Verney Arms, Cardyllian, or a verbal message, if you desire to see him, will suffice. Mr. Larkin is the solvent and religious attorney of the present Lord Verney, and you have my consent to advise with him on the subject.
"I have the honour to b
e,"Madam,"Your obedient servant,"J. DINGWELL."
"P.S.--You are aware, I suppose, madam, that I am the witness who proved the death of the late Hon. Arthur Verney, who died of a low fever in Constantinople, in July twelve months."
"_Died!_ My God! Died! did you say _died_?"
"Yes. I thought you knew. It was proved a year ago nearly. The elderbrother of the present Lord Verney."
There followed a silence while you might count ten, and then came along, wild, and bitter cry.
The little girl started up, with white lips, and said, "Lord bless us!"The sparrows in the ivy about the windows fluttered--even Tom Sedley waschilled and pierced by that desolate scream.
"I'm very sorry, really, I'm awfully sorry," Tom exclaimed, findinghimself, he knew not how, again on his feet, and gazing at the white,imploring face of the trembling old woman. "I really did not know--I hadnot an idea you felt such an interest in any of the family. If I hadknown, I should have been more careful. I'm shocked at what I've done."
"Oh! Arthur--oh! Arthur. He's gone--_after all_, after _all_. If wecould have only met for one minute, just for one look." She was drawingback the window-curtain, looking towards the dark Pendillion and thestarless sea. "He said he'd come again--he went--and my heart misgaveme. I said, he'll never come again--my beautiful Arthur--never--never--never. Oh, darling, darling. If I could even see your grave."
"I'm awfully sorry, ma'am; I wish I could be of any use," said honestTom Sedley, speaking very low and kindly, standing beside her, with, Ithink, tears in his eyes. "I wish so much, ma'am, you could employ meany way. I'd be so glad to be of any use, about your son, or to see thatMr. Larkin. I don't like his face, ma'am, and would not advise yourtrusting him too much."
"Our little child's dead. Oh! Arthur--Arthur!--a beautiful little thing;and you, my darling,--that I watched for, so long--never to comeagain--never, never--never--I have no one now."
"I'll come to you and see you in the morning," said Tom.
And he walked home in the dark, and stopped on the summit of the hill,looking down upon the twinkling lights of the town, and back againtoward solemn Malory, thinking of what he had seen, and what an oddworld it was.